by Clara Martin
“Eileen,” she said, looking worried, “It’s four a.m. We have to meet at four thirty – I should’ve woken you earlier. Get up – we need to get you dressed.” She practically pulled me out of bed and began to rustle through my luggage. I watched her, blinking stupidly. She pulled out a skirt and jacket suit combo, a white shirt, and hose and thrust them at me. “Here,” she said. “Change. I’ll do your makeup when you come out.”
“I don’t wear makeup,” I said firmly.
“Eileen, it’ll make you look sharper.”
“Maria, you can blackmail me into joining the mission, and I will; you cannot, however, blackmail me into wearing makeup. I draw the line there.” I grabbed the clothes. “I’ll change,” I said grumpily. Going into the bathroom, I quickly slid into the clothes and came back out. Maria was fussing with her makeup.
“Why do you care?” I asked, watching her. “You’re not a member of the embassy.”
“No, I’m not,” she said, watching me – “I’ll be here at the embassy building all day. But it’s still important that I look good just in case someone important drops by.” She hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t want makeup?”she asked coaxingly, gesturing at the makeup laid out in front of her.
“Positive,” I said firmly. I adjusted the coat. “Let’s go.” I started towards the door. Maria followed, still looking nervous.
The men were gathered in the ballroom, talking quietly amongst themselves. Once more, they went silent when they saw me. I scowled. “Good morning, gentlemen,” I said loudly. “How are you today?” Without waiting for an answer, I swept up to the ambassador. “I’m ready to leave, Ambassador Watkins,” I said coolly.
“We’ll be taking a carriage to the palace,” he said, glancing at his watch. “It should be here just about now. Shall we?”
The carriage outside was magnificent, painted in green and blue and pulled by four great horses. I stared in awe; I’d never seen horses like these. Their manes and tails were silver, and their hair was a light blue. They snorted and stomped in the cool night air.
“They’re beautiful,” I breathed.
“Fae horses,” Jonas said from beside me. “Originally imported from France, where the founder of the Kingdom of the Western Winds came from, but bred to perfection here in the continental Americas. You won’t see anything like them anywhere else in the world.” He caught himself, as though he were being too friendly, and pulled back. I stiffened.
We climbed aboard the carriage. I looked at the interior, full of plush velvet purple, and sank into one of the seats, feeling as though I were being swallowed. “Is this carriage the queen’s?” I asked, looking around. The other diplomats appeared to not be having similar problems. Perks of diplomatic experience, in all likelihood.
“Indeed,” Ambassador Watkins said. “She provides it as a courtesy.” He rapped briskly on the carriage door, and it began to move. I watched, mouth agape.
“The horses need no instruction or carriage driver,” he explained, watching me. “They know when and where to go.” He settled back in his seat and closed his eyes. I turned to look out the window, but the curtains were drawn.
We arrived at the castle about half an hour later. The ambassador gestured, and I obediently dismounted first, looking around with awe. The castle reminded me irresistibly of the Palace of Versailles; its tall, turreted façade faced splendid gardens that stretched all the way down to our carriage.
“Splendid, isn’t it,” the ambassador said from behind me. He surveyed the palace with an approving air. “The queen, when she settled here, imported Louis XV’s architect, Ange-Jacques Gabriel, to design it.”
“A fae queen imported a human architect to copy a human palace?” I was surprised. The ambassador raised his finger. “You should study your history more, Ms. O’Donnell,” he admonished. “The fae often hate us, yes. Despise us, even. But they need us to survive. Read your Yeats, if you have the chance – we long for them, but they long for us, too.” He straightened. “Enough of that. Let’s begin.” He began to walk into the palace.
“The queen,” he explained to me, “keeps her quarters in the Trianon, a small pavilion outside of the palace itself. She prefers to be surrounded by nature.”
I frowned. “How…idiosyncratic.”
The ambassador raised his finger to his lips. “Be careful,” he warned. “Now that we are in the palace, we are almost certainly being watched.Don’t say anything you don’t wish the aqueen herself to hear.” I nodded, abashed.
