Knights of Black Swan, Books 7-9 (Knights of Black Swan Box Set Book 3)

by Victoria Danann

  When the truck stopped, we were facin’ away from the palace so I could no’ tell where we were.

  “Here you are,” said the driver as he got out and slammed his door.

  My body was stiff after sittin’ in such an unnatural position for so long. So it took me a bit to convince my body to respond. Ram was already on the ground waitin’ while I coaxed my body to a standin’ position. It took a little longer than that to make my knees walk me to the end of the truck bed and devise a way to get off the bloody vehicle while the driver watched as if it was a show.

  When finally I reclaimed the ground, I got my first view of the palace. It almost took my breath away. ‘Twas a mass of gleaming windows and golden stone such that I thought surely people on Earth put the gods to shame by buildin’ such a spectacular place.

  I looked down at the boy, tryin’ to imagine him residin’ in such a place. “Tis your home, lad?”

  Ram looked up at me. “Aye,” was all he said, but I distinctly caught the tone that revealed he was no’ the least happy about that fact.

  The driver held out his hand. I put the gold piece in his palm and said, “Spend it wisely.”

  To that he replied, “Fuck off,” and climbed back inside the dreadful contraption.

  The guard gate was perhaps thirty feet away, but the guard was already starin’ at Ram, his expression frozen in open-mouthed astonishment. By the time we approached the gate, he had closed his mouth. Apparently the royal family had no’ reported their child missin’.

  “Let us in,” Ram told him. The child had taken on an air that said he knew he would be obeyed.

  “Aye, Your Highness,” said the guard, lookin’ at me warily.

  When I attempted to follow the child, the guard stepped in front of me.

  “Him, too,” the lad ordered.

  The guard stepped aside, but made it clear that he did so grudgin’ly.

  The walk to the seat of Irish kings was uphill from there on a wide stone boulevard that looked clean enough to eat from.

  Guards posted at the front entrance eyed me like they believed me to be a person of nefarious purpose. I nodded and smiled in response.

  The front door, almost as big as the gate to Black-On-Tarry, opened and a man in service costume appeared at the door. But within seconds of steppin’ into the grand foyer, a woman passin’ by shrieked and ran off.

  I thought I heard the child mumble, “And here we go.”

  Standin’ at the front door, I turned to the man who’d opened it. “Now that I’ve seen the young prince home, I’ll be on my way. Good day.”

  “Sir,” said the man, “please do no’ leave just yet. I’m certain that…”

  His sentence was cut short by a shriek exponentially louder than the first. Following the sound I looked up to see a woman hurryin’ down the stairs. She was easily the most beautiful creature imaginable. Even with red rimmed puffy eyes, she was like a myth come to life. When she reached us, she fell to her knees, grabbed the lad and sobbed.

  Though his face was smushed into her shoulder, he looked sideways at me and I was fair sure ‘twas embarrassment I saw.

  “Sir.” I turned on the chance ‘twas I who was bein’ addressed. “The king would like a word if you’d be so kind.”

  I glanced at Ram, gave him a little nod, and followed the man forthwith. After some minutes’ walk, I was ushered through a reception area almost as large as my village. There were six pairs of desks facin’ each other at the edges of the room. As I passed, all of the occupants stared as if I was a leopard on a leash.

  At length a door opened. The fancy man stood back and gestured for me to enter with a little flourish. I looked back when I heard the door close behind me. There was no mistakin’ the air of authority that floated ‘round the king like a cloud.

  Handsome as I’d been told he was by folks in my village, he came forward to meet me with his hand extended. “Ethelred Hawking,” said he in a matter-of-fact tone.

  I took his hand. “Your Highness. I’m Liam O’Torvall.” Permittin’ myself a hint of pride, I felt my chest swell a bit when I added, “New mayor of Black-On-Tarry.”

  “Black-On-Tarry,” he said gesturin’ to one of two large leather chairs that sat next to the small fire. The door opened and a man servant appeared inside. “Would you care for some whiskey, Mr. O’Torvall? By the look of it, you were caught in the rain bringin’ my son back to us.”

  “Aye. I’d be grateful if you have a finger or two to spare. In fact we did encounter a shower.”

  While the man poured from a crystal decanter with facets that picked up every nuance of light and color in the room, the king studied me.

  “If you do no’ mind the inquiry, how did you travel from Black-On-Tarry?”

  “We walked to a road built for motor vehicles and waved down a ride.” I waited to take a sip of whiskey until the king raised his glass, thinkin’ that would be the mannered thing to do. “I gave a truck driver a gold coin to let us ride in the back of his contraption.”

  Hearin’ that, the king spluttered and choked on his whiskey. The manservant rushed over with a length of fine white linen and attempted to assist, but the king, seemin’ annoyed for some reason, dismissed him and told him to leave us alone. The man bowed slightly and left quiet as a mouse.

  When the king finished dabbin’ at his clothes and recovered his demeanor, he looked me full in the face. “So my son rode in the back of a truck, in the rain, for twenty miles?”

  I shook my head. “Did no’ rain the whole way.”

  “Where did you find him?”

  “He was at the huntin’ cottage your grandfather built. One of our hunters reported thinkin’ he saw a child. The next day, which was yesterday, I took a ride out to investigate the sightin’.” I couldn’t help but smile rememberin’ that the lad had been lured into the open by the promise of chicken and cheese. “The prince agreed to come home with me on the promise of lamb stew and berry pie.”

  The king nodded. “Mr. Mayor, Rammel’s mother and I are greatly indebted to you for bringin’ him home safe. As you can imagine, the household has been in a state since discoverin’ that he’d gone missin’. His mother was… well, she was beside herself.”

  “Perfectly understandable.”

  “Indeed. Most importantly, I want to be sure that you are adequately rewarded.”

  “No reward is necessary. ‘Twas an honor to be of service to the Crown. And the lad… he’s special.”

  The king pursed his lips. “At the very least, allow us to give you dry clothes, a gold coin to replace the one spent, and a ride home.”

  I thought about it for a moment, put myself in his shoes, and realized that, as a father, I would want to at least restore to wholeness the person who brought my child to me safe and sound. With that reasonin’, I said, “Aye. I accept. I would like one other thing.”

  The king sighed and I noticed a small slump of his shoulders. There was no tellin’ what he thought I’d be askin’ next.

  “I’d like to say goodbye to Ram.”

  I can no’ say the king e’er smiled durin’ my audience, but he did no’ look displeased by the request.

  Half an hour later I was dressed in clothes that were fine and strange and waitin’ in the palace vestibule to tell the young prince that I valued makin’ his acquaintance.

  Ram drug his feet and scuffed his boots along the floor as he came forward, as if he was put out by something.

  “Goodbye,” I said. “’Twas a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Aye,” he said, “and you as well.” Then he whispered, “Next time I’d like blackberry pie.”

  I pulled back to see if he was jokin’ and caught the sparkle in his eyes. ‘Twas impossible to tell if that sparkle was ignited by humor or by an actual plan to return to the New Forest the next time heads were turned.

  As it turned out, the quip was an actual plan to be shed of Derry in favor of New Forest whenever the slightest of opportunities presented itself.
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  Twice more in a half year’s time the kings’ men arrived at our gate to retrieve the errant prince.

  Then one stormy mornin’, when I had just broken fast and settled near the fire to begin prioritizin’ my day with a nap, there was a rap on my door. I pulled the latch open to find Tommy Hillknocker standin’ there with the king of Ireland big as life, bein’ pelted by rain like he shared mortality with the rest of us.

  I opened the door wide.

  “’