“Where should we disembark?” asked Koli.
“There,” I said, pointing to the medieval tower.
“Will they view us as invaders?” She peered over the rail at the ship’s gun ports. The cannons were tucked out of sight.
“Aye, probably so. We’ll cause a stir anywhere we disembark. And if we set down outside the city we’ll lose time.”
I unbuttoned and removed my shirt and began waving it slowly overhead.
Corvus’s sails had lowered, and we cruised along slowly under power of the steam propeller.
Already guards clustered on top of the tower, shouting and pointing. They had likely never seen a vessel quite like this one, but at some point it was going to occur to one of them that firing a hole through our balloon might very well bring us down.
“Can I cast a fire-disabling spell without snuffing our burner?” I asked Koli.
She closed her eyes and gripped the rail, and I realized my question had forced her to communicate with the goddess. After a moment she said, “She doesn’t know.”
“Bollocks.” Cupping my hands in front of my mouth, I yelled. “Stand down! I’m Duncan O’Malley, the queen’s cousin!”
There were indeed rifles aimed at us, and I repeated myself until a few of the guards seemed to hear me, huddling to discuss what I’d told them.
“King Finvara?” a voice called suddenly, and I noticed a young gentleman standing against the battlements.
I craned my neck and narrowed my gaze. “Is that Mr. Yeats?”
He gave a short bow. “At your service, Your Majesty. I hardly recognized you.”
Will Yeats had traveled with my father’s ancestress Grace O’Malley in the Gap—where she’d been condemned to a kind of purgatory for misdeeds associated with true piracy—and he had been present for the Battle of Ben Bulben. If I recalled rightly, he was some kind of scribe—a soft-spoken and thoroughly odd young man who seemed to view the world through the wrong end of a telescope.
“Yeats,” I replied, “could you explain to these jackeens that I’m the Queen’s cousin, and make them understand that it would inconvenience us greatly were they to blow a hole through our balloon?”
“Certainly, sire,” replied the young man.
He joined the circle of anxious guards, and I listened to the murmurs of their voices while Corvus moved into position over the tower. After a moment Mr. Yeats called up, “How many are your crew, Your Majesty?”
“Just the two of us,” I replied. “Myself and my queen, Koli Alfdóttir.”
The young man’s eyebrows lifted, and then his gaze shifted to my bride. “Extraordinary.”
“May we drop a ladder, Mr. Yeats?” I asked.
“Yes, of course, sire,” he replied.
We found another ladder and tossed it over. Then we joined the others below. Once the introductions had been made, Yeats said, “Her Majesty was out early in the Sea Aster and had planned to rest until time for luncheon. Perhaps you and your queen would like to refresh yourselves and join us?”
Had Sea Aster referred to the garish balloon we’d seen on our approach?
“Aye, we would,” I said. “We’ve come in a rush on urgent business, but we are sorely in need of a hot meal.”
“Very good, Your Majesty,” replied Yeats. “Follow me.”
Koli
At the base of the tower stairs, Mr. Yeats handed us over to a servant and went to inform the queen of our arrival. We were given a chamber in the living quarters and brought hot water. While Finvara washed, I considered the state of my hair. I could leave the plaits—along with the cloud of freed strands that had formed over the course of the last day, and somewhat resembled a swarm of midges—or I could remove them and risk a wavy and wild curtain. In the end, I opted for the latter.
“What is the queen like?” I asked him, lifting a brush from the vanity.
Finvara paused while drying his face, considering. He shook his head. “Izzy is better experienced than described. I’d like to say she is harmless, but that’s not always the case. She and I have usually been on good terms, though.”
This was not exactly reassuring. It had been less than two days since I’d considered myself the Irish queen’s sworn enemy, and I had helped to spoil the peace she had so painstakingly created. My part in that could hardly be kept a secret. Isolde had a reputation in Iceland—headstrong and unpredictable.
“The two of you are close?” I asked.
