The Faeries' Harp

8: Privilege

“I’m sorry. What?!” Rhys asks Saoirse, unable to believe what he’s just heard.

“I don’t want to repeat it. I hate being associated with that terrible man,” Saoirse replies irritably. Her face and tone are earnest, but Rhys still feels betrayed. Not only does his new companion come from money, she’s the blood of the man who has made life so difficult for him and his entire village.

“You’re his daughter. You had everything, a comfortable life, and you just…left? For freedom?” He shakes his head, unable to comprehend this idea. “No. This has been a trick, a trap, some scheme so that Lord Rioghnan can swoop down on my mother and take what little we have left—”

“Under no circumstances would I ever consent to help with such a thing!” Saoirse exclaims vehemently. “And how can you suggest…. You know I was just as baffled as you were, to wind up in…whatever this place is from that forest! How could I have—”

“I don’t know! But to me there’s no sense in you running away from wealth and comfort, three square meals a day—”

“I wasn’t running from any of those things, exactly. Lord Rioghnan has been trying to marry me off to the richest man who will have me, with no real regard for my wishes or the man’s age or anything, and I…. I could not stay. Not for comfort, not for my friends, not for anything.”

“You’ve never gone to bed hungry, never had the debt collectors at your door. You have no idea what it’s like to suffer.”

“Maybe not, in the way you have. I know Lord Rioghnan has been beyond cruel and exploitative to all the villages in his domain. I have tried to help, how and where I could, ever since I was old enough to see and understand what he was doing. I would steal his coin and take Bergljot out to one village or another and just give the money to children, widows, the elderly. I would ask around and pay off debts, when I found them.”

“Really?” Rhys is clearly skeptical, but there’s something in her voice that makes him want to believe her.

Saoirse nods. “Until Lord Rioghnan found out, and confined me to his estate. All the staff were under strict orders not to let me leave. They’d all be punished if he found I was out giving his money away again. The marriage business started shortly thereafter.”

“And you didn’t try to sneak out?”

“The staff are my friends. I didn’t want them to be punished. I tried a couple times, but after seeing the stable boy who’d let me out beaten and sent home without his pay…. I decided it wasn’t worth it.”

“Until now.”

“He said some horrible things last night. Vivica and Marianne understood, helped me slip out. They’re all meant to say, when he asks for me, that they’ve just seen me on my way to someplace else on the estate, and it’s large enough that that should last awhile. Long enough for him to not be sure when I actually disappeared or who might have helped me. I hope that’s enough to protect them. I feel terrible, but I couldn’t….” She shakes her head as her voice fades away and a few tears slide down her cheeks.

Guilt stabs at Rhys’s insides. He still isn’t sure whether he can trust her, but he never meant to make her cry.

“I…I didn’t know.”

“I know. I didn’t want you to know, didn’t see any reason…. It’s always the same, when villagers find out who I am. Either they distrust me because of Lord Rioghnan, or they’re asking for favors, money, and so on. The chance to be someone else, to have a friend who wasn’t also a servant, to start fresh…. Can you not see the appeal?”

Rhys looks away. He had stopped eating when he realized who she was and where the food must have come from, but now he resumes consuming his breakfast, slowly and pensively.

Saoirse takes this as some kind of understanding, or at least, an ebbing in condemnation. As she calms down a bit, she hears the voices in the trees again, closer than ever, and they do not sound entirely friendly. For the first time since they arrived, she also feels like they’re being watched.

“Rhys. Do you hear them? They’ve changed, somehow,” she whispers, their argument forgotten.

“What does it matter?” he questions.

“We don’t know where we are. We don’t know who or what else is here. I feel like we’re being watched. Does that not concern you?”

Now that she’s mentioned it, Rhys also shares her concerns. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle against his shirt.

“A bit. What do you suggest?”

“Let’s both get on Bergljot and ride as fast as we can.”

“That can’t be very fast. I’ve never ridden before—”

“Just hold onto me. Bergljot and I are good riding partners. We’ll take care of you.”

“You’d permit a commoner—”

“Will you stop that? I’m not that kind of person. Character is far more important than social standing. And besides, I think we have more pressing matters to worry about. If whoever’s watching us has ill intentions, do you want to place all your bets on outrunning them on foot?”

Rhys is paralyzed with indecision for a moment. Bergljot stamps impatiently; the horse also seems uneasy and has stopped eating her own breakfast.

“All right. I’ll try it,” Rhys relents.

“Good. Let’s go, before they get any closer,” Saoirse urges. She swings herself into Bergljot’s saddle again with an ease that both astounds Rhys and makes him envious. He knows he will not be so graceful. However, Saoirse doesn’t show the slightest hint of judging him as she helps pull him onto Bergljot’s back behind her.

“Hold on tight,” she instructs him, physically placing his arms around her waist when he hesitates. “With your legs as well as your arms. That helps you stay on the horse.” With that, she gently taps Bergljot’s flanks with her heels. The dapple-grey mare needs no further encouragement and springs forward, nearly unseating Rhys before the ride has properly begun and thereby terminating his uncertainty about holding onto Saoirse for dear life as Bergljot canters down the dirt path, hopefully taking them away from whoever or whatever has been watching them.