The Stone of Destiny

by Caroline Logan

  He’s wondering how easy it would be to attack Eilanmòr.

  “Don’t worry,” Harris smiled back at Scarsi, mimicking the delicate way the captain played with his words. “We’ll be doubling the protection of the coastal villages in the future.”

  “Wonderful.” He threw his hands up as if to claim his fears had been assuaged. “Of course, you have your fair share of worries inland too, don’t you? I’d say you have an infestation of fae. Mirandelle could always help you out with that.”

  Angus stepped in now. “Not all of the fair folk are malicious.” He purposefully avoided looking at the selkie beside him.

  Scarsi took his time folding his arms, making a show of his well-defined muscles. “Well, the offer stands if your new king requires it. I’m sure Mirandelle and Eilanmòr could become great allies.” He clapped his hands, making Ailsa jump a little. “Now, come have some deer. Neroni here slayed it this morning.”

  Harris nodded politely but did not smile. “Thank you; you’re very kind.”

  Captain Scarsi was thankfully silent for the next hour. His soldiers were infinitely more pleasing to speak to. They even offered some of their wine, which Ailsa only sipped lest she have a repeat of the headache from the day before.

  Lieutenant DiMarco seemed genuine enough as he asked Harris and Angus about themselves. When he attempted to speak to Ailsa, she glowered at him until he gave up.

  She did not trust these people, even if they seemed friendly. The truce between Mirandelle and Eilanmòr was tenuous at best. Before King Connall had been crowned, the two countries had been at war. Now their visits were… tolerated.

  Why exactly had this regiment come so far north when they were supposed to be escorting their ambassador? Regardless of what Scarsi had said, they’d be idiots to believe his ‘visiting the countryside’ excuse. The question was: what were they scouting for up here? The Avalognians had recently raided a few of their smaller islands; could the Mirandellies be planning an attack on the raiders? The northeast coast of Eilanmòr was a perfect place for them to watch their enemy, but it was also a perfect place to investigate Eilanmòr’s weaknesses.

  Her two companions seemed to be enjoying themselves well enough. Harris was chatting to the Lieutenant while Angus made himself comfortable amongst the regular soldiers. She supposed he was used to them after his brief stint at training camp. She noticed that one man in particular, with long eyelashes and closely shaven stubble, was leaning into Angus as he spoke. A blush crept up Angus’s throat under his intense gaze. The soldier seemed to check himself, leaning back and casting a furtive glance at his captain.

  Content to leave her friends around the campfire, she stretched and rose from the log she had been sitting on. She needed to relieve herself and intended to go a fair distance before doing so, in case any prying eyes followed her.

  As she strode away from the fire, picking her way over fallen branches and clumps of dirt, she pondered their next move. While it was nice to share a meal and some warmth with the soldiers, she’d feel much better if they camped far away, on their own. However, nothing could bring her to camp in an abandoned house in the village. It would feel too much like digging up a fresh grave.

  The glare from the fire dwindled, replaced instead by the soft glow of the crescent moon above. In the darkness, the few stars escaping the cover of light clouds shone brighter, burning like the twinkling lights of a distant village. Her heart ached as she took them in.

  With a heavy sigh, she found a boulder to sink behind, cursing the anatomy of men and how easy this precise task was for them.

  Once finished, she rose, closing the buttons on her trousers. Maybe when she returned, she wouldn’t have to wait long before she convinced Harris and Angus to leave the soldiers behind. After a few days socialising, she felt drained completely of energy. Her mind wandered back to her pristine beach, timeless, untouched and breathtakingly beautiful.

  Soon, she’d be back home.

  She thought of the way Harris had smiled at her that morning.

  Perhaps she would stay in Dunrigh for a bit first.

  As she rounded the boulder, she heard footsteps approaching. Not the dreaded crunch that constantly haunted her whenever she was in a forest, but a slow shuffle against the ground. Cautiously, she peered into the dark as she picked her way across the dewy grass.