He tossed aside the towel and began rolling down his sleeves. “We were for a time. I was a beast to her when we were younger. My brothers and I were great bullies.” Frowning, he put on a waistcoat he’d found in the wardrobe. “We’d dare her to do things that might have killed her, but to her it was all a game. She always came back for more.”
My anxiety must have shown—Finvara came over and took the brush from my hands. He pressed me into a chair and began pulling it through my hair. I closed my eyes, wondering how it was possible the sensation could be so very different just because someone else wielded the brush. I felt myself begin to settle.
“All will be well,” he assured me.
I glanced up at him. “I plotted to kill you.”
He set the brush down and raised me from the chair, grinning. “That may very well go in your favor.”
Sighing, I gave up trying to understand, and together we left the chamber. Most of the castle was of newer construction than Knock Ma, though the living quarters appeared very old, the bricks roughly hewn and laid in untidy rows. Still, the wall torches had been replaced by gas lamps, and thick carpets covered the floors of the corridors, muffling our footsteps.
Guards were stationed outside the hall, and as we approached the great doors, Finvara glanced at me and raised his eyebrows.
“Let’s get on with it,” I said.
The guards anticipated us and dragged open the doors. The hall was long and cavernous, its high ceiling vaulted and supported by wooden beams. A banquet table ran its length, and light was provided by great iron chandeliers whose candle brackets were fitted with tapered gas bulbs. The furnishings were an odd merging of modern and antique elements, though I would not have called the effect unappealing. The stark lines of the room had been softened by wall hangings in muted hues of blue and pink, and enormous vases of flowers. On the wall at the opposite end of the hall, behind a raised throne area, hung many stuffed heads of antlered beasts, including reindeer. An assortment of antique weaponry also hung there—swords, bows, spears, and shields—some of them clearly Viking-made.
“So it is you, Duncan,” called the queen down the length of the table as we approached.
Despite the size of the hall, there were only a few persons assembled for the meal—the queen, Mr. Yeats, and a woman wearing a wine-colored military jacket with gleaming brass buttons. As we drew closer, the woman and Mr. Yeats rose to their feet.
The queen’s smile was wry, her gaze sharply appraising. She too wore a fitted military jacket, though hers was of a more fanciful design—gold and green brocade, with a V-shaped opening that revealed the top of her corset. Atop an arrangement of dark plaits rested a matching officer’s hat trimmed with feathers. Her skin was the palest I had ever seen, though she looked the opposite of unhealthy. Her eyes were bright and her posture stately. Despite the fact she’d remained seated, as was fit for her rank, I could see that she was tall.
“Your Majesty,” said Finvara, bowing, “may I introduce you to my queen, Koli Alfdóttir of Iceland.”
The queen’s eyebrow lifted to a seemingly impossible height as she looked at me, and I curtseyed. “Your Majesty.” Her gaze traveled slowly over me, and nervousness made my wings fidget—which caused the queen to give a quiet gasp.
“Good heavens, Duncan,” she said. Very encouraging.
Nodding to her companions, the queen continued, “This is General Varma.
Mr. Yeats, you already know. Sit down, all of you. Whatever it is you’ve come about will have to wait. I was roused at an uncivilized hour and am now famished.”
I looked at Finvara, and he nodded. We took seats on a bench opposite Mr. Yeats and General Varma. The latter had glossy, dark hair that was streaked with white and pulled back in a severe bun. Both her skin and her eyes were brown, and her expression was cool.
The queen lifted a teacup to her lips, and at that moment servants walked through doors on opposite ends of the dais, each of them bearing a tray or covered dish. I could smell roasted meat and my stomach growled. I had not eaten since before my exhausting first flight, and I knew it had been even longer for Finvara.
As ordered, we held our silence as the luncheon was served—roasted fowl and venison, steaming bowls of vegetables, fresh spring greens, and fine, crusty bread, followed by a tray of pretty little tarts and bowls of cream. Aside from the tarts, it was all hearty fare like I was used to, and I ate everything placed before me, even accepting a glass of port from one of the footmen. Finvara also ate with relish, but refused the port in favor of a glass of whiskey.
