The room grew warm all of a sudden. He glanced toward the door. He couldn’t explain how he knew, but someone was messing with his mind. In his mind’s eye, he saw a small, dark room. He recognised the tiny chamber, or at least the person showing it to him did. The faerie’s understanding and his own merged strangely.
A sudden noise startled the mysterious faerie, whoever she was. She? Her alarm jolted Aaron. With the thought, the presence vanished.
He glanced up to find all eyes on him. He’d dropped the metal utensil with a clang and hadn’t noticed. “My apologies,” he said, then wondered when he’d started talking like a toffee-nosed git. My apologies?
“Is something wrong?” Tràth asked.
“No,” Aaron said. “Are we ready to meet the princess?”
Tràth tilted his head. “We were working out how to coordinate our discussions with her. I think if—”
“No need,” Aaron said. “I won’t be sitting in tonight.”
A flash of surprise lit Tràth’s eyes for a moment, but he said nothing except, “Very well.”
In the end, Aaron knew it wouldn’t matter to the Caledonians what he arranged for the Druid Hall. Their aims were separate.
He looked at the others’ dishes. They’d finished eating, while he’d barely touched his food. God, he missed a proper breakfast. What he wouldn’t do for sausage and a fried egg. “Shall we go?” he asked.
“I think so,” Tràth said quietly to Aaron. “I have to admit, with everything riding on this, I’m nervous.” He stood and adjusted his collar.
“You don’t look nervous,” Aaron said. “In fact, you seem like you know what you want and what you’re prepared to do to get what you need.” Tràth had always had a royal air about him, but it was as though overnight, he’d transformed from a spoiled kid to a stern diplomat. So much so that the admission of anxiety seemed out of character. Aaron knew Alyssa was helping Tràth with mind training. If this was the power of meditation, Aaron might have a go himself.
Tràth looked at Aaron thoughtfully. “Thank you,” he said.
They left the dining room to find two faeries waiting for them. The steward who led them in bowed to Aaron. “My lord druid,” he said. “Your attendant informed me of your request for a scribe. This is Cen.” He indicated the tall, young faerie next to him whose skin was so dark red, it was almost black. He wore a satchel strapped over his shoulder, and Aaron noticed spots of ink staining his long cuffs.
“Can you write English script?” Aaron asked him.
“Of course, my lord druid.”
“Show me.”
The scribe fumbled with his satchel, taking out a piece of paper. “What shall I write, my lord druid?”
Aaron tilted his head. “The quick red fox jumps over the lazy brown dog.”
Cen nodded, stepped aside, and pulled a small board out of his satchel. He strapped it over his arm and lay the paper on it. With a stylus, he wrote the words as instructed, then handed the page to Aaron.
Aaron could read the words…just. “A bit florid. Can you tone down the swirls? This isn’t a state document. Merely notes I need to be able to read.” He handed the paper back.
“I’ll try,” the scribe replied and put his stylus on the page once more. He wrote the phrase a second time, then returned the sample to Aaron.
“Better,” Aaron said, folding the paper in half. With a nod to the steward, he said, “He’ll do.” To Tràth, he added, “I’m ready when you are.”
The party proceeded down the corridor. Aaron spoke to Cen. “What’s your runic vocabulary?” he asked.
“About twenty thousand, my lord druid. If you need a true scholar, we should request someone else. I work mostly with script documents.”
“No, that’s fine,” Aaron said. “Mine is bigger, but my ability depends on the rune creator. Some possess a style I find easier to relate to.”
“You’re a scholar?” Cen asked with unmasked surprise.
Aaron laughed. “No, son. I’m a druid.” A scholar. His old man would have laughed to have heard that one. Nobody had ever accused Aaron of being anything close to academic. “You want to see impressive, you should meet Lord Druid Munro.” It felt weird calling his friend by his title, but he’d been warned that the Zalians weren’t ones to appreciate a lack of protocol. “He reads runes even Keeper Oszlár hasn’t worked out. Do you know him?”
“The druid lord?” Cen asked, his eyes wide.
