Flame of Sevenwaters by Juliet Marillier Read Free Book Online Page A

he had come too late to prevent me from being burned. I knew how that felt; I had failed Bounder altogether. I had been too slow, and I had lost my best friend.
    The ceremony was over. Now the crowd was coming up the hill, following the path marked out by a double row of flaming torches. Folk carried oil lamps and candles in holders. Druids came quietly in their long robes, one or two in white, most in gray or blue, denoting the lower ranks of the order. With them walked serving men and women, farmers and grooms, richly dressed people who were perhaps visitors from the holdings to north and south of Sevenwaters, though the story I had heard about the Disappearance made me wonder how many friends my father still had among the chieftains of the region. There was a woman druid in a girdled robe. There was a group of children running back up the hill, and a little spotted dog doing its best to keep up. And now, moving at a more stately pace, here was my family.
    It was always going to be awkward. The circumstances made it more so: my parents surrounded by their distinguished visitors, the fading light, our arrival a day earlier than expected and at the time of the ritual for Uncle Conor. This must inevitably bring back a host of tangled memories. Best get it over with quickly.
    “Father,” I said, stepping forward as their party came up onto level ground, my father walking with Deirdre’s husband and two druids, my mother and sister in the group just behind them. “You may have seen us ride in. I—”
    There was no need for introductions. There was no need for anything. My father turned chalk white; then a blazing smile lit up his face. Tears glittered in his eyes. He took two strides forward and gathered me into an embrace. I had promised myself I would not weep. In the warmth of his arms, it was a hard promise to keep.
    “Maeve,” Father murmured. “My girl. You’ve come home.”
    By the time he released me, holding me at arm’s length as if to make sure I was real, others had gathered around us and a babble of excited conversation had broken out. Folk had seen us ride in but had assumed we were guests arrived late for the ritual. Here was my mother, hugging me in her turn; here was Deirdre, every inch a fine lady, kissing me on either cheek and introducing me to her husband, Illann, and her two children, each clutching the hand of an attentive nursemaid. Other folk were introduced, guests, attendants, druids. How would I remember all their names? My head was awash with them. A treacherous memory of my chamber at Harrowfield visited me, a chamber situated on the quietest side of that house, with a glazed window looking out over the garden. There had been children in that household, too, and servants, and visitors. But it had been possible to retreat. Everyone had understood my need to be alone.
    “You must be weary, Maeve. Is this your maidservant? Come, we’ll get you indoors at once. The house is quite full with our guests here for Conor’s farewell, but I’ve made sure your old chamber is ready for you.”
    That was my mother, leading me by the arm toward the keep, talking as she went, gesturing to various serving people at the same time. I noted their instant obedience.
    “Thank you, Mother. I am quite tired.”
    Father had been drawn aside by one of the druids, but his eyes were on me. Perhaps he feared I might vanish if he turned away. I managed a smile. Gods, he was exactly the same: his steady gaze, his strong features, his air of quiet control. There were more white threads in his hair now, and he looked tired. That was no surprise, what with the Disappearance and its aftermath. I wondered if he would be prepared to talk to me about such things, as Bran and Liadan had, or whether he might think it inappropriate to discuss matters of blood, death and peril with a daughter.
    “Maeve, you look so well!” Deirdre came up on my other side, a big smile on her face under the pristine veil. A curl of red hair