The Raven Lady

by Sharon Lynn Fisher

  He frowned. “Out of the castle, you mean?”

  “Aye. They come and go like birds.” Despite the fact the Faery version of Knock Ma had asserted itself in Ireland, the fairies appeared still able to flit between worlds—and it was maddening. “Knock Ma is a fortress, and the first line of defense should our enemies come calling. I don’t know how I am to secure it when there are all manner of creatures popping in and out of Faery, tramping through corridors, tripping the guards, and pulling the servants’ ears. It’s like the passengers are swinging in the rigging.”

  “I understand,” he replied. “You wish Knock Ma to be emptied of fairy folk.”

  “Not all. The woodland fairies—the firglas—they are steady, and handy to have about. Good fighters. I know they served as the castle guard in the time of my predecessor, and I intend to carry on with that tradition. I must rely on your experience with the others. If turning them out will cause trouble, we will have to find another way.”

  Doro studied me a moment, and I wondered what he was thinking. Where were his loyalties? Finally he said, “Depend on me, sire. I will relay your wishes to the fairies. Then I can cast a boundary spell around the castle and grounds to ensure your wishes are respected.”

  “Very good,” I agreed, relieved.

  “What of our guest?” he asked. “Do you intend for the Elf King’s daughter to attend the masquerade?”

  I tried to read his opinion on the matter, but his expression, as always, was respectfully neutral. “She may come if she likes,” I said. “I don’t see any harm in it, and I don’t wish her to feel that she’s a prisoner. In fact, I will speak to her about it myself.”

  The servant nodded. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Your Majesty?”

  “That will be all for now, Doro. Thank you.”

  He bowed and left the study.

  I wished I had consulted him earlier. I was completely out of my depth. It was a feeling I was unaccustomed to, and it didn’t sit well. I had absorbed much from my ancestor, the original King Finvara, but I had not become him. I had his knowledge of magic, but beyond the simplest spells, wielding that magic required trial and error. I could wield a sword as he could, but I had learned that art at sea—mostly to remedy boredom, as pistols and daggers were far more practical. When it came to the history and workings of this place I now called home, the memories were there, but they came to me in unorganized fragments. Many of his memories, though mightily entertaining (truly his exploits were legendary), were completely useless.

  The competence of the fairy steward was a great relief.

  Koli

  Not yet ready for sleep, I spent some time putting away the rest of my things. The pile of new gowns—which I had barely glanced at before handing them over to Sorcha, my maid—were safely stowed in the wardrobe. Everything ornamental that had been given to me before the journey, including a number of glittering pieces of jewelry that had belonged to an elven relation, the maid had tucked away in a box on the vanity—and there they would stay. I took my fox-fur-lined hunting boots out of the trunk and set them next to the wardrobe, and I placed my folded archer’s dress on top of the stack of gowns. Finally, I drew out a raven feather as long as my forearm, and ran my fingers along its edge before setting it on the bedside table. It had belonged to the chief of the raven family that lived at Skaddafjall—a bird that I had come to know, and that had sometimes followed me on hunting trips. Next to the feather, I placed a glittering, fist-sized hunk of white spar that my mother had found when she was a child.

  After that I sat, staring into the fire. It had been a strange day, none of it anything like what I had anticipated. I had never imagined the king would insult me so brazenly as to forget me. Neither had I expected to find him so congenial as I had at dinner. Was it possible that both had been contrived to befuddle me? Contrived or not, I was indeed befuddled.

  Sighing, I rose from my seat by the fire and wandered back to the grandfather clock, determined to understand it better—as well as to distract my mind from questions I could not yet hope to answer.

  I opened the cabinet, and again I tried and failed to feel the back wall, which should have rested perhaps eight inches beyond the opening. After a moment’s consideration, I lifted one foot and stepped slowly into the blackness. The opening was wide enough to admit me, but I had to duck my head.

  Too late I realized what should have been obvious—if there was no back wall, there might also be no floor. With no place for my foot to land, I pitched forward, falling into the clock with a startled shout. I found myself flailing in a starry darkness. My body spun as I tried to catch the edges of the cabinet, but I had drifted away from it. I could still see my chamber, as if through a window in the backdrop of stars. I lunged toward it but managed only to drift further away.

  “Friend in darkness,” I murmured in my native language, and a cool flame sprouted over the palm of my hand. There was nothing in this void to illuminate, but casting the familiar spell helped to ease my panic.

  “Koli Alfdóttir.”

  The nearby voice so startled me that my arms flailed again, spinning me around. I saw another window in the black, this one filled by the face of a stranger. He reached through the opening and said, “I’ve got you.”

  The fact he was a stranger did not stop me from grasping his hand and holding on as if my life depended on it. I felt myself hauled through the emptiness until finally I tumbled onto a hard surface. Another hand closed over my arm, and I jumped quickly to my feet, jerking away.

  “Who are you?” I demanded.

  He bowed. “My name is Far Dorocha.”

  I stared, uncomprehending. My Irish was far from perfect, but it had sounded like “dark man.”

  “Far . . .?”

  “A mouthful, I realize. The fairy queen always called me ‘Doro,’ and you may do the same if you like.”

