A Dance with Fate Read online

  PRAISE FOR

  The Harp of Kings

  “This big-hearted novel completely transported me to the wonder and enchantment of ancient Ireland—and its resonance lingered long after the final page.”

  —Callie Bates, author of The Soul of Power

  “Breathtaking, often heartbreaking. . . . This lush fantasy is sure to win Marillier many new fans.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “A cast of characters that will not be forgotten. . . . A must-read for any fan of fairy-tale lore and historical fantasy.”

  —Booklist

  “Lush world-building and well-rounded characters.”

  —Library Journal

  “Marillier’s enchanting characters, immersive details, and truly stunning prose have all helped crown her an undisputed queen of the fantasy genre. The Harp of Kings is no different; readers new and returning will be undoubtedly captivated by Marillier’s newest tale.”

  —BookPage

  “Juliet Marillier is a master storyteller.”

  —Books of My Heart

  PRAISE FOR JULIET MARILLIER AND HER FANTASY NOVELS

  “An enchanting tale.”

  —Jacqueline Carey, New York Times bestselling author of Starless

  “A fabulous read, a rich tale that resonates of deepest myth.”

  —Kristen Britain, New York Times bestselling author of the Green Rider series

  “A simply gorgeous story with wonderful, intriguing, and complex characters.”

  —Karen Brooks, author of The Chocolate Maker’s Wife

  “Utter perfection.”

  —The BiblioSanctum

  “Enchanting and haunting. . . . Rich and incredible. Marillier has the world-building down to a science!”

  —The Eater of Books!

  Also by Juliet Marillier

  The Warrior Bards Novels

  THE HARP OF KINGS

  The Blackthorn & Grim Novels

  DREAMER’S POOL

  TOWER OF THORNS

  DEN OF WOLVES

  The Sevenwaters Novels

  DAUGHTER OF THE FOREST

  SON OF THE SHADOWS

  CHILD OF THE PROPHECY

  HEIR TO SEVENWATERS

  SEER OF SEVENWATERS

  FLAME OF SEVENWATERS

  The Light Isles Novels

  WOLFSKIN

  FOXMASK

  The Bridei Chronicles

  THE DARK MIRROR

  BLADE OF FORTRIU

  THE WELL OF SHADES

  HEART’S BLOOD

  PRICKLE MOON

  For Young Adults

  The Wildwood Novels

  WILDWOOD DANCING

  CYBELE’S SECRET

  The Shadowfell Novels

  SHADOWFELL

  RAVEN FLIGHT

  THE CALLER

  BEAUTIFUL

  ACE

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  penguinrandomhouse.com

  Copyright © 2020 by Juliet Marillier

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  ACE is a registered trademark and the A colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Marillier, Juliet, author.

  Title: A dance with fate / Juliet Marillier.

  Description: First Edition. | New York: Ace, 2020. | Series: Warrior bards

  Identifiers: LCCN 2020011381 (print) | LCCN 2020011382 (ebook) | ISBN 9780451492807 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780451492814 (ebook)

  Subjects: GSAFD: Fantasy fiction.

  Classification: LCC PR9619.3.M26755 D35 2020 (print) | LCC PR9619.3.M26755 (ebook) | DDC 823/.914—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020011381

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020011382

  First Edition: September 2020

  Cover illustration by Mélanie Delon

  Cover design by Adam Auerbach

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  pid_prh_5.6.0_c0_r0

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Praise for Juliet Marillier

  Also by Juliet Marillier

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Character List

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To the dogs I’ve loved and lost,

  especially Harry, Zen, and Fergal

  CHARACTER LIST

  Pronunciations are provided for the more difficult names. Note: kh is a soft guttural sound, as in the Scottish loch.

  SWAN ISLAND

  Liobhan (lee-von)

  Brocc

  Dau (rhymes with now)

  Archu (ar-khoo)

  Cionnaola (kin-eh-la)

  Brigid (breed)

  Illann

  Cuan

  Haki

  Eabha (eh-va)

  Fergus: resident healer

  Criodan: island druid

  Guss

  Hrothgar

  Yann

  Garbh (gorv)

  Eimear (ee-mer)

