by Clara Martin
“By the way,” he said, his voice a soft rumble, “your mother and your father are considering a lawsuit against the Department of Homeland Security on your behalf.”
I blinked. “Wait, what?”
He laughed. “They got hold of the original hospital records, Eileen. Dr. Gupta was furious with that judge – that the hospital representative wasn’t present, that you didn’t have a lawyer present. She said it was a complete miscarriage of due process.” Charles paused. “Did nothing about that hearing seem unusual?”he inquired gently.
“Maria had said that they’d talked to the judge,” I said numbly. “And then – well,I was very motivated to go with them.”
“I know,” he said grimly. A muscle ticked in his cheek. “But you remember from your last hospitalization – a lawyer should’ve been there for you and explained your options. A hospital representative should’ve been there to express the hospital’s wishes. It was all highly irregular.”
“So, my mother and father” —
“Your father just got back from Finland. Dr. Gupta got them the records. They filed a lawsuit – I went to the Pentagon and bullied my way through the system until I found out where you were. Though you left me a clue.” He paused. “That text you sent your mother about the Wizard of Oz… You were referencing the Wicked Witch of the West, yes?”
“It was a bit of an obscure reference,” I admitted, “but it was as good as I could get in the moment.”
“I was puzzled,” he admitted, “until I thought about it for a bit – and until my friend confirmed you were in Western Winds. Then it all became clear.” We stopped at my door. “I’m not going to kiss you, Eileen,” he said gently. “I’ve done enough damage for one night.” He turned to go.
“Charles,” I said, my voice catching. He turned around, his eyebrows raised. I leaned in and gently pressed a kiss on his cheek. “That’s all I can manage right now,” I said honestly. “Maybe tomorrow…”
“We’ll go at your pace,” Charles said softly. He caught my hand. “You’re worth waiting for, Eileen. I rushed tonight, and I feel like a monster. I hope you’ll forgive me.” He took my hand and bowed formally over it – shades of Eamon, I thought – and walked away. I watched him go and went into my room.
So tomorrow I would be going home. I couldn’t bring myself to be upset over that. I felt exhausted, strung out, as though Iwere a wire stretched thin. My mind flashed back to the prophecy June had given me: Beware the one who walks in shadow and darkness, the one who brings promises which taste of honey and nectar, who offers succor… Who, I wondered miserably, could it be, and what could it mean? Almost unwillingly, my fingers itched for a paintbrush. Perhaps, when I went home, I would paint. It had brought me such comfort in the hospital.
“Eileen?” Maria’s voice jolted me out of my reverie. She was standing in the doorway, frowning. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” I murmured, walking past her. “Just fine.”
That night, my sleep was once again troubled. I dreamed of Faolain, of his hands. I was back in his room, trapped against his wall, unable to move, unable to fight back, completely in his power. I opened my mouth to scream, and the dream shifted; I was at Fort Stewart, on the lawn, down, surrounded by blood, feeling sharp, blinding pain in my forehead. I woke with a start, panting.
“Eileen?” Maria was staring at me from across the room. “Are you all right?“
“Fine,” I grunted. “Just a bad dream.” I checked my watch: two twenty a.m. “Go back to bed.”
She sighed, rolled over, and promptly fell asleep. I stared, wide-eyed, at the ceiling and stayed that way until morning.
When Maria finally woke, it was in a brittle and ugly mood. “What woke you up?” she snapped. “I hardly got any sleep.”
“Not your concern, thanks,” I snapped back, “or maybe you have something else you’d like to blackmail me with.” She flushed and went silent.
We made our way down to the ballroom, where the embassy members were standing and talking amongst themselves. Charles was speaking with Ambassador Watkins, but as soon as he saw me, he came over.
“Eileen,” he said quietly, “they’ve scheduled a trip home for you today at sixteen hundred hours.” He looked deeply unhappy. “I wanted an earlier time, but –”
“There’s only one technician at headquarters who can operate the Sending machine, Ms. O’Donnell,” Ambassador Watkins added. “We simply couldn’t work out the logistics.”