I stared as we walked, marveling at the marvelous paintings and sculptures. I almost walked into a wall when I saw an original Degas hanging in one corridor. “Is that…?” I blurted out.
“Certainly,” Jonas said without looking. “Keep up, Ms. O’Donnell.”
I nodded, stretching my legs, still trying to look at the artwork out of the corner of my eye as we walked.
At last, the ambassador halted. “Here we wait for a guide,” he announced. “No one may enter her presence unaccompanied.” As he spoke, a young human came out from behind a door and bowed. He was dressed as a page, in green and blue, and carried a large scroll in one hand.
“Ambassador Watkins and embassy?” he asked. Ambassador Watkins nodded regally. The page bowed. “This way, sir.” He led the way down the hall and out into a large courtyard ringed with more gardens. A large pavilion stood at one end.
The page walked to the pavilion and rapped smartly on the door. “Enter!” a commanding voice called out. The page entered and went down on one knee. “Ambassador Watkins and embassy, Your Majesty.”
“Send them in.”
The page rose and, bowing, backed out of the door. He gestured to us and took up a position next to it. Ambassador Watkins straightened and walked in, motioning for us to follow him.
The queen lay on a small white daybed laden with pillows and silken coverlets. Fae crowded around her, all dressed in finery – it reminded me of sixteenth-century France. One fae woman stood attentively at her side, holding a small tray with pieces of orange and a golden cup. “The cupbearer,” Jonas whispered to me, “is Bettine. The queen’s commander. She holds a place of honor.”
The queen had white skin and black hair – blacker than black, as black as Faolain’s eyes. She reminded me of Adaline and Severine, her two children who had tried to kidnap me. I felt a rush of rage and did my best to push it down. Not here, I told myself firmly.
“But your woman is upset, Ambassador,” the queen murmured, pushing herself upright. The woman holding the tray, Bettine, rushed to help, but the queen waved her away. Her eyes glinted in amusement. “What has the Kingdom of the Western Winds done, Ms. O’Donnell, to upset you so?” she asked me directly.
Ambassador Watkins drew in a deep breath. I frowned and chose my words carefully. “Your Majesty, while I don’t believe the Kingdom of the Western Winds had anything to do with it directly, only a few days ago, two women from this kingdom threatened me. One tried to kidnap me. It was… disturbing.”
“Ah, yes.” The queen’s eyes gleamed with merriment. “Our wayward children. Do tell us about it, Ms. O’Donnell; it sounds a most diverting tale.” She waved her hand to proceed.
I took a deep breath and, after a glance at Ambassador Watkins, told the queen how Adaline had forced Sarah – I made a command decision not to mention Sarah by name – to call me from the Unity Shelter, how she’d put everyone but Sarah to sleep and forced me at gunpoint into a car, how I’d driven the car to the police station, daring Adaline to shoot me while driving, how the police had surrounded us, and how a mysterious someone had shot Adaline as she’d been taken into custody.
“Curious,” the queen mused at the end of my story. “We are, of course, delighted that you are unharmed; it is a pity that one of Western Winds would lower themselves to working for Northern Sun or the Northern Wild. But that is, doubtless, what happened.” Her eyes dared me to argue. “But regardless…” she shifted her attention to Ambassador Watkins – “tell me, A
mbassador, what missives have you brought me from Washington, DC?”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Ambassador Watkins said smoothly. He began to speak in a soothing, baritone cadence, and I felt myself drifting.
Beware the one who walks in shadow and darkness, the one who brings promises which taste of honey and nectar, who offers succor… It was an odd time and place to think of it, but somehow, in this golden palace, surrounded by courtiers and politics, it seemed even more relevant. Who would betray me? For that seemed to be what the prophecy was saying. I decisively shook my head. I would not think of it. I could not.
“You disagree with the ambassador, Ms. O’Donnell?” the queen asked, catching me off guard,
“N-no, Your Majesty,” I stammered. “I – I was merely thinking back to a Degas I saw hanging on your palace wall,” I invented wildly, “and what a pity it was that I hadn’t had more time to study it. I apologize. I was drifting.”
The queen smiled. “Not at all. My palace,” she said proudly, “is indeed a place of treasures. Page!”
