Chapters (51)
- Cover
- About Dreamer's Pool
- Title page
- Contents
- Dedication
- Character List
- 1 Blackthorn
- 2 Grim
- 3 Oran
- 4 Blackthorn
- 5 Grim
- 6 Oran
- 7 Blackthorn
- 8 Grim
- 9 Oran
- 10 Blackthorn
- 11 Grim
- 12 Oran
- 13 Blackthorn
- 14 Oran
- 15 Blackthorn
- 16 Oran
- 17 Blackthorn
- 18 Grim
- 19 Oran
- 20 Blackthorn
- 21 Grim
- 22 Oran
- 23 Grim
- 24 Blackthorn
- 25 Oran
- 26 Grim
- 27 Blackthorn
- 28 Grim
- 29 Oran
- 30 Blackthorn
- 31 Grim
- 32 Blackthorn
- 33 Oran
- 34 Grim
- 35 Blackthorn
- 36 Grim
- 37 Oran
- 38 Blackthorn
- 39 Oran
- 40 Grim
- 41 Blackthorn
- Acknowledgments
- About Juliet Marillier
- Also by Juliet Marillier
- Copyright page
Had she not noticed what Aunt Sochla was doing with Bramble? ‘I’ve seen no evidence of anger; my aunt’s training is always conducted with kindness. A dog responds best to a firm but gentle approach, I’ve found, whether it is a pet like Bramble or a working dog like Niall’s herders.’
Flidais looked at me under her lashes. ‘Now I’ve offended you,’ she said.
‘Offended, no,’ I said, taken aback. ‘You have misread my aunt, that’s all. When I was growing up I did find her somewhat alarming, that is true – she is very definite in her opinions and always has been. But she is a good-hearted person. I liked to visit her; her house was full of little dogs and she was happy for me to play with them, feed them, take them out walking. At Aunt Sochla’s I could forget, for a brief while, that I was a prince. That gift did not come often.’ We were almost at the village; folk were walking up the track to meet us. ‘Donagan’s friendship allowed me the same opportunity,’ I said. ‘There are times when it still does.’
‘I have wondered, sometimes,’ said Flidais, ‘what kind of life it is to be body servant to a prince or princess. Take Donagan, for instance. He sorts out your clothing, he wakes you in the morning and sees you into bed at night, he hovers by your side all day, at your constant beck and call. What if such a man wanted to marry? To father children? What woman would want a husband whose life was not his own?’
I was spared the need to respond to this extraordinary speech, for the welcoming party had reached us. We reined in our mounts.
‘Welcome, my lord!’ Iobhar the brewer was there with his wife Eibhlin; by them stood Scannal the miller and Luach the weaver with her daughter.
I swung down from Snow’s back, helped Flidais dismount, then greeted each of the villagers by name. There was a pattern to my visits, and although Flidais was new to that pattern, it was clear she’d been expected. I was soon swept away to Iobhar’s brewery and ale house with the men, while Flidais and Mhairi were shepherded to the weaver’s by the women. A boy came to lead our horses into the yard behind the ale house. On my orders, our guards split up, Garalt coming with me, Fergal going with Flidais.