The queen sipped her port and turned her gaze on Finvara.
“I must say, cousin,” she began in a light and easy tone that sent a shiver down my spine, “my heart is aflutter in anticipation of this love story. I am on literal pins and needles as I wait to hear how you ended up blissfully wedded to the elf maid I so generously offered, and you so unceremoniously refused.”
Without waiting for him to answer, she turned to General Varma. “You see, Bess, I said to Duncan that I thought it would serve all our interests to align ourselves with our near neighbors, who were once the allies of our greatest foes.”
“A reasonable-sounding proposal, mum,” replied the general, her expression neutral. She raised her glass. “One with many instances of historical precedent.”
The queen shook her head, lifting her eyebrows in mock bewilderment. “Indeed, I did think so.”
“His Majesty found fault with the plan?” Varma asked, as if we were discussing the weather. “Perhaps it seemed overly pragmatic?”
“So he did,” Isolde replied, primly sipping her port. “Placed the whole armistice in jeopardy. But I have ever been fond of my cousin, so much so that I elevated him to an office beyond any he might otherwise have expected, having heretofore specialized in the arts of smuggling and roguery, so I—”
“Now just one minute, Izzy,” interrupted Finvara, exasperated. “I’ll allow that you have reason to crow, and that I may in fact have behaved ungratefully, yet you go too far. I never sought the advancement you bestowed, and in fact encouraged you to look elsewhere for someone better suited. You know that I did.”
The queen frowned—a far milder reaction to this fit of temper than I would have expected. “Perhaps you did,” she replied crisply. “Would you care to explain to me what has caused the reversal of your attitude toward this woman that I believe you once referred to as a gob—”
“For heaven’s sake,” snapped Finvara, “punish me if you must. Leave my wife out of it. She has suffered enough for my mistakes.”
This was more than generous, and I felt it keenly. But even having just met the queen, I could see that she was vexed with him and had not intended to insult me.
“That I do not doubt,” replied the queen, sighing. “Very well, Duncan, I lower my rapier. Though I must say, I hope you thought more kindly of me when you discovered that I had not, in fact, expected you to marry either a hag or an ogre.”
“I’m afraid my lack of faith in your discretion is the least of the errors I will have to confess today.”
The queen set down her empty glass and folded her arms on the table. In a gentled tone she said, “I am very glad to see you, though not inviting me to your wedding was a cruel stroke. Tell me all that has happened.”
Finvara
We did indeed tell the queen everything, from Koli’s first arrival at Knock Ma to the previous evening’s escape. When I had explained about the Morrigan, Isolde’s eyes widened and she glanced between us. Mr. Yeats, who had up to this point done nothing but scribble in his notebook, gasped and sat up.
“You’re certain about this?” the queen asked my bride.
“I’ve never questioned it, Your Majesty,” replied Koli. “Her presence is very . . .” Koli closed her eyes, and her brow furrowed. Her hands curled into fists on the tabletop, and I covered one of them with my hand.
“Is she speaking to you now?” asked the queen.
“She is,” Koli replied faintly.
“What is she saying?”
Koli opened her eyes. “I’m afraid it isn’t very complimentary, Your Majesty.”
The queen pressed her fingers to her temples, muttering, “Blast.”
“So you see, I am outmatched,” I said. “We thought it best to come to you, as more than Knock Ma is at stake.”
Izzy laid her hands on the table, seeming to stare at the empty space between them. After a few moments, she looked at me. “I knew it was only a matter of time before Ireland’s foes threatened again, though certainly I did not expect it to be so soon. But neither you nor any of us could have known the next threat would have come from within. Even our erudite Lady Meath did not see this coming.”
“The threat has not come wholly from within, Your Majesty,” Koli said. There was no need for her to remind the queen of this, though I knew her well enough to understand that she was not about to cower under the protective wing of her husband.
“Perhaps,” agreed the queen, “yet your father’s trap would not have been sprung so quickly without Doro’s help.” Her gaze came back to me. “You have been more vigilant than you realize, and you have come to me in time, or so I hope.”
