I ran to the pool, my furies sweeping in behind me. Gripping Elinor under the arms, I tried pulling her away. But another tentacle flew up from the surface of the water and coiled around my arm. The terrified girl was almost fully submerged, dark water staining the fine, pale fabric of her dress. She clung tightly to my free arm as the tentacles continued to drag us both.
My furies dove at the hag’s head—this time requiring no urging from me—and they snatched out long strands of hair as she slashed at the air above her with the remaining tentacles. The hoses were tipped with copper points and one of the birds gave a squawk of pain as it was swatted right out of the air.
I cast a simple displacement spell, and the water in the pool began sloshing from side to side, as in an agitated bucket, so that with each wave, Elinor was able to catch a breath of air. I was now submerged to my waist.
My mind flailed, seeking a spell that would end the attack. If I tried something strong enough to injure or kill, I might harm Elinor. Had I my bow, I could easily dispatch the creature.
Relief swelled as Finvara joined us, slashing a tentacle with a knife and freeing one of Elinor’s legs.
Then I heard an angry shout—an Irish curse—and a firglas pike flew over us, striking the naked and sagging flesh of the water hag. The point of the pike pierced her chest, and the tentacles released and flopped back into the pool. Crawling on our knees in the muck, the king and I took hold of Elinor and dragged her out of the water. She collapsed onto the flagstones, coughing.
“Can you stand, lady?” asked Treig, stooping over me.
I gripped the firglas woman’s outstretched hand and she raised me to my feet. My leg felt like it was full of angry hornets.
“Thank you, Treig,” I said, squeezing her hand before releasing it.
The displacement spell had faded and the pool calmed. There was no sign of the hag except for the end of a severed tentacle near the water’s edge. Elinor appeared unharmed, though she was sobbing. Mud coated her from head to foot.
“The goblin woman!” cried Margaret. “She tried to drown her!”
My heart jumped to my throat and my eyes darted from Margaret to the king, whose expression was grim. Before I could speak, Treig said, “Nay, majesty. The princess was trying to save her.”
The king returned his attention to the young lady, speaking to her in soothing tones. He took a dry cloak from the hands of a bystander—Doro.
I recalled my earlier conversation with my betrothed. I shall frighten her away.
Finvara
“I’ll see to your other guests, sire,” said Doro.
“Do,” I replied curtly, rising to my feet. And a curse on you, this place, and every bloody creature in it.
“Margaret,” I called to my sister-in-law, “take Elinor to her chamber. Her injuries do not appear serious, but send a servant to find me if we need to fetch a surgeon.” I’d order the firglas to drag the man here by his ears if I had to.
As Margaret moved to comply, my father joined us. There was no mistaking his mood.
“Duncan,” he said gravely, “I would speak with you.”
Before turning to him, I finally allowed myself to look at the princess. She stood soaking wet and hunched against her servant.
“Are you injured, lady?” I asked her.
“I am well, Your Majesty.”
Hadrian’s Wall. If I hoped to pry anything more from her than this stiff reply, I must wait until I was away from my relations.
“Treig,” I said, “help Princess Koli back to her chamber.”
The guard hooked an arm around the princess’s waist, and I hesitated, ludicrously, hoping for one last glance of—what? Anything. Anything that would shed light on what was going on in the lady’s head.
It was the second attack since her arrival, and she had been present on both occasions. I couldn’t ignore that fact, yet neither could I bring myself to believe she’d had anything to do with it. Mightn’t it be a new phase of the unusual events that had been happening since the seal was broken?
“Duncan,” insisted my father.
My insides knotted as I turned to him. “Let us return to the keep.”
He followed me back inside the castle, to the hall where I had dined with the princess. I conjured fire, and the candles and hearth flared to life. The effect was impressive, and I hoped it would temper the lecture I was about to receive. It was a foolish hope.
True to form, I thought as I removed the jester’s crown and dropped it on the table, the jingling bells seeming to mock me.
“What is happening here?” began my father, his dark-blue eyes flashing. “Do you exercise any control over this place or its inhabitants?”
“Precious little,” I admitted with childish ill humor. I knew my father, and there was no point in protesting. No point in explaining that I was trying, or that I had taken measures. It wouldn’t be good enough. And nor could I blame him—Elinor might have been killed. Now I must consult Doro again, and become even more dependent on him.
“Three months, son,” he continued. “Three months you’ve been here. There’s a strange ship in the sky above your castle. Monsters roam your grounds. You even seem to be on familiar terms with that elf woman, who could very well be to blame for all of this. Has the queen’s faith in you been misguided?”
Forgotten was the fact that Isolde had strongly urged me to marry “that elf woman.” Also forgotten were the harsh words the earl had himself spoken about “his mad niece” on that occasion.
“Aye, perhaps it has been,” I replied, my gaze finding the window—hoping, I realized, for a glimpse of the princess in the conservatory. But she and Treig had gone. The only remaining signs of the violent attack were the crumpled lilies and the stones dislodged around the edge of the pool. The creature would have to be removed and examined. Had it been a living thing, or something reanimated, like the barrow-wight? How was I ever to put a stop to these unpleasant surprises?