  “You’re a fairy?” I asked, casting a wary glance around me. We were standing on the deck of a ship, surrounded on all sides by stars—except for directly above us, where the opening of a rocky cavern gaped like another window in the darkness. The cavern appeared in fact to be a tunnel, and an indistinct brightness winked at the far end of it. “Are we in Faery?”

  “This is the Gap,” replied the man. “The void between Faery and Ireland. You are on my vessel, Black Swan.”

  I noticed now that his ship was similar to the one floating in the sky over Knock Ma. Only it was much smaller, had no balloon, and its figurehead was a swan.

  “How do you know who I am?” I demanded. He was a luminous creature, and more like I’d imagined Finvara before our actual meeting—fair features, silver hair, and light eyes. He was smartly dressed in a dark wool suit with silver buttons that gleamed dully in the lamplight. Were he mortal, I would have judged him to be no more than thirty, but I suspected that he was not.

  “I know who you are for two reasons,” he replied, switching from Irish to English. “I have always served as the personal steward of the fairy queen, and though that title is currently unclaimed, I remain in the thrall of the fairy king, Finvara.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Then you must know that I now reside at Knock Ma. Can you help me to return?”

  Something knowing and amused glinted in his gaze. “Why would you want to return to a man who has made you a prisoner?”

  “It is not the man,” I said shortly. “And I am no prisoner. There is an agreement between the man and my father. I am duty bound. If you know me, as you say you do, you would know that as well.”

  He folded his arms. “And so I do. Will it surprise you to hear I also know your father? The second of the two reasons that I know who you are.”

  I stared at him, and again felt the mark between my shoulder blades tingle. “It would surprise me,” I replied. “In fact, I’m not sure that I would believe it.”

  He smiled, and something ab
out it made me shiver. “I don’t blame you,” he said. “Regardless, I will certainly return you to Knock Ma—after I explain why I’ve brought you here. Will that help to allay your fears?”

  “I am not frightened,” I replied, glaring. “And if you have brought me here, you had better tell me why without delay.”

  “Forgive me,” he said with a bow of his head. “I meant no insult. Perhaps I mistook the appearance of these dark guardians. It’s a keen bit of magic, conjuring them in this place. It suggests there is more to you than meets the eye.”

  Turning to follow his gaze, I discovered four ravens perched on the railing behind me, watching him with their intelligent eyes. I had not knowingly conjured them, but there was no need for him to know that.

  “What is your business with my father?” I asked.

  “You, in fact,” he replied.

  I stiffened in wariness. “I don’t understand.”

  “It will require some explaining.” He stepped closer to me, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. His fair features were accompanied by a serenely confident demeanor, but there was nothing dull about him. His gaze was arch and intense. His hair was pulled back rather severely, emphasizing the angular lines of his face.

  “You see, your father and I are allies.”

  I frowned. “Did you not say you serve King Finvara?”

  “I have two masters, but only one of them do I truly serve. I have vowed to take Knock Ma—and its kingship—and join with your father in conquering Ireland.”

  After this outlandish statement, I could only stare at him.

  “Conquering Ireland,” I repeated.

  He nodded. “Finvara has allied himself with the Irish—with mortals. I call it foolish.”

  “He is Irish himself,” I reminded him. “Also, the Irish and the fairies fought side by side at Ben Bulben.”

  “Ireland’s fairy folk are more natural allies of your kinsmen—the elves and the other Hidden Folk—than they are of the Irish. The present King Finvara is too thoroughly an Irishman to ever see it this way.”

  Could this fairy really be an ally of my father, or was it a kind of trap or test of loyalty? If the latter, who had set it? Finvara? My own father?

  The air in the strange in-between world was stuffy and static. I felt a bead of sweat trickle between my shoulder blades.

  “You don’t know whether to trust me,” he said at length. “It’s understandable.”

  There was little I could say without committing myself one way or the other, but finally I reminded him, “You said that your business with my father related to me in some way. You haven’t said how.”

  “In two ways,” he replied, curling a hand over the railing. “First, I cannot carry out this plan alone. I am bound by ancient magic to Finvara and his queen. I cannot raise my hand against him. You can.”

  Did he mean that I was valuable because I could kill Finvara and he could not? My father had told me that an order to eliminate Finvara might come. It would not be the first time I had served the Elf King in this way. But hearing it spoken of so soon—especially having now spent time in the king’s company—came as a shock. It was a good reminder to preserve distance between myself and Finvara.

  “And what is the second way this relates to me?”

  He took a step toward me, and I shivered again. “Finvara has rejected your hand.”

  One of the ravens on the railing gave a startled squawk. My face went hot, and I dug my fingernails dug into the palms of my hands.

  “I’ll not be so foolish,” he continued. “Once I am the fairy king, my bond to Finvara’s house will be broken, and you and I will rule Ireland together with your father’s blessing. You will become the queen you were born to be. Corvus is my betrothal gift to you—and, I hope, enough proof for you to trust that I am in earnest.”

  My thoughts churned. Was it possible that my father had promised me to this creature? When? Why hadn’t he told me?

