“So he is,” I replied.
“I will escort you, lady,” she said, “and I promise to keep out of your way. With any luck you will not notice me at all. If you tire, or find that you need anything, signal me by raising your hand and I will come.”
“Thank you, Treig,” I replied, and I turned down the corridor, listening to her soft footfalls behind me. I was bewildered by her change in address—she had gone out of her way to make me feel like a guest rather than a prisoner. Had Finvara spoken to her? Or Doro?
I continued out to the courtyard, which I had watched being transformed into an outdoor ballroom and salon. The braziers dotting the gleaming flagstones provided both heat and light, and the colorful globes hovered over the buffet tables, the musicians’ corner, and a seating area that had been furnished with plush armchairs and couches. The first full moon of spring hung overhead like a plate in the sky, washing the revelers in its blue-white light. No one was dancing yet, although the musicians played a lively tune, and guests had begun to dip their cups into the punch fountains.
Many small beings skipped about the flagstones, and I took them at first to be children. After looking more closely, I realized they were fairies. Unlike the other guests, they wore no masks or disguises, just loose clothing made from various shades of a shimmering, diaphanous fabric. Nor did they seem much interested in communing with the larger folk, though the larger folk were frequently forced to change course to avoid tripping over or colliding with them. Their figures were silvery in the moonlight, and many of them were winged.
There were also claylike, stolid figures, with pendulous noses and generous beards. They reminded me of dwarves, the ancient metalworkers who dwelled in forges under the Icelandic highlands.
I even recognized the stick creatures that I’d frightened from the foot of the tower. They recognized me as well, or perhaps were intimidated by the costume, and erupted into sparrowlike warning cries before scurrying to the other side of the courtyard. I couldn’t help feeling pleased by their panicked departure.
All of these beings, then, were Finvara’s subjects. The rest would be his family and other visiting dignitaries—Irish men and women, subjects of Queen Isolde. After a while I became aware of a tension among the Irish—they seemed uncertain about the fairies skipping in their midst. The reunion of Ireland’s ancient and modern peoples was only months old, after all. It was a tension I understood, growing up in the shadow of the longstanding enmity between Icelanders and elves.
“That is an enviable skill, my lady.”
A figure wearing a porcelain mask and long white tunic had walked up behind me. A crown of ivy rested in his fair hair.
“Doro?”
“Pythagoras,” he corrected, “a philosopher of ancient Greece. And I see that you are Raven, brightest and most mischievous of birds, and a servant of Odin.”
“Indeed I am, with thanks to you,” I replied, bowing my head. “But what is an enviable skill, sir? Frightening fairies?”
He laughed. “You stand here on the periphery of the ballroom, a most striking figure in black, and I don’t believe any but the fairies have noticed you.”
I had cast a spell to make my costume appear no more than a shadow.
“And yourself,” I corrected.
“Well, I too am a fairy.” Glancing out at the guests, he continued, “I must beg your leave for now, I’m afraid. I promise to find you later in the evening. Please enjoy yourself, princess.”
“I shall,” I replied, but my heart sank a little. I understood that I was his by agreement with my father, but must we dispense with courtship altogether? At this point I knew Finvara better than I knew my betrothed.
I was being childish, of course. He was the king’s man and responsible for Finvara’s guests this evening—in addition to his own intrigues. It would not further our interests for Doro to be dangling after me.
As he moved away, I thought to call after him, “What disguise does the king wear?”
He was already out of hearing.
My gaze moved over the costumed revelers, studying them more closely, and one in particular caught my eye. Her disguise was as striking as my own, though different in every way. She wore a gown nearly the same peachy pink as her flesh, and her mass of golden curls had been artfully extended and incorporated into the fabric, all the way to the floor. The costume created the illusion that she was nude, with modesty preserved only by her hair. She wore no mask, only her own flushed cheeks and full red lips. A strange costume, I thought, but there was a story that tugged at my memory, an English one, about a queen who rode through her city unclothed as some form of protest.
I admired the lady’s boldness. The costume was having its desired effect, or so I thought, as she was surrounded by male revelers. Even a few of the half-sized, bearded fairies hovered nearby, peering over the rim of their ale tankards with openly lustful expressions. I could catch no more than snatches of the group’s conversation, but by observing the lady’s movements and gestures, it was clear she had a favorite—a tall man in black and white, wearing a satin jester’s crown and black mask.
I continued to watch the lady, fascinated. So absorbed was I by the brazenness of her interaction with her admirers, I did not immediately notice when her gaze began to flicker in my direction. After a few sidelong glances, she fixed her eyes steadily on me, and my breath caught. My spell was not strong enough to hide me from careful observers, and it could be that my steady attention had drawn hers. If so, she was more perceptive than I would have given her credit for.
“Cousin,” she said, audible now that she was turned in my direction, “do you see that nightmare over there? That raven thing?”
My jaw clenched and I stiffened. I felt a hard tug at my chest as my furies broke free without warning. The chit’s eyes went wide and she took a step back, uttering a cry of alarm.
No!