  “Nice night for a stroll,” Captain Scarsi’s voice rang out in the dark.

  Chapter 43

  Keeping her back straight, Ailsa continued towards the campfire, until she passed him under a gnarled old tree, just on the edge of the flickering light. Scarsi was leaning against the trunk, his arms crossed over his chest in a relaxed, arrogant, posture.

  “I wouldn’t wander too far,” he grinned, his white teeth flashing in a shadowed face. “You never know who’s going to be out there with you.”

  Ailsa sneered, though she wasn’t sure he could see it. She tried to inject enough hostility into her voice so that he would get the right impression. “I suppose you were coming to protect me?”

  “Just thought I would stretch my legs. I saw that you’d left and I thought you might enjoy some company.”

  “Well, I’m just heading back now.”

  “Stay a little. It’s not often I get to talk to a pretty woman.”

  “Maybe you should have stayed in Mirandelle then,” she growled.

  His grin momentarily dropped from his mouth; he clearly did not like being spoken to like that. His eyes glinted nastily, gliding over Ailsa in appraisal.

  “So, why exactly are you here with those two?” He pointed towards where Harris and Angus were being entertained, his smirk widening. “Or are you with one of them?”

  She gritted her teeth. “No, I’m a soldier.”

  “Sure you are, pet.”

  She squared her shoulders. “I’m actually their bodyguard.”

  “Well,” he drew the word out salaciously, “I’ve got another body you could guard.” Her skin crawled as she felt his eyes creeping across it. She began to stalk back to the ring of logs when he threw an arm out, stopping her path.

  “Oh, don’t be like that. Come on, pet, I’m just being friendly.”

  She turned to face him head on, the stench of sweat and recently consumed wine hitting her fully. “Well, I’m not interested in being your friend.”

  “Ouch, that hurt.” He held a hand over his heart and stepped closer to her, trapping her against another tree. “But you don’t need to be my friend for us to have some fun.” She couldn’t see his features in the dark, but she could hear the leer in his voice. “We’re all alone here.” He released her then, backing up until he was against the old tree behind him. When his heels knocked against the trunk, he slumped down to the ground, stretching out his long legs. “Everyone else is having an enjoyable time, why shouldn’t we? Now be a good girl and come sit on my lap.”

  She pushed off from her tree, coming to stand in front of him.

  “If you were twice as smart, you’d be a fool.” Turning away, she growled in a tone she hoped would end their interaction. “Now back off. I said no.”

  A low, menacing chuckle stopped her in her tracks. “Oh, you actually thought that I wanted you?” He laughed again. “It looks like your face caught fire and someone tried to stamp it out.”

  Ailsa felt her jaw pop open at the insult.

  He leaned forward, regarding her short frame which shook in disbelief and fury. “Ah, I’ve heard that Eilanmòrians believe that mark means you’re a changeling. So, which is it, pet: are you an evil faerie—or are you just ugly?”

  She closed her mouth firmly and marched back to the camp, rage boiling in her stomach.

  His voice called from behind, getting louder as he followed her.

  “Ooh, I think I hit a nerve. Don’t they say that changelings kill their human mothers? Is that what you did?”

  Ailsa wheeled around. “Watch your filthy mouth. I don’t bloody care if you’re a captain or a king, I will
wipe that sneer off your face with my fist.”

  Scarsi smirked, his features fully illuminated by the firelight ahead. “If I’d been her, I would have drowned your ugly little body straight away. Better than living with a parasite,” he spat the word. “Only a simpleton wouldn’t have killed you.”

  “Take that back,” she breathed. Pain and wrath crackled in her veins and ears, making her head pound. A gust of wind whipped her hair across her face and the moon and stars disappeared behind heavy clouds.

  He gazed lazily back at her, surprised but challenging. “Make me.”

  Fury exploded inside her.

  He clearly wasn’t expecting the fist she threw towards him, as it landed square on his jaw, knocking him backwards.