  Deirdre: herbalist in mainland settlement

  Jabir: Moorish healer

  Saran: lawman from the court of Dalriada

  Gáeth: steward at a house on the way to Oakhill

  OAKHILL

&
nbsp; Lord Scannal: Dau’s father, chieftain

  Seanan: Dau’s eldest brother

  Ruarc: Dau’s second brother

  Beanón (ban-ohn): Lord Scannal’s lawman

  Naithí (no-hi): Lord Scannal’s councilor

  Ardgan: Seanan’s body servant

  Gobán: Lord Scannal’s body servant

  Ultán: Seanan’s henchman

  Donn: man-at-arms

  Canagan: man-at-arms

  Morann: man-at-arms

  Fergal: master-at-arms

  Iarla: steward

  Torna: former steward, now deceased

  Berrach: one of Seanan’s men

  Padraig: stable hand

  Caol (kehl): stable hand

  Torcan: stable hand

  Fionn: head farrier

  Íonait (ee-nit): Fionn’s wife, assistant cook

  Mongan: stable master

  Corb: kitchen hand

  Niall: in charge of wall-mending crew

  Miach (mee-akh): household herbalist

  Lughan: groom

  Tomas: groom

  Davan: crippled man in Liobhan’s story

  Flannat: beautiful girl in Liobhan’s story

  Cian: a musician

  Master Fiachna: scribe

  ST. PADRAIG’S

  Brother Íobhar (ee-var)

  Brother Petrán: infirmarian

  Brother Pól: assistant infirmarian

  Brother Martán: apothecary/herbalist

  Father Eláir: prior

  Brother Máedóc: formerly a lawman

  FAIRWOOD

  Lord Ross: chieftain

  Cormac: his son

  Sárnait (sar-nit): his daughter

  OTHERWORLD

  Brocc

  Eirne (ehr-nyeh)

  Rowan

  Nightshade

  Gentle-Foot

  Moth-Weed

  Thistle-Coat

  True (Elouan)

  Nimble-Swift

  Moon-Fleet

  Conmael

  OTHER CHARACTERS MENTIONED BY NAME

  Blackthorn: a wisewoman, mother of Liobhan, Brocc, and Galen

  Grim: father of Liobhan, Brocc, and Galen

  Galen: their elder son, body servant and minder to Prince Aolu

  Aolu (eh-loo): crown prince of Dalriada

  Oran: king of Dalriada, father of Aolu

  Faelan: king of Breifne

  Juniper: a wisewoman

  1

  LIOBHAN

  It’s a glorious day. The sun is warm, the clouds are high puffs of white, the sea is as calm as it ever gets around Swan Island. We’re sitting on the bench seats at the combat area, tingling with anticipation, knowing today’s celebration marks the end of many months of grueling work. Work that we’ve loved and hated. Work that has tried us to the edge of our endurance and stretched us to the furthest bounds of our ability—though, as Archu has told us, in a crisis you can always find a bit more to give. Work that has forged not only four warriors fit to join the island’s permanent force, but also four true friends.

  They don’t choose many. When we started training there were twenty in our group. Fifteen went home. My brother Brocc was lost on our first mission. Not dead; gone to the Otherworld, in a strange and baffling series of events. I miss him every day. I think of him every time I sing. I’m afraid he will never come back.

  “All right?” murmurs Dau, who’s sitting beside me.

  “Fine.” I sound sharp, but I can’t help it. I so wish Brocc was here with us, enjoying this day, sharing our success. “Look, there they are!”

  We jump to our feet, shouting encouragement as our fellow trainees walk out onto the combat ground, staves in hand. They have the next display bout, then it’s Dau and me. We’re well warmed up, ready to go, but we’re not going to miss watching Hrothgar and Yann show their talents. A great noise goes up, the voices of every resident of Swan Island cheering the combatants. There’s nobody off on a mission at present, so there’s a crowd of nearly sixty watching: fighters, trainers, the folk who support the work of the island, and the elders: Cionnaola, our leader; Archu, our chief combat trainer; Brigid and Eabha and Haki and the others. They’re the best of the best. Those lucky enough—and talented enough—to be trained here are highly sought after when kings and chieftains need a task completed that’s beyond the ability of their own men-at-arms. Or their own spies, if they have them. Sometimes our missions fall somewhat outside the rules of law. We do covert work. Secret work. That’s why we live and train in such an isolated place. It’s why few outsiders come here. And it’s why the training period is so long. They’ve not only been testing our physical skills, they’ve been making sure we’re trustworthy. Making sure we won’t crack under torture. And making sure we can think for ourselves. It’s unusual for them to take four new fighters at once. We know how lucky we are. And we know we’ve earned it.

  Hrothgar and Yann enter the combat space. The field edge is marked by a circle of rope laid on the ground. The combatants halt, facing the elders, and with staves held upright they bow. Cionnaola gives a grave nod of acknowledgment. The crowd is quiet now.