This was disastrous—a kind of attention Doro would wish me to avoid. But before I could attempt to recall them, the jester stepped in front of the girl, and with a wave of his hand, the shadow birds scattered, melting into the star-studded blackness.
My stomach turned. The girl’s favored suitor was King Finvara.
The other guests could see me now—I knew because of the way they stared. The music too had faltered, and the musicians started to pick their way back through the notes in an attempt to cover the disturbance. Another lady had taken the arm of the frightened young woman and was directing her toward a punch fountain.
The attention of the other guests began to drift back to their companions, but the jester—the king—still stared at me. Humiliation singed my cheeks and wrung my insides, and I turned and fled the courtyard. The first escape I encountered was the conservatory adjacent to the hall where I had dined with the king. I pushed open the door and walked inside, my labored breathing a harsh disruption of the tranquility of the garden, and the quiet melody of trickling water.
This was what had come of too much time spent with the king. I cared about what he thought of me. And watching him save his pretty countrywoman from my furies . . . How had I ever come to believe he and I had anything in common? We were truly as different as light and shadow.
The air in the conservatory was heavy and too warm, but the trickle of water was soothing, as was the sweet smell of flowers. I sat watching the fairy lights float around me.
Above, plinking noises sounded on the roof. Glancing up, I saw the spiderlike feet of my furies pressing against the glass as they hopped about, their feathers washed a deep, lustrous blue by the moonlight.
“Useless beasts,” I muttered, “go away.”
With a single cackling protest, they launched up and faded again into the night.
The door to the conservatory creaked as it opened, and I froze. I would apologize to Doro for losing my temper and promise him to better control it in the future. He would a
ccept my apology, because I had accepted his for almost killing me.
“May I join you, lady?”
My heart thumped.
I had not anticipated this interview would come so soon. I gained a moment to compose myself by gathering my voluminous skirts so they wouldn’t ensnare me as I turned.
“Your Majesty,” I said, curtsying deeply, grateful for my mask. He too still wore the jester’s mask.
Closing the door behind him, he took a few steps toward me. “How is your injury, if I may ask?”
I swallowed. “Much improved, I thank you.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
My hands brushed nervously along the feathers of my skirt as silence stretched between us.
“She meant nothing by it, I assure you,” he said finally, lifting his mask to reveal a soft expression. His kindness only deepened my sense of shame at my loss of control.
“She is young,” he continued, “and you are thoroughly intimidating in that disguise.”
“I apologize, Your Majesty.” My words came out too fast. “I had not realized she could see me, and was startled by her remark.”
“I confess I had not noticed you there,” replied the king, “or I would not have left you standing unattended.”
The warmth of his tone began to work a kind of magic on me. My breaths came easier, and I lowered my stiffened shoulders.
“That is kind of you, sire. But I would not have wished you to abandon your companion. No more than I would wish you to take notice of a storm cloud while the sun was shining so warmly on you.”
A smile spread over his face. “Some sailors enjoy a good squall, my lady.”
Heat flooded my cheeks and chest.
Before I could think what to reply to such a statement, he continued, “The ray of sunshine is Miss Elinor O’Malley.”
“A relation, then?”
“So I am told, though a distant one. I don’t recall meeting her before this. I’m not entirely sure what motivated my family to bring her, except that my sister-in-law is very fond of her.”
I raised an eyebrow at his apparent innocence. “You can think of no other reason, Your Majesty?”
His gaze turned curious, and he tilted his head to one side, like he was trying to better see through my mask’s glass-covered eyeholes. I pushed it up and away from my face, and he smiled at me.
“Thank you,” he said. “That disguise is remarkably unsettling. Doro’s handiwork, I’ll wager.”
I nodded.
“If I’m not mistaken, that’s a plague mask,” he said. “A long time ago, physicians wore them when treating patients.”
In addition to paying tribute to my Elf ancestry, Doro had made me a specter of death. No wonder the maids and the young lady had taken fright.
The king gestured at his own costume. “He made mine as well. I’m quite pleased with it, as it accurately reflects how I feel most of the time.”
A fool. It struck me that Doro had been making a statement with his choice—and suddenly I was angry. What need was there to humiliate Finvara? It was arrogant and petty and besides that, untrue.
“Now tell me, lady, what it is that you know and I do not.”
My heart raced. Had he a suspicion about Doro and I? “Your Majesty?”
“Will you tell me what insight you have into Miss Elinor’s presence here?”
I quietly let out a breath.
“You really have no idea?” I asked.
For a moment he looked blank, and then he groaned and rolled his eyes. “They expect me to marry the lass.”
The realization so annoyed him—and his reaction was so dramatic—that laughter bubbled up in my throat, but I managed to swallow it. “Is that such a bad thing?”
“I wondered why my father had not been lecturing me,” he replied, growing more disgruntled as the new understanding took hold. “He’s trying to preserve my good humor.”
“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” It was an honest question, as I’d had limited exposure to females like Miss O’Malley.