  There came a time in my childhood when I understood that even though my mother had no husband, most women did. She had made the choice not to marry my father, but I would not be permitted to do the same. Whether, or whom, I married was a decision that would be made by the Elf King. As for romantic love, I believed it had been created by storytellers. The histories I had read taught me that arranged marriages sometimes kindled affection. But knowing that I was likely to be offered to one of my father’s allies, I had no such expectations. Even the less fierce among my Icelandic cousins, the so-called “light” elves, were cool spirits with hollow passions. In the world I grew up in, loyalty was all that mattered.

  None of this had ever much worried me, nor did it now. In fact, what Far Dorocha was proposing felt right in every way—we were natural allies. His position as a bond servant to the house of Finvara was an unlooked-for advantage. He could move about freely, and he would be trusted with information that I wouldn’t, even if I remained at court for years. It was a partnership blessed by the gods if ever there was one.

  So appealing was the arrangement he described that I’d never have trusted it without the gift of Corvus. It was not unthinkable that even the ship was part of an elaborate trap of Finvara’s. But having been present when the king first saw it, I knew it wasn’t.

  “Have you created them all, then?” I asked. “These strange objects that have confounded the king and his court?”

  He shook his head. “I have only tapped into a vein of magic torn open when the seal between Faery and Ireland was broken.”

  “Are you a sorcerer?” I thought of my ancestress, Gunnhild, who’d been a sorceress as well as a deadly shield-maid.

  Again his eyes glinted. “Of a kind. I was a druid once. The last of Ireland’s most powerful druids, in fact, and a practitioner of blood magic. I am now a student of alchemy.”

  Blood magic. It was practiced by my father’s seer. In some ways more powerful than elemental magic, it could be used to bind an oath, to strengthen a spell, or even to speak with the dead. It was also used for divining the future, though the information was only as good as the interpreter.

  “What is alchemy?” I asked.

  “It is a scientific pursuit concerned with transmutation.”

  I shook my head to convey my lack of understanding.

  “Transmutation simply means changing one thing to another. To something better, or higher. Most alchemists are obsessed with creating gold from metals like tin. But it has far more interesting applications.”

  I still wasn’t sure I understood him. But I had come here through a clock that had been transformed into a gateway to another world.

  “Are you equal to it?” he asked suddenly, reaching for my hand. His fingers were cool and dry despite the humid atmosphere.

  I took a step backward. “To the marriage or the assassination, sir?”

  He laughed at my frankness, genuine mirth in his voice now. “Both.”

  “Of course,” I said with a nod. “I have not come here to attend balls or learn lacemaking. I am my father’s to command. It has only come sooner than I expected.” I felt ashamed of the note of apology—and hint of reluctance—in my tone.

  He released my hand, slowly turning to lean his forearms against the ship’s rail. “It has not come yet. It doesn’t make sense to behead the court until we are sure the courtiers will follow someone else. Redirecting their loyalty will be my task.”

  “Won’t that be risky?”

  Glancing at me, he replied, “Rest assured I will keep you out of it until we’re certain. Should this treachery be traced back to me, it will not lead to you. They don’t know what to think of their new king. There is some uneasiness among them about all of these changes, and they are unsure of their place in a world without boundaries. This will work in our favor.”

  He gazed out at the stars and continued, “Your father has told me that y
ou do not shrink from spilling blood. When the time is right, you will find a weapon in your bedchamber.”

  I nodded, my heart beating faster. Anticipation? If so, why was I feeling uneasy?

  “And until then?” I asked.

  “Until then, give the king no reason to suspect you. I trust you to judge whether that will be best accomplished by becoming a courtier or by keeping quiet and out of the way. I will come to you when I can, and it will be best if you don’t seek me out. I was watching for you this time, but I might not always be. You could become lost in the Gap.”

  “I understand.”

  Again he took my hands. “I may tell your father that you have approved of this plan?”

  My eyebrows lifted. “It is unnecessary. He is my sovereign, and I serve him.”

  He smiled. “It has been my great pleasure to meet you, princess.” The look in his eyes almost made me believe he was not repulsed. By my ancestry. By my gruff manner and graceless appearance.

  He leaned closer, whispering beside my ear. “I suspect there are deep mysteries running behind your raven gaze. I look forward to unlocking them.”

  I felt a crawling sensation under my skin.

  When he returned me to my chamber it was late, though still I didn’t sleep.

  In Skaddafjall, my bedchamber was also in a tower, but I had never been enclosed like this. My rooms there had a flagstone terrace, overlooking the mountain that sloped perilously toward the ocean, and on clear nights I would order my bed moved and sleep under the stars. The winters were bitterly cold, and I would cover up with furs and watch the aurora borealis, ribbons of purple and green rippling across the sky like waking dreams.

  These were just the nights I spent inside castle walls. For I spent as many as I could outside in the open countryside.

  In Knock Ma, the ceiling was far too close, and the window only showed me the forest, which I had already begun to dread. I did not trust so many trees all in one place. Not only were they enormous living creatures—the lower portions of their bodies plumbing depths unknown, like an iceberg—I sensed that they were more aware than they appeared. When the breeze moved among their branches, the leaves made a sound like whispering. But it was a language I did not understand.