The page entered and knelt. “Take Ms. O’Donnell to the Degas painting in the palace,” the queen said. She waved her hand. “We are boring her, and I like to have my paintings admired. Go. Return her to her embassy when she is done.”
The page rose and bowed. I cast an agonized look at Ambassador Watkins, who waved me along, no expression on his face, and then I followed the page out of the pavilion. We walked in silence through the gardens before I darted a glance at him.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Jacques, mademoiselle,” he replied, his face blank.
“Jacques. Were you born on this estate?”
“Yes, mademoiselle.”
I sighed, remembering what Eamon had told me about the young slave girl getting in trouble if I spoke to her. “Will you get in trouble for speaking to me?”
He didn’t answer, but a shadow passed over his face. “We’re here, mademoiselle,” he said, stopping in front of the Degas. He stepped politely to one side.
I examined it. It was his Green Dancer – I remembered that much from art history class at the University of Fair Isle. A ballerina in a green tutu posed, caught mid-motion, like a bird in flight or a falling star. “How beautiful,” I murmured.
“It is,” a voice behind me agreed. I whirled, startled. A fae man stood there, smiling gently. He was tall, slender, and blonde, with long hair reaching past his shoulders. He wore the same sixteenth-century French dress as the rest of the court. He took my hand and gracefully bowed over it. “Mademoiselle O’Donnell. I am Matthieu of Western Winds. Comte,” he added indifferently.
I blinked. “It is…a pleasure, comte,” I said slowly.
He laughed. “Of course it is, mademoiselle,” he teased gently. “After all the – negative…experiences you’ve had with the fae! But no. It is a great pleasure for me. I have served as ambassador to the United States before, you see, and enjoyed it greatly. By Her Majesty’s grace, I will be there again, soon.”
“Of course,” I agreed, retrieving my hand.
He smiled again. “Tell me, how are you enjoying Western Winds?”
“It’s beautiful here. The artwork is impressive.”
“So diplomatic!” Matthieu exclaimed. “You do not once mention our slaves – despite the fact that you worked for the Northern Virginia Rescue Association – and you do not mention our kidnappers. You merely praise our art.” He laughed.
I sighed. “What do you want?” Faolain’s face flashed in front of my eyes again, and his hands touched my body. I ruthlessly shoved the flashback away.
“And now,” Matthieu murmured, “we cut to the chase. I’ll visit you tonight in your embassy, mademoiselle. The walls have ears here.” He looked pointedly at Jacques, who stared straight ahead. “But for now, I take my leave.” He bowed over my hand once more and departed.
I blinked. “Well,” I murmured. “That was different.”
“Mademoiselle?” Jacques interrupted respectfully. “Are you ready to return to your embassy?”
“I am. Thank you, Jacques,” I said gratefully. “Do you know where they are?”
“I believe they’re heading back to your carriage, mademoiselle.”
We walked in silence to the carriage, where he left me with a bow. I opened the door and climbed in to find the rest of the embassy waiting.
“Ah, Ms. O’Donnell.” Jonas propped his head on his hand. “How was the Degas?” Paul smirked.
“I had an interesting encounter,” I said, ignoring him. I relayed the meeting with Matthieu. Ambassador Watkins leaned in, looking intrigued.
“He’s coming to the embassy, you say? Did he say what time?” I shook my head. “We must be ready for him, then,” he said decisively. “Very well. Ms. O’Donnell, when we return to the embassy, your job is done – you may return to your room. Perhaps you should nap; it was a very early morning. Jonas, Paul, Gavin, I need to see you three.”
Stung, I leaned back into the plushness. “Why can’t I sit in? I am part of this embassy –“
“We need to discuss high-level business you’re not cleared for,” Jonas said, cutting me off. “Sleep and be grateful,” he added a touch more kindly. “We will meet again later, all of us, and we’ll need you – and Lord Eamon. First, though, we’ve been invited on a tour conducted by Bettine.” I looked up, surprised.