“No, the head keeper.”
“No. I’ve not been to the Halls of Mist,” the scribe said. “I’ve only recently completed my training.”
Aaron looked at the faerie. He’d been right. Cen was young. “Perhaps someday you will go. It’s a beautiful place.”
“So I’ve heard.”
The steward stopped at a large, open archway. Beyond it was an expansive room filled with lounging chairs and also more upright chairs closer to the human style. Around twenty faeries, at least half of them scribes, were already seated. Aaron scanned the room. Imena hadn’t yet arrived.
Tràth signalled for the others to enter. “What’s wrong?” he asked Aaron.
“The princess isn’t here,” Aaron said. According to strict protocol, guests and hosts alike entered an official function by rank. They didn’t much bother with that in Caledonia, and in the Druid Hall, they made their own rules, but in Zalia, these things mattered.
“You think it an intentional slight?” Tràth said.
Aaron shrugged. “The discourtesy doesn’t trouble me, but I’d wager it’s not accidental.” He lowered his voice. “I’d guess she’s waiting nearby for her steward to tell her we’re inside.”
Tràth’s lips twitched with amusement. “No doubt.” He bowed slightly. “I’ll go settle in. I have no doubt where I sit in the pecking order.”
“Good luck today,” Aaron said.
“Thank you,” Tràth replied and went to join his staff.
Aaron thought they seemed outgunned with the princess’ many scribes and whoever the others were. As he predicted, the princess approached within a few moments. She appeared surprised to discover him in the corridor, but she masked her expression quickly. “My lord druid,” she said with a respectful nod.
“Princess,” he replied.
“Is something amiss?” She didn’t quite pull off the pretence.
“Not at all,” he said. “As you see, I’ve stolen one of your scribes. I wondered if I might have your steward too, or someone else, if his duties won’t allow.”
“A steward? For the negotiations?”
“No,” he said with a chuckle. “I won’t be in the negotiations. I hoped to visit some of the city, specifically any public archives you hold. Even better if they’re the royal archives. I’m a creator. I’m sure you’ll understand my desire to investigate whatever runes I can.”
“But…” Her voice trailed off.
“We can conclude our negotiations in moments, Your Highness,” he said.
“Can we?”
“Of course. Over a year ago, one of my brethren visited your kingdom to ask about using your gates. He was turned back without an audience.”
She tilted her head. “That is so, I’m afraid.”
“Answer one question with a simple yes or no, if you please.” He smiled. “Our sole purpose is to visit the human realm to search for human druids, whom we will bring to our Hall. Out of courtesy, we will always notify you if we’re bringing a human through, and they will always be under our control as well as our protection. Are you now willing to allow the Druid Lords to enter Zalia to use your gates?”
“I’m sure there are points requiring further discussion,” she said. “Why don’t you come and sit, and we’ll talk about it.”
Aaron sighed. “There are no points nor discussion. We make this request of every kingdom with the same terms. The answer is either yes or no.”
She stiffened. “If the answer is no?”
With a shrug, Aaron said, “Then the answer is no. We com
pleted our Mistgate. We can travel directly from the Druid Hall to any point in the human realm. We do not require your permission to visit our own world. In fact, after we establish points of contact and a base of operations, it is unlikely we will enter your borderlands or transport humans through your kingdom.” He paused. “However, your kingdom’s cooperation would be appreciated. We do not speak the native languages in the countries your gates span, nor do we wish to have to avoid your Watchers at night when your borderlands are at their widest.”
“You ask much, but I have heard no offer for our consideration.”
“We are not traders, Princess,” Aaron said, his tone dark. “The answer is either yes or no. Either way, I’d like to see what archives you will make available to me. If you recall, I am here by your invitation. If you will make no runes available for study, I will enjoy whatever hospitality you offer. If you offer no hospitality, I will take my leave and return to the Druid Hall.”
She hesitated only a moment. “Of course,” she said. In truth, she had specifically invited Tràth’s bonded druid. Still, they’d not rescinded the invitation when the Hall offered a substitute. She turned to the steward. “Essian, show Druid Lord Aaron whatever he wishes in the Tafgul archives and see that he receives refreshment and comfort as required.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” the steward said.