“I understand,” I said simply. “I’ll just catch up on sleep while I wait.”
Ambassador Watkins nodded and then straightened. “Excellent. Maria will wait with you. In the meantime,” he said, his eyes sweeping over the rest of the embassy, “we must be on our way to the queen’s rising.” He started for the door, and Charles pressed a quick kiss to my cheek before following.
As I watched them go, I sighed. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about being relieved of duty by Charles. On the one hand, it was obvious they only wanted me because of my connection to Eamon. On the other hand, without me, the ambassador would be dead – I thought I’d contributed something vital to the mission. I turned around, musing, and froze. Eamon was standing there quietly.
“Now that they’re gone,” he said by way of greeting, “I have something I need you to do.”
“Absolutely not,” I said flatly. I started towards my room.
“Please, Eileen.”
I froze. I’d never heard him say please.
“This is an extraordinarily important message that I need you to convey to the comte,” Eamon continued, looking serious.
I frowned. “What will you give me?”
He sighed. “I’ll owe you a favor.”
“Any favor.”
“Fine,” he said with ill grace. “Any favor. But this message must be delivered.”
I shrugged. “All right. Let’s go.” I headed towards the door.
“Do you know where you’re going?” Eamon asked delicately,
“Not a clue,” I said cheerfully.
“So, what were you going to do?”
“Head to the palace and try to find the comte there.”
“That’s not…an unsound plan,” Eamon said slowly, “but they’ll all know you saw him there” —
I raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a better idea?”
“No,” he admitted.
“All right, then.” I walked out of the embassy and looked around with a sigh. I guessed I would be walking to the palace. I looked into the distance and saw it on the horizon. Fortunately, it would be easy to stay oriented.
I set out, looking around as I walked; the windows on the carriage were always curtained, and this was my first time seeing the Kingdom of the Western Winds. I passed mansions built in the French style, with airy porches, tall windows, and high arches. I gaped at the gardens and nearly fell over at the graceful sculptures.
“You’re quite appreciative of art,” Eamon commented, watching me closely as we walked. “What did you study at the University of Fair Isle?”
“Oh…psychology,” I said distractedly. “My reserve officer training corps mentor said art would be a waste of time for an Army officer.”
“He was probably right,” Eamon murmured drily. “Art has no place in the Army. Maybe now that you’re out.”
“I’m a little busy right now,” I observed drily, and then I nearly stumbled over my own feet while gaping at a near-perfect replica of Michaelangelo’s David.
“Mademoiselle.” I looked over and saw a young boy, no more than ten, dressed in green and blue, gaping at me. “Mademoiselle, are you all right?” he asked hesitantly.
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “I’m just…talking to myself.”
“Yes, mademoiselle.” He hesitated. “Where are you going?”
“To the palace.” I gestured at it; it was now within shouting distance.
The boy nodded and then leaned in urgently. “Mademo
iselle,” he whispered, “you mustn’t be out. You risk capture.”
“I am a member of the embassy,” I reassured him. “I won’t be captured.”
He looked at me doubtfully but nodded. Then he scampered off, and I continued on. Once I got to the palace, I hesitated. I had no idea where to go from here.
“Mademoiselle?” I looked over. A young girl, perhaps five, stood there dressed in a page’s uniform of green and blue.
“I need to see Comte Matthieu,” I told her.
The page bowed. “This way, mademoiselle,” she said. “Mademoiselle is with the embassy from the United States?”
“I am.”
She lowered her voice. “Maman says that when I am older, we will go to the United States.” She looked around fearfully. “Don’t tell anyone I said so!” she pleaded.
“I won’t. What’s your name?”
“Elena, mademoiselle.”
“Good luck, Elena.”
“Thank you, mademoiselle.” We stopped at a door decorated with gilded peacocks and lilies of the valley. “Comte Matthieu’s rooms, mademoiselle,” Elena announced. She rapped smartly on the door and backed away.
The door opened, and the comte came to the door and peered out with a puzzled look on his face. “Mademoiselle Eileen,” he murmured. “Do come in.” He closed the door and waved me inside. “I had a feeling you would be by, so I dismissed my slaves for the day – I have no wish for our discussion to be witnessed. Will you ask Lord Eamon to come forth?”