My subjects don’t respect me, any more than my father does. The queen thought my connection to my ancestor would be enough, but it isn’t.
I looked at the earl, who was about to speak, and continued, “I was not brought up to this, as well you know. I’ve lived much of my life at sea. There was never any chance of my becoming earl, even had I outlived my brothers.”
These were things we didn’t speak of, and color blossomed just below the sharpest points of my father’s cheekbones. He rested his hand on the hilt of the ancient short sword he always wore, even when he wasn’t disguised as a chieftain of old.
“Maybe not,” he said in a low voice. “I never cared for you less, nor treated you as if you were less than your brothers. And you have always been Isolde’s favorite.”
I knew that my father had loved my mother, more even than he had loved my brothers’ mother. I also knew it pained him that because of the illegitimacy of my birth—and for some, the color of my skin—I was viewed as less worthy, less O’Malley, than my brothers. The fact that his royal niece valued my companionship and advice made him both proud and happy.
“Be guided by me, son,” he urged.
I straightened. “If you want to speak to me about marriage, sir, do so plainly. Don’t bring me a trinket and offer it like you would to a child. If you want to advise me, advise me. I have criticized myself enough for both of us.”
My father sighed. He turned to face the fireplace, resting his bulk against the edge of the table.
“Don’t marry Elinor, if you do not wish it. She’s a good girl, and you could do far worse. Though after tonight, she may not wish it.” He looked at me. “Marry someone. Someone who will strengthen your position here. That reedy fairy fellow—did he not bring a daughter with him tonight?” Yarl, he meant, the firglas chieftain. The earl folded his arms and narrowed his gaze. “Anyone but that elf woman.”
I opened m
y mouth to reply, I have no intention of marrying “that elf woman.” Yet the words hung on my tongue. I slipped a hand into a pocket, closing my fingers around my mother’s compass.
“There’s an ill wind filling your sails, son,” grumbled my father. “Look to it. Before it’s too late.”
I rubbed the back of the compass with my thumb, reflecting on tangled lines, ill winds, and Lady Meath’s “black druid.” Something suddenly clicked into place.
I am a fool indeed.
A FOOL AND HIS KINGDOM
Koli
After my maid filled the tub in my chamber and helped me out of my costume, I soaked until the water was the same greenish brown as the mud from the lily pool. While I put on my nightdress she built up the fire, and then she bade me goodnight.
Sitting in a chair by the hearth while my hair dried, I listened to the wind in the trees, which seemed to mock my restless thoughts with their violent thrashing.
Real damage had been wrought by Doro. In addition to calling the king’s legitimacy into question, he’d caused Finvara’s first fete to be disrupted by a violent attack that was sure to be discussed far and wide. The king would be doubted now by fairy and Irishman alike.
Which is exactly to plan and so why am I fretting?
There was no longer any mystery about it—I liked and trusted the king more than I liked or trusted the man I had agreed to marry.
As I sank back in the chair, something on the floor beneath my bed glimmered in the firelight. I rose and walked over to peer underneath.
A knife. Gasping, I took hold of the weapon and carried it into the lamplight. I ran my thumb over the polished wooden hilt and then touched the sharp edge lightly with one finger. It had two edges, in fact—it was an Irish skean.
Your father has told me that you do not shrink from spilling blood.
Doro had visited my chamber. I went back to look under the bed again and found a slip of paper I’d missed. The only word written on it was snart—which in Elvish meant “soon.” I shivered.
Voices drifted up the stairs and I lifted my chin toward the sound. The king was below, speaking with Treig.
“My lady has retired,” she said.
“Nevertheless, I intend to speak to her,” replied the king.
My heart galloped at the sound of his boots on the stairs. I shot a panicked glance around the room. The bed was turned down—I thrust the knife between the sheets.
“I’m not dressed, Your Majesty,” I called out, straightening to meet him.
He didn’t answer, and the footsteps drew closer. Finally he appeared at the top of the stairs.
Our gazes locked, and for a moment, neither of us moved. My heart pounded so violently I thought he must hear it. What could have moved him to burst in on me like this?
He took a few steps into the room and I closed my parted lips to calm my breathing. He no longer wore the jester’s costume, but simple black trousers and boots, and an untucked, half-buttoned shirt.
His blue eyes were cold and hard.
“Are you well, Your Majesty?” I asked, speaking low so my voice would not tremble. He knows something.
“I am not,” he said, his voice as cold and hard as his gaze. “In fact, I am thrice a fool.”
I fought for composure. “How so?”
He held a fist before his chest, and it bounced with each line he spoke. “First, I trusted Doro. Third, I walked around in that disguise while my own steward sneered at me. But second . . .” The muscles of his jaw clenched. “I trusted you.”
My stomach roiled. Perspiration trickled down my back, and the ash tree between my shoulders began to tingle. What options were open to me? He would believe no denial, for despite his assertion, he was no fool. If I could reach the knife, I might make my escape. Treig might help me.
Or, I could tell him the truth and accept the consequences.
The mere thought of exposing my involvement in Doro’s scheme caused the ash tree to burn like the heated blade of that knife pressed against my spine. A cry broke from my lips and I stumbled toward the bed.