“Aye, she’s pretty,” he confirmed, raising his hand and letting it fall. “But she’s a child. Another soul to look after is the very last thing I need, and the earl should see that. He wants to have the title fully under O’Malley control, and it’s gotten the better of his good sense.”
“Maybe he wants to leave someone behind who is more willing to be controlled by him.” My tone had sobered. I believed both Doro and my father intended to use me in a similar way.
The king eyed me keenly. “Aye, I believe you have it. And I thank you for removing the blindfold before the trap could close over me. That’s another debt I owe you.”
I stared at him, dark wings fluttering against my heart.
The king stepped closer and offered his arm, the bells on the points of his drooping crown tinkling. “Are you well, lady?”
“I am, Your Majesty, thank you.” I shook my head at his offer of support. A memory of the shape and firmness of his arm rose unbidden in my mind.
“Your leg is causing you pain.” He stepped closer yet, the arm still offered, and not knowing how to refuse without seeming ungrateful, I took it.
“Maybe a little,” I said, a strange warmth pooling in my belly as I touched him.
He led me to a nearby bench, and we both sat down. I would have released his arm then, but his hand now covered mine.
“Lady,” he said, studying me, “no one here has been unkind to you, I hope?”
The question took me by surprise, and his scrutiny did nothing to improve the clarity of my thoughts, or quiet the bubbling warmth in my chest.
“No, sire.”
He eyed me with such concern—I almost would have thought tenderness—that I dropped my eyes to the hand I had fisted in my lap.
“I’m relieved to hear it,” he replied. “If such a thing should happen, I want you to come to me at once. Will you promise to do that?”
“If you wish,” I said faintly.
“I do wish.”
Finvara
Her confusion tugged at my heart, and I believed I understood it. She had never expected, nor probably wanted, friendship from me. She was raised to be my enemy, and to make matters worse, I had slighted her.
Goblin princess.
How keenly I felt that now. Now that I knew her. And this golden Irish beauty—who my family was trying to serve to me like a pig on a platter—had called her a nightmare.
“Now that you’ve been with us a little while,” I said, “do you find that there is anything you lack? Does your chamber suit? Do you require more attendants?”
She looked at me with an expression of bafflement. “I have everything I need, Your Majesty.”
“I would like to discontinue your guard,” I said. “Having been in battle with you, I know that one firglas warrior could hardly stop you should you take it into your head to kill me. But for your own safety, I believe it’s best that the guard remain.”
“I don’t mind. Treig has been kind to me.”
“Then you may consider her your personal attendant rather than your guard,” I said, relieved to be able to do anything to make myself feel less the brute. “I will speak to her tonight.”
“That is kind of you, sire,” she said with hesitation in her voice. “Only ...”
I waited for her to formulate her thoughts. We still mostly spoke English between us, though I had lapsed into Irish at times. I doubted she was as comfortable even with English as I was.
“Why?” she asked finally. “I am not wanted here. You were forced to take me. Only a few minutes ago, I menaced your party guests. Do not think me ungrateful, I just don’t understand why you should care for my comfort.”
I took a deep breath and sighed. She was not going to let me off easy.
“Because I
regret the circumstances that brought you here. Because I recognize the unfairness of it, and I’d like to make your life here more tolerable if I can.”
Because it turns out you’re the only person in this asylum I have anything in common with.
Her fingers squeezed my arm slightly, perhaps even involuntarily. But it fired my blood and emboldened me to add, “The fact is, I enjoy your company, lady. Truly, you’re my only friend here, as strange as that must sound. You make me feel a little less lost at sea.”
Again her gaze fluttered to her lap, and she replied faintly, “It is kind of you to say so.”
Had I said too much? Her wall was up, and I couldn’t guess at her thoughts. It was possible that she’d become more to me than I to her, and I had made her uncomfortable. I’d at least been honest, and hopefully accountable for my poor behavior early on.
“I had best return to my guests,” I said, more for her sake than mine. Her hand slipped from my arm as I stood up. “Doro will scold if he discovers me hiding. Will you dance with me, lady? Unless you prefer to return to your chamber and rest, in which case I will fetch Treig.”
Finally she looked up at me, and while there was no visible smile upon her lips, I sensed one in the offing. When, I wondered, had I become such a keen student of her expressions?
“One dance, I think, can do no damage, Your Majesty.”
A small victory, but I flushed with pleasure. Smiling, I held out my hand to her.
Koli
There was a lightness in my thoughts and in my step as we left the privacy of the conservatory. It was tempting to lie to myself—to believe the buoyant feeling was the result of my successful campaign to gain Finvara’s trust. The truth was that I was pleased to have his trust for its own sake.
The king had called me his friend. Where was the distasteful pride I had expected? The contempt and arrogance?
These questions were chased by less welcome ones. Was it possible he had concealed his nature in a scheme to earn my trust? Was he capable of such deceit?
He is the fairy king.
Outside the conservatory, he helped remove my cloak and laid it on a nearby bench. Then he led me among his guests, and the burbling stream of their conversation dried up. I looked for Doro, and our eyes met across the dancefloor. He signaled the musicians, and the strains of a waltz began.
The Raven Lady Page 11