  “Three coppers on Hrothgar,” whispers Dau in my ear.

  “Done.” Hrothgar, a Norseman, is taller and broader than Yann. But the Armorican has a talent for deception. That makes him dangerous. Yann’s beaten me once or twice, using that skill, and I know it’s a mistake to underestimate him.

  The two turn to face each other and bow again. They assume a fighting pose, staff gripped in both hands, one near the end, one partway up the shaft. They move about, backward and forward, jabbing in turn, each looking for an opening. Both men wear protective leather helms—those things get hot as an oven and you end up with sweat obscuring your vision, but for this sort of fight you need them—and padded jerkins over their trousers and tunics.

  “Wait for it, wait for it,” murmurs Dau. “Ah!” as Yann loses patience and rushes forward. His intention is clear: to knock aside Hrothgar’s staff, then jab his own toward the other man’s midriff. But he’s not quick enough; the end of Hrothgar’s weapon strikes Yann’s arm hard. I know what that does: your fingers go numb for long, precious moments. Yann skips back out of reach, winces, shaking his hand, flexing his fingers.

  “Playactor,” mutters Dau.

  I can’t argue. When Yann grips his staff again, he’s moved his hands; now they’re a handspan further along. This will place the staff slightly further away from Hrothgar than before. Yann’s used his own error to his advantage. And now, under cover of a momentary hesitation, he puts one foot forward but leans his upper body back. “Clever,” I murmur.

  Hrothgar thrusts high to low, aiming for his opponent’s chest. If Yann hadn’t tricked him, this would be a bout-ending move. But Yann is closer than Hrothgar expected. The Armorican shifts his weight to the front foot and slides his staff through his front hand straight into Hrothgar’s chest, between the lower ribs. Hrothgar folds. He can’t breathe. His hand goes up in the gesture, I yield.

  The crowd roars. Yann steps back, waits for his opponent to catch his breath—it takes a while—then stands beside Hrothgar again as they acknowledge the applause.

  Dau and I don’t wait to see them walk off. It’s our bout now. The last of the day; an unarmed combat, best of three rounds.

  “Can’t bet on this one,” says Dau with a crooked smile as we make our way down to the combat area, where someone is raking the ground, getting it ready for us. Folk do have a habit of throwing things when they get excited. Dust rises around the rake.

  “But if you could, you’d bet on yourself to win, no doubt.”

  “No doubt. I’d wish you good luck, but I want Bran’s Blade, so I won’t.”

  “Skill beats luck,” I tell him, pausing to put on my helm. G
ods, I hate these things! They get even hotter when you have a lot of hair to squash in, as I do. I’ve been tempted to cut my hair short, but when I’m not fighting I’m a musician, and the long hair feels right when I dress up to perform. And useful when I’m working under cover and needing to look more like an ordinary woman and less like a Swan Island warrior.

  At a gesture from Archu, Dau and I walk together into the combat space, where all is now in readiness. Folk cheer and shout as we go; this is a joyful day not only for us but for the whole community. A special day. Bran’s Blade is displayed on a cushion, next to Cionnaola. It will be awarded to the most outstanding fighter, not only of today but of the whole training period. It’s an old, well-kept dagger, beautifully balanced, of plain design apart from the tiny image of a bee in flight carved on the oak hilt. This weapon is said to have belonged to the man who founded Swan Island long ago, a man who was called an outlaw but who showed great heart, spirit, and generosity to his fighting team. His son and his grandson were in their turn part of the island community, and there are descendants of that original crew still among us. Nobody gets to keep Bran’s Blade forever. One of us will be given it today, to look after and to use until a new custodian earns the privilege through some act of outstanding valor or skill. A training and testing period such as the one that saw me and my three comrades win places on the island happens only rarely. It’s more usual for fighters to join the community one at a time, each coming here by his or her own path. You have to be capable. You have to be skilled. And you need the right attitude. I thought Dau lacked that when I first met him. His manner was arrogant, scornful, aloof, as you might expect from a chieftain’s son. The mission changed my opinion. It changed both of us. But the old rivalry still remains. We both want Bran’s Blade. We both want to be the best.

  We salute the elders, bow to Cionnaola, position ourselves within the rope guideline.

  “Three rounds,” calls out Archu, informing the crowd of what we already know. “Win two and you’re the victor. Set foot outside the boundary and you lose that round immediately. No eye gouging. No groin strikes. Remember it’s a display bout, not a fight to the death. Break those rules and you’ll not only forfeit the fight, you’ll be emptying privies and hauling goods up from the ferry for a good long while. Understood?”