  “Bitch,” growled Scarsi. He pushed himself up, rubbing his jaw and lunged for her.

  He’s a good fighter, Ailsa thought as he aimed a sweeping kick at her legs. She managed to knee him in the nose after he missed, causing him to curse again. He grabbed her other leg yanking her to the ground. Trying to pin her, he pulled his heavy body over hers, but this gave Ailsa the ideal angle to bring her knee up between his legs.

  Hard.

  Scarsi fell to the side moaning and clutching at his groin. While he rocked himself, she used the opportunity to throw another punch at his nose. Nearby, voices were shouting at them to stop, but the blood pounding in her veins drowned them out.

  With a snarl, he grabbed her shoulder and flipped her onto her back, her head bouncing hard off the ground.

  Ailsa cried out at the pain.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  From where she lay on the dirt and grass, she could see that Harris and Angus had finally come to investigate, worry evident on their faces. They’d been followed by the other soldiers, who all looked horrified at their captain.

  Scarsi spat at her feet. “Keep your thoughts to yourself next time, filthy changeling.” He wiped the blood trickling from his nose and turned back to his troop. Scarsi held his arms out wide, victorious—a shadow with glowing eyes—silhouetted against the fire. The soldiers all stared, open-mouthed, at their leader.

  Coughing, Ailsa pulled herself upright. Harris and Angus pushed through the crowd and ran to her. She spotted her axe, leaning against her pack, not a foot away.

  Scarsi’s laughter rang in her ears as she reached for it gingerly and found the handle.

  Standing, she pulled an arm back…

  And released the weapon with a howl.

  It sailed through the air, right towards the back of his head.

  And embedded itself in a tree trunk a hair’s breadth to his left.

  “Well,” croaked Harris, addressing Scarsi, “I guess you’ve had your warning. Clear off before Ailsa really does put her axe in your skull.”

  The captain screwed up his face in a sneer. “She missed.” He was breathing hard and regarding Ailsa with a wild look in his eyes.

  Harris raised his chin. “On purpose. She won’t be so merciful again.”

  Scarsi growled and motioned for his squadron to leave.

  “Oh, and Captain?” Angus yelled at his retreating back. “I look forward to seeing you at my brother’s coronation.”

  Scarsi turned, a look of pure dread in his expression. “What? You’re—”

  “Come on, Captain. We better get out of here,” Lieutenant DiMarco urged his leader.

  With one last look towards where Ailsa was standing, Captain Scarsi strode off, his soldiers following at a distance.

  The silence stretched out as Ailsa stared into the flames of the abandoned fire and said nothing. A hand on her shoulder pulled her from her thoughts.

  “Are you okay?” asked Harris. She couldn’t bear the concern etched on his face.

  “No,” she finally answered, letting her shoulders sink, releasing the pent-up tension.

  “Here, come and lie down,” said Angus “What do you need?”

  “Captain Scarsi’s brains on the ground,” she growled.

  “He’s a complete asshole,” Harris spat. “Probably best you decided not to kill him though, wouldn’t want to start a war.”

  Anger still thundered in Ailsa’s veins, threatening to erupt again. How dare he!

  “I didn’t decide not to kill him.”

  Angus frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I missed,” she ground out, flexing her hands.

  “What?”

  “I missed,” she repeated, staring Angus down. “I wanted to slaughter him. But I missed.”

  “I know you got into a fight, Ailsa, but it was just a stupid argument,” said Angus. “You didn’t actually want to kill him—”

  “You can’t just go around killing everyone who insults you—”

  She rounded on Harris. “He insulted my mother.”

  He folded his arms. “Well, the same applies. Sure, if there’s an Avalognian raider trying to gut us or some bloodthirsty faerie ready to eat us, feel free to bash all the heads in that you like. But Scarsi is just a pretentious scumbag.”

  The ground was starting to wobble beneath her.

