Son of the Shadows by Juliet Marillier Read Free Book Online Page A

chieftain, might have precious little to go on when required to speak of a peerless beauty. Not surprising, then, that he fixed on the lovely daughter of the house as his model.
    Harmless. I was stupid. The druids would go back to their forest, and Eamonn would return, and he would marry Niamh, and all would be as it should be. As it must be. I'd almost convinced myself, as it drew onto midnight and we made ready to retire to bed. Almost. As I reached the foot of the stairs, candle in hand, I happened to glance across the room, and met the steady gaze of my Uncle Conor. He
    was standing still amid a bustle of people who talked, and laughed, and lit candles from the lamp there, so still he could have been made of stone, but for his eyes.
    Remember, Liadan. It unfolds as it must. Follow your path with courage. That is all any of us can do.
    But
    —
    but
    —
    He had moved away already, and I could no longer touch his thoughts. But I saw Sean turn his head sharply toward me, feeling my confusion without understanding it. It was too much.
    Nameless feelings of ill; sudden bouts of shivering; cryptic warnings of the mind. I wanted my quiet room, and a drink of water, and a good night's sleep. Simple, safe things. I gripped my candleholder, picked up my skirts, and went upstairs to bed.

Chapter Two
    It's quite tricky making a tincture of celandine. The method is simple enough; it's getting the quantities just right that's the problem. My mother showed me how to do it both ways, with fresh leaves and dry, her small, capable hands grinding the dried leaves with mortar and pestle while I shredded the newly gathered ones, placing them in a shallow bowl, covering them barely with a little of the precious brew that was the same Conor had used to bring down the blessing of Brighid on our fields this growing season. I
    followed her instructions, glad I was not one of those who suffered a painful swelling of the skin when working with this particular herb. My mother's hands were smooth and pale, for all her daily labors in the still-room, and delicately made. The only adornment she wore was the ring her husband had crafted for her many long years ago. Today she was clad in an ancient gown that had once been blue, and her long hair was tied back with a plain strip of linen. This gown, this ring, these hands each had their own tale;
    and my mind was on them as I prepared my own bowl of steeping herbs.
    "Good," said Mother, watching me. "I want you to learn this well and be able to apply it with other materials as aptly. This tincture will ease most maladies of the stomach, but it is strong.
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    Use it on your patient but once, or you may do more harm than good. Now lay the muslin cloth over your bowl and put it away carefully. That's it. One and twenty nights let it rest, and then strain it and store it in the dark, corked tight. Such a tincture will keep well for many moons.
    This will see you through the winter."
    "Why don't you sit down for a while, Mother?" The pot was boiling on the small fire; I took down two earthenware cups, opened jars of dried leaves.
    "You're spoiling me, Liadan," she said, smiling, but she did sit down, a slight figure in her old, working dress. The sun streamed in the window behind her, showing me how pale she was. In the strong light, you could see the traces of faded embroidery at the neckline and hem of her gown. Ivy leaves, little flowers, here and there a tiny, winged insect. I poured hot water carefully into each cup.
    "Is this a new mixture?"
    "It is," I said, beginning to clean and tidy away the knives and bowls and implements we had used. "See if you can tell me what's in it." The smell of the herbal infusion was spreading through the cool, dry air of the stillroom.
    Mother sniffed delicately. "There's all-heal—the dried flowers, that must be; there's figwort in it, maybe a touch of Saint-John's-wort as well, and—goldenwood?"
    I found a jar of our best honey and spooned a little into each