Eamon appeared, blazing with gold. “I bring poor tidings, Comte,” he said, his voice clipped. “The king, my father, died last night, and Faolain ascended the throne.”
I gasped, and Eamon looked at me sympathetically. “It is, indeed, bad news.” He paused. “The death was suspicious. The king died choking on his own vomit after being visited by a human slave. She was, of course, tortured and put to death, but she could reveal nothing about how he met his end.”
Comte Matthieu passed his hands over his head. “This is indeed grave news,” he murmured. “The armies?”
Eamon nodded. “They are mobilizing even as we speak,” he said softly. “They are aimed straight at the heartland of the United States, and a call will go out to the Kingdom of the Western Winds to support them. If you are to move, Comte, it must be now.”
The comte hesitated. “Support…”
Eamon nodded. “I have rebel fighters moving to your borders even now.”
The comte sighed. “I have been a loyal subject of my queen for over two hundred years. Until –
Eamon snorted. “My lord,” he said bluntly, “I haven’t forgotten that she had your lady executed for treason.”
The comte’s eyes flashed. “Arianna was innocent,” he said plainly, “and that bitch executed her on no more than a suspicion. And then, of course, we can’t have her allying us with the damn Northern Wild. Very well.” He strode to his window and raised it. Taking out a purple scarf, he fluttered it. A few moments later, there was an answering flutter from the window across the courtyard.
“Mademoiselle Eileen,” he murmured, “I regret that you must stay with me. I must have a direct channel to Lord Eamon, and of course, your fighting skills will not go unappreciated. I have heard what you did to Prince – now King – Faolain.” He reached behind the door, withdrew two swords, and handed me one. “Please, wear it with my compliments.”
I nodded and strapped it around my waist. “So, what now?”
He gave me a grave look and started towards the door. There was a shout from outside. “Now,” he said, flinging it open, “we go to war.”
The page was trembling at her post. Five fae had emerged seemingly from the shadows, armed to the teeth. They were wearing green and blue but with one difference: they had a sprig of rosemary pinned to their doublets. “Rosemary for remembrance,” the comte explained when I glanced at him. “It’s my signet.” He briefly looked pained.
“Right,” I said quickly. I grabbed the page. “Stay behind me,” I ordered her. She nodded obediently and put one small hand on my jacket. “To the queen?” I asked.
“To the queen,” the comte replied. He drew his sword, and the fae fell in. “More are securing the castle,” he said at my look. “I have supporters everywhere.”
“The queen!” There was a yell, and two fae without rosemary ran from a hall with swords raised. Two of our fae turned to meet them; there was a swift clash of swords, and the other fae fell to the floor, dead.
“Well,” the comte said, “so much for the element of surprise. Quickly!”
His pace lengthened, and we strode through the hall. The beautiful paintings seemed almost surreal now, misplaced next to all the violence.
We arrived at the gardens. A phalanx of fae, all wearing rosemary, surrounded it. The comte nodded in satisfaction. “Swift and to the point,” he remarked. “The way a coup ought to operate.” The phalanx parted, allowing us to walk through.
A fae trotted up. “My lord,” he said, saluting. “We have the queen in captivity.”
“Excellent,” the comte murmured. He touched the sword at his side. “The American embassy?”
“They were with her, my lord. They offered no resistance and no aid.”
The comte nodded in satisfaction. “We will soon be receiving reinforcements. Look for men wearing red and black uniforms and with a sprig of rosemary.”
The fae saluted. “As my lord commands.” He turned and walked away.
The comte turned to me. “Let us go and see the queen, then.”
We walked into the palazzo. The ground was covered in blood and strewn with fae body parts. I caught sight of Jacques, the small page boy who’d led us to the queen on the first day, lying dead, and I stopped. I felt Elena’s small hand convulsively clutch my back. I pulled her up next to me and patted her shoulder in comfort.
“Mademoiselle Eileen,” the comte called, “We must go.”