  “You don’t know what it’s like.” Waves of dread were lapping at her feet, reminding her they could sweep over and consume her at any moment. “I have had to live my whole life with assholes like that telling me that I should have died, that my mother should have murdered me. People like that just look for any way to knock you down until they’re above you. Until you feel like you wish you had died.” Her breath hiccupped in her throat. “I am so sick of feeling worthless.”

  Silence followed her words, the weight of them crawling over her skin, making her wish she could disappear. Her mind was blank; everything she’d wanted to say had been said and yet she wished she could take it back.

  Both men were statuesque, watching for her next move, no doubt waiting for the next example of her insanity.

  She had told them she wanted to murder someone. Ailsa willed away the heat in her face.

  “I’m going to sleep on the boat. Don’t follow me.”

  Chapter 44

  The girl peeked in the window, staying out of sight. It had become a habit, passing the time between scavenging this way. The children inside were younger than her, still at the age where they didn’t have to help around the house.

  When her mother had died and her brother had been taken, she’d become her own caretaker; the other villagers were too scared of her to visit. She had been surprised to find a basket of food on the porch a few times, but the mysterious donor never made themselves known. It had been full of fruit, dried meats and—best of all—a mini jar of honey. Her stomach rumbled at the memory and she bent over to muffle the sound.

  The children were crowded around an old woman. The scene was familiar, one she had witnessed many times through different windows while journeying. The old matriarchs of each village would tell the children stories designed to entertain and frighten them into behaving.

  Little do they know the stories are true. The grim thought came unsolicited as she pressed herself further towards the heat emerging from the cottage.

  “Have you heard of changelings?” started the old woman. The girl jumped. She half expected the woman to turn and point at her accusingly, but it was merely part of the story.

  The children shook their heads and she continued in a solemn tone. “Faeries like to steal babies. They give them a sickness and if their mothers cannot stay awake, night after night, looking after them, they take the child away, leaving one of their faerie children in the baby’s place.”

  “Why do they want the baby?” asked a freckled boy seated beside the fire.

  “Faeries have to pay a tithe to Hell: one child must be sacrificed to the Underworld. They take a human baby as a sacrifice, while their child remains safe. Faerie mothers are also lazy, so they hope that human mothers will look after the changelings. If the human woman is wise though, she will know it is not her child.”

  “How will she know?”

  “Th
ere is usually a mark on the changeling. If a babe is sick, then suddenly recovers and has the mark, the woman must kill the faerie child. If she does not, the changeling will grow. It will go on to make the other children sick. When it is older, it will discover its faerie powers and kill any humans it meets.” Her voice became serious, a warning. “Changelings are always hungry; the only thing that sates their hunger is the heart of a human.”

  The girl in the window shook her head in disgust. She was getting sick of the stupid superstitions. Although she knew the fae were real, she doubted that changelings were. Since she had been called one all her life, she was sure it was just a story. She certainly didn’t want to eat the hearts of other humans.

  Though, she thought, as she looked through the window, I do want to eat their cake. She’d have to wait until they’d all gone to sleep, then she’d sneak in and take some.

  The matriarch pulled the children closer to her, her face pale in the firelight. “I am telling you all this because this is our reality.” She took a steadying breath, sadness visible on her face. The girl at the window forgot about her rumbling stomach and listened carefully. “I’m afraid that a faerie visited our village last night and took a baby.”

  The children gasped in horror. The woman ran her wrinkled hands over one of their heads, her eyes filling with tears.

  “I’m so sorry, love, but it was your brother.” The boy nodded his head slowly, as if he had already known. Perhaps he had known as soon as she’d begun the story. He couldn’t be more than nine or ten, yet he accepted the death of his sibling without a word. The girl felt prickling in her eyes but she squared her shoulders.

  The old woman sniffed and carried on. “I am warning you because a changeling was left in its place. You may think us cruel,” she straightened, “but we must protect the rest of you.”

  The girl’s heart thudded in her chest and icy fear trickled down her spine. She listened with dread as the woman murmured softly to the children around her.