The carriage stopped moving. Ambassador Watkins frowned. “That’s odd,” he commented. “We can’t possibly be there yet –”
The door opened, and a human man, a scarf over his face, burst in. He clutched a sword in his hand. Without a word, he dove straight at the ambassador. The ambassador jumped back, startled. I jumped forward, kneeing the assassin in the gut as he dove past me and bringing my fist down on his neck. The assassin bent over, retching; I grabbed his wrist and wrenched it to the side, forcing him to drop the sword. I forced him to the ground and put my knee in his back.
“I say!” Jonas said, sounding shaken. “Eileen, are you all right?” He put his hand on my shoulder. Gavin and Paul were both tending to the ambassador, who was on his knees and taking deep, calming breaths.
“Fine,” I said, my voice steady. I felt numb, as though Iwere encased in crystal. I looked over at Ambassador Watkins. “Sir? Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he said, his voice a little higher than normal. He came to his feet and peered at the assassin. “Is he dead?”
“No.” The assassin twitched under me. “He’s unconscious but still alive.”
“Excellent.” Ambassador Watkins took one last deep breath and then twitched his coat straight. “We need to take him back to the embassy…Harry will deal with him. Ms. O’Donnell – Eileen – are you all right holding him?”
“I am, sir.”
“All right, then.” He rapped the wall of the carriage, and it jolted forward. “I wonder why it stopped,” he muttered.
I knelt on the assassin for the entire ride back to the embassy. There was nothing to tie him up with – we scoured the carriage, but not even the curtains had ties. The assassin remained unconscious. We arrived at the embassy; I heaved him up in a fireman’s carry and carried him out. Jonas, Paul, Gavin, and the ambassador walked ahead.
“Harry?” Ambassador Watkins called once we entered the ballroom. “We had a situation…”
“Oh, Ambassador,” Harry said, sounding jovial. “We have a new addition to the staff. He comes on orders of the Pentagon.”
I rounded the corner and looked up, and I almost dropped the assassin on the floor. Charles stood there looking dark and grim. He was wearing the same well-cut suit from my dream.
“Charles,” I breathed.
He said nothing, but his eyes flicked over me, taking in my suit, my makeup-less face, the assassin flung over my shoulders. “Harry,” he said sharply, “why don’t you handle that?” He gestured at the assassin on my shoulders.
“Oh – of course,” Harry said, sounding surprised. “Bit of trouble, h
mm?” he asked me, taking the assassin from me.
I shrugged.
“Why didn’t one of you great men carry this hulking assassin instead of leaving it for the lady here?” Harry asked the embassy staff, sounding genuinely puzzled. They looked at each other, slightly embarrassed, and began to murmur. I looked at Charles, and I gulped. A smirk was twisting his lips, and his hands were clenched in fists.
“If you all are finished,” he said silkily, “I need to – speak – with your – intelligence analyst – here.” He laid gentle emphasis on speak and intelligence analyst. He strode over to me, a stride that reminded me of a hunting cat, and clasped my arm. It was like a handcuff had clicked over it again; no matter how much I struggled, I would be unable to escape. I stared at his hand and felt a sense of creeping finality come over me. It was a strange sensation, like concrete had been poured over me. I shifted uncomfortabl.
“I am Charles Talbot – your new intelligence analyst. Eileen O’Donnell has been relieved of duty.”
I stared at him, stunned. He stared back and lifted an eyebrow in challenge.
“What –“ Jonas began.
Charles cut him off. “Any questions can, of course, be taken up with the Pentagon. But Eileen will be going home tonight.”
“That’s not possible,” Ambassador Watkins said. “We need her here.”
“Not for her analytical abilities, certainly,” Charles snapped. “She’s smart, but so am I.”
“Mr. Talbot, we need her here for her bond –”
“Her bond with Lord Eamon, yes.” Charles didn’t look at me, but his grip on my arm tightened. “I was informed about that yesterday,” he said silkily. “It’s immaterial. You have what you want from Lord Eamon. You don’t need her anymore.”
Ambassador Watkins looked at me. “Ms. O’Donnell,” he said gravely, “do you have anything to say here?”
“Charles,” I said urgently, “Charles, I need to be here.” Tears stung my eyes. “You don’t understand –”