I tore my eyes away from Jacques and gently steered Elena forwards. “Did you know him, Elena?” I asked gently.
“He was my friend,” she said quietly.
“I’m so sorry.” I looked down. She was shaking. I put my arm around her shoulders in comfort.
We rejoined the comte. “Has Lord Eamon said when reinforcements will arrive?” He asked me impatiently.
“No, Comte, he has not,” I said, still feeling unsettled.
He nodded, frowning, and swept into the palazzo. Ambassador Watkins, Charles, and the rest of the embassy were lined up against one wall. The queen was seated on her daybed as though it were a throne, even with a sword held to her throat. Three fae were huddled in a corner.
The comte walked in as though he owned the Palazzo – which, I thought, he did now. He walked up to the queen, smiling stiffly, sheathed his sword, and extended his hand. A ball of blue flame grew in his hand. “Your Majesty,” he murmured and bowed. “Do you remember Arianna?”
“Comte Matthieu,” the comte replied. Her eyes never left his. “I never remember traitors.” She glanced over at us and bared her teeth. “A pity you survived my assassin. That would’ve been all I needed to ignite a war.”
The comte coughed. “Indeed, Your Majesty, but war is something that none of us here in Western Wind want. How could you seek to ally us with the lesser fae of Northern Wild?”
The queen laughed. “You’re so young, Comte. Soon enough, you’ll see the way the winds of change are sweeping.” She settled back on her daybed. “Do it,” she commanded. The comte bowed. “At your command, Your Majesty.”
He launched the blue flame straight at her face. The queen began to slowly burn, starting at her fingertips and toes. I winced as the heat of the flames hit me across the room.
“You condemned my lady to a similar death,” the comte remarked in an even tone. They might have been discussing dinner, I thought dazedly. I pressed Elena’s face into my side so she wouldn’t see. “Your Highness, I hope you feel every – single – iota – of pain that my lady did
in her death.”
The queen opened her mouth. A strangled scream erupted from it.
“My lady didn’t ask for pity, either,” the comte said.
The flames reached the queen’s shoulders and thighs, and the queen truly began to scream then – a loud, piercing wail that seemed to last forever. I saw her face, illuminated by blue flame, disfigured by her last death scream, as, at last, she collapsed into ash. I stared, stunned and horrified, at the remains. Never had I seen such violence.
The comte stood still, staring at the pile of ash, and nodded to the guard. “Send the phalanx throughout the city,” he commanded. “Announce that the queen has tragically died andComte Matthieu reigns as king.” His lips tightened. “And ready the army at the border in the event of an invasion from Northern Sun. Where is Bettine?”
The guard bowed deeply. “My lord,” he said, “Bettine escaped. We believe she is en route to Northern Sun – we are doing all we can to intercept her.”
“She can’t be allowed to escape,” the comte snapped. “She carries all our military secrets with her. Intercept her, and quickly.”
“My lord.” The guard bowed and departed.
The comte – nowking – looked at me next. “Mademoiselle Eileen,” he said, “I owe you a great debt. Name something I may do for you. Anything, and it will be yours.”
I didn’t hesitate. “Give me Elena,” I said, hugging the little girl at my side. “Give me Elena and her mother.”
Theking raised an eyebrow. “The slave?” He laughed. “I should not be surprised. Very well. It is done.” He turned to the embassy. “Ambassador Watkins,” he said formally, “as we agreed, you will recognize my reign as king. I will stand with you in the event of an invasion by Northern Sun. And I ask – should Northern Sun invade me – that you will stand by me as well.”
Ambassador Watkins nodded. “Washington, DC, will accept those terms,” he said without hesitation. I frowned.
“Ambassador, don’t you have to get approval
He frowned at me. “Ms. O’Donnell, leave the diplomacy to the experts,” he snapped. I stopped talking, abashed.
Charles walked over and took my hand. “You asked an excellent question, my heart,” he murmured. “I suspect there’s more to Ambassador Watkins than meets the eye.” His brow creased. “How do you always end up in the middle of the action?” He asked mournfully.