“If you need anything, ask Essian,” she said to Aaron.
“Thank you,” Aaron replied with a slight nod.
“I will take your Hall’s petition to Queen Naima. We are not accustomed to allowing anyone free access to our lands, so I cannot guarantee a positive response.”
“We will accept whatever escort or restrictions you request, as long as our people and our journeys are not impeded. We do not offer goods or services in exchange for such access, but we would consider this a first step to friendship between our Halls. The benefits of such a friendship should not be dismissed out of hand.” He was almost quoting Huck’s standard speech word for word. The other druid had done this so many more times than Aaron. The American druid had said the queens were often intrigued by what such a relationship could offer, even if the benefit was intangible.
Princess Imena nodded thoughtfully. “I will relay your message,” she said. “You’ve given us much to consider.”
“Thank you,” he said and tilted his head in a barely perceptible bow one might give to someone of lesser rank.
He turned to Essian. “Lead the way,” he said. “I’m eager to begin.”
Essian looked to the princess, who gave him a nod. Aaron sensed her watching as the trio walked away. The conversation had gone much better than he expected. He had been prepared to turn around and pack, hoping his honour guard could handle whoever decided to chase them back to the portal.
Chapter 11
Griogair stepped through the portal to Caledonia and recognised at once he’d made a mistake. They all had. “Quickly,” he said to the Watchers powering the ornate, covered cart which bore the queen. “Take Her Majesty back to the Caledonian Hall. At once.”
They saluted and obeyed without delay. When they had departed, Griogair went to the Watchers who surrounded the Caledonian side of the portal and spoke to their commander. “Send a message to Prince Koen. Tell him we’re staying at the Halls of Mist for the near term.” When the Watcher acknowledged the order, Griogair added, “And also inform him his presence is not required.”
Before leaving, Griogair said, “It’s a shame we had to change our plans.” He gave the commander a hard look. “You did not encounter any of us, certainly not the queen. None of you did.”
“A shame indeed, Your Highness. The queen is so busy. Perhaps we will catch a glimpse of her another day.” The Watcher saluted, his fist over his heart.
Griogair nodded and stepped through the blue ball of light. When he arrived in the Halls of Mist, Elder Oron approached. “I just saw Queen Eilidh’s transport returning to the Hall. What’s wrong?”
“Athair,” Griogair said. “That’s the word we’ve been hearing, over and over, growing more frequent by the day.”
“Yes,” Oron said impatiently. “Everyone near the Caledonian Hall can. The conclave sent for Imire, as you and I discussed.”
Griogair shook his head. “When I moved away from the Hall, I couldn’t hear the call anymore. Queen Eilidh lay in the transport next to me.”
“Then…” Oron glanced toward their kingdom’s Hall.
“It’s not her voice. Athair.” Father. “Maiya is grieving for Munro.”
“I understood Eilidh believed the princess possessed stone talents,” Oron said.
“She said she sensed them because they were different than her own. But as a bonded faerie, she also wields stone talents. Now I wonder if what she detected was merely the difference in druidic magic. The boy Jago told us Princess Maiya spoke to him. We never believed him.”
Oron nodded. “So Maiya is an astral faerie?”
“It appears so. I don’t know why I didn’t think of the possibility when we noticed the peculiar connection between her and Lady Druid Demi’s son. Maiya clearly has the power of a faerie, but if she is like him, she may also have the ability to create talismans.”
“These children must be protected at all costs.”
“This certainly does lend credence to your idea that whoever took Lord Druid Munro was after Princess Maiya. Who might have known, though? Either way, if the princess is aware of her father’s death, separation from her mother might distress her further.”
“I agree,” the elder said. “I’ll go speak with the child. I’ve not worked with one so young, but if she’s powerful enough to project at her age, she’ll need guidance from the start.”