I had known Izzy for most of her life, and she did not inspire awe in me as she did in her subjects. Many believed she was at least half mad, yet which of us who had been touched by Faery did not seem so? There had long been true kinship and affection between us, which made me even less comfortable with the fact that I had failed her. Now she was absolving me, and it eased the weight in my chest.
“Bess?” She turned to her general. “The fleet is already in the Atlantic, is it not?”
Varma nodded. “It is, Your Majesty.”
“We shall send you west as well, to reinforce our outposts and watch for Fomorian invaders.”
At last something disturbed her general’s composure—a flicker of interest. A sentiment I well understood. The queen was giving her a reprieve from court obligations and sending her into the field. Varma sat up straighter. “Aye, mum.”
“As for you, cousin,” continued Izzy, “you are to be commended for your quick action, as well as your bride’s. Were Doro at large, things would be far worse. You are also to be commended for being your charming and chivalrous self, which is what has enabled you, no doubt, to win over such a competent ally. Your instincts are sound, and your presence has been sorely missed.”
She frowned before continuing, and I braced myself.
“I do, however, expect you to tidy up your own mess.” She leaned on her folded arms, eyeing me intently. “You have a ship to captain, a strong and resourceful partner, and an excellent opportunity to prove yourself.”
Eyeing her dubiously, I replied, “My queen and I alone are to take on the Elf King?”
“It seems you have the assistance of the goddess of war, which would render my own involvement redundant—a state of affairs I could never endure. I will give you men, of course. And I do have something else which might prove useful. Consider it a wedding gift.” She turned to the young scribe. “Fetch the device for me, will you, Mr. Yeats?”
Yeats jumped up and walked to the dais. Beside the throne was a table that held a large vase of flowers, and next to it an item I had not noticed before but immediately recognized now. Yeats c
arried it back to the table, placing it before me.
It was the globe-shaped device that Grace O’Malley had used to navigate between Ireland and the Gap.
“Your bride mentioned that all Gap gates except Doro’s first one have collapsed,” said Izzy. “But you may be able to use the device to enter the Gap and—”
“Take them by surprise!” I finished. It was a worthy strategy. A ship with a navigator device had no need for Gap gates; it could nose into and out of the Gap at will. “Where did you get it?”
“Auntie left it behind, along with Mr. Yeats, when she crossed over, did she not, Mr. Yeats?”
The young man nodded, a wistful look in his eyes. “Auntie,” who was in fact a much more distant relation than that, was not what I’d have called endearing, and she had heaped plenty of abuse on her young scribe. Yet he had seemed genuinely fond of her. Her assistance in the Battle of Ben Bulben had freed her to cross over to the Land of Promise, the afterworld of the ancients, which was open to her as a descendant of the first King Finvara.
“You know how it works, then?” I asked Izzy.
“I haven’t the foggiest idea,” she replied. “You’re a captain. I am sure you will figure it out.”
I stared at her. “Of a regular ship, Izzy. There is no device even remotely similar on the Aesop.”
She frowned. “Well that is inconvenient.”
Mr. Yeats cleared his throat, and all of us turned to look at him. “I believe that I may be of some assistance.”
MANEUVER
Koli
We agreed that Mr. Yeats would join us on our return to Knock Ma so that he might show us how to operate the navigator. It was a strange device—a glass globe filled with a kind of red vapor, and a miniature model of a ship inside. There were levers and gears for moving the ship. Mr. Yeats said that the device was more than mechanical—that there was some magic at work. It could be used to fold distances while inside the Gap, so our return trip to Knock Ma would be much shorter. It made me think of Doro—then I realized it could be his invention.
Mr. Yeats himself was a puzzle. He was quiet and polite, and just barely out of his boyhood. Yet from what Finvara had told me about him, he was more hearty than he appeared. He seemed to be always scribbling, although why or what about I could not say. I had never spent any more time at writing than my tutors had required.
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