The king moved quickly toward me and I drew away from him, maneuvering so one corner of the bed was between us. My furies poured out of me like dark smoke from the fireplace, but the king banished them.
He held out one hand in a steadying motion. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
I watched him warily, drawing quick breaths as I recovered from the pain. “What will you do, Your Majesty?”
He hesitated, his face drawn and grim. “I don’t know. What I want now is answers.”
I gripped the bedpost, waiting for him to continue.
“Have you and Doro deceived me?” Somehow, he managed to keep both accusation and anger from his voice—though accusation and anger would have been easier to take.
I nodded. Again, pain knifed down my back and I squeezed my eyes closed and gritted my teeth. Perspiration wet my upper lip.
Finvara’s voice was closer as he asked, “How long?”
I looked up and caught his grimace as I replied, “From the beginning.”
Am I really doing this? Any thought of attempting to continue the deception had fled. I felt powerless to do anything but answer truthfully. And yet his ability to compel me was not the result of a spell.
“To what purpose?” he asked.
My mouth went dry. I wiped my damp palms on my nightdress. “Doro wishes to—”
Pain cut through my reply. I cried out and fell forward, toward the king, who caught me.
His palm came to my cheek, and he bent my head back so he could examine my face. Tears streaming down from the pain, I offered no resistance.
His brow creased in confusion. “This is no play for mercy.”
“No,” I croaked.
“Has your leg worsened?”
I shook my head. His arm was drawn tightly around my waist, like a lover’s embrace. Without its support, I would have fallen.
“What is causing your pain, then?”
“My back,” I said. “My father—”
The burning tree spilled lava down my spine and I shrieked.
Finvara held me away from his chest and turned me. I stumbled forward onto the bed and then felt his hands at the nape of my neck, quickly unfastening buttons. As he peeled back the fabric, cool air rushed in and soothed my skin.
“Good God,” he uttered. “What is this? Some mark of your people?”
I nodded feebly and rested my cheek against the cool sheet. Pressing my hands into the coverlet, I felt the hard outline of the knife’s hilt—and froze.
Treig heard my scream. She stands at the top of the stairs. I knew it without looking up. I only need command her. I slipped my hand between the sheets. The pain will stop. I will have fulfilled my duty.
But my attention was drawn to the sound of the king’s voice—he was repeating the words of a spell in low, soothing tones. His voice conjured images of mountain pools, cold and deep. Of icy peaks, and frothy rivers. The searing heat at my back eased.
I grasped the knife and sat up, raising it between us.
The king’s eyes flashed blue fire and his lips parted. He would cast a defensive spell—I had no more than a moment. From the corner of my eye, I saw Treig raise her pike, and I knew beyond doubt that I was the one she intended to champion. What I did not know was if her loyalty lay with me, or Doro.
“Your Majesty,” I said, my voice raw, yet forceful enough to still both Treig and the king. I turned the knife in my hands, taking the blade between my palms. “The mark is my father’s. The decision to betray you was Doro’s. This decision, to betray them both, is my own.”
I bowed my head, and I held out the knife to him.
Finvara
The princess shrieked again and her knife clattered to the floor. Her eyes were bright and wild from the p
ain. I eased her damp body back onto the bed.
Tattoos were common among sailors—I had one myself of the constellation Argo—yet I’d never seen anything like this. An upside-down tree with a root system as large as the branches, it covered more than half of her back. And all of it was inflamed.
“Clean cloths,” I called to Treig, “and fresh water from the well.”
The most effective treatment for powder burns, in my experience, was cool water. I could not be sure the same method would work on a magical burn. The skin had not opened, at least, so presumably there was no risk of putrefaction.
“Bring a bottle of brandy,” I called as the firglas woman started down the stairs. Then something occurred to me and I amended, “no, bring absinthe—there’s a bottle in my study.”
Before the seal between worlds was broken, absinthe had given some people the ability to see into Faery. It had also prevented my cousin Edward from being overtaken in his sleep by his immortal ancestor. Might it protect the princess from the Elf King’s violence? It was worth trying.
Anger flared hot in my chest at his barbarity—was this not his daughter?
She betrayed you, I reminded myself.
Nay, something changed her mind.
I took up the cooling spell again, though I knew it would not work indefinitely. But soon she was resting quietly. Her face was pressed into the coverlet, and the muffled moans that snuck past her lips had subsided.
Turning her head to look at me, she said in a broken voice, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Treig and the princess’s maid returned with the things I’d asked for, saving me—for the moment—from having to figure out what the devil I was going to say to her. I was rising to meet them when the princess reached out and stopped me. Her fingers felt hot against my wrist.
“There is time to put a stop to Doro’s scheme,” she said quietly. “And there is a way.”
“We’ll speak more of it later,” I replied, attempting to place her hand back down.
She held fast. “We must act before he suspects. He is powerful, Your Majesty.”
I saw genuine urgency in her face, and I recalled Lady Meath’s warning. I needed to gain a better understanding of what had been plotted, yet talking about it was causing her excruciating pain.
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