The pair returned to the Caledonian Hall, where Griogair ensured Eilidh was resettled in her rooms. She complied with those who tended her without objection. Seeing her stare so vacantly pained him. When the nurses had put the queen to bed, Griogair sat next to her and took her hand. “Come back to me, my love. Please. I need you. We all need you.”
Eilidh stared at the ceiling, motionless and silent. Griogair sat with her for a long time. He had work to do, letters to write, appointments and appearances to cancel, excuses to make, and the normal day-to-day running of a kingdom to oversee. Elder Oron had helped with the conclave. They’d deferred any matters of law, sentencing, or disputes that would require Eilidh’s personal intervention.
He couldn’t sit with her forever. He shouldn’t have even spent the time he already had. His entire life, he’d never expected love, not like this. Then came Eilidh. The first time he met her at Eirlioc Falls, Cadhla had been queen. His son had been missing, and Eilidh arrived like a gift. He’d flirted with her, used his influence and power to try to impress and persuade her.
The whole series of events seemed comical now. She would become an incredibly powerful faerie, overshadowing him more with every passing month as her experience and confidence grew. It never bothered him that she loved Munro more. Although Griogair was not a self-deprecating sort, he felt grateful to be with her. Another queen might have cast him aside when her own power grew to the point where she no longer needed him. Magic may have selected Munro as her soul-mate, but she had chosen to love Griogair.
Finally, he stood and kissed Eilidh’s brow. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’ll be back soon.” As he left, he nodded to the nurses hovering in the background, and they bowed to him silently.
Outside Eilidh’s rooms, a rather put-out Prince Koen argued with one of the Watchers. When Griogair appeared, the younger prince’s eyes narrowed. “What is this with the queen?” he demanded.
“She is not to be disturbed,” Griogair said. He turned toward his own rooms and signalled for Koen to follow. How tedious of the boy.
“I am her mate. A visit from me would not disturb her,” he said. “She always welcomes me to her private chambers.”
Griogair knew the boast wasn’t true. Eilidh hadn’t lain with Koen since their mat
ing ceremony. She confessed to Griogair she wouldn’t likely do so again. Unfortunately, she found Prince Koen as tiresome as Griogair did.
He led Koen to his study and gestured for him to go inside. Griogair offered him a drink. Koen accepted and sat without waiting to be invited.
“The queen is ill,” Griogair said.
Koen sat up. “Ill? Have you sent for healers?”
Griogair didn’t bother answering the idiotic question. “It is vital word does not get out,” he said. “Which is why I suggested you stay in Canton Dreich.”
“What has befallen her?” Koen asked.
Griogair tapped his fingers on a nearby shelf. He couldn’t justify keeping the truth from Koen. Regardless of how much he disliked the prince, he was Eilidh’s third mate. “Elder Oron and I have discussed the matter. So be aware nothing I say here should leave this room. Do you understand?”
Koen bristled at Griogair’s authoritative tone but gave a sharp nod.
“Lord Druid Munro is dead.” As he said the words aloud, Griogair realised how strongly he felt the loss. He’d been so worried for his mate, he’d not taken time to think what the death of the human who had become like a brother would mean. Suddenly, his duty to Caledonia seemed that much lonelier. In brief terms, he described to Koen what happened to Munro at the portal.
Athair.
Koen’s head whipped around. “Did you hear that?”
Griogair nodded. It was louder than before. “Princess Maiya was with her father when he was taken. She grieves for him.”
“She possesses a strong astral talent, then,” he said.
“Oron is with her now. As Eilidh’s heir, she must be protected. Until we learn what happened to Munro, she will remain here.”
Koen sat in silence. Griogair could see the thoughts ticking by in the younger faerie’s mind. “Do you believe the loss of her druid will kill our mate?”
Griogair’s chest tightened. That Koen would speak callously of such an eventuality angered Griogair. On the other hand, the young prince had not been born Caledonian. He owed Eilidh only gratitude and loyalty, not love. “Not kill, I think, but I cannot say how long she will remain in her current state. Until the Druid Hall announces Munro’s death, we will keep her condition quiet. That will allow Oron and the healers to determine a prognosis. It’s too soon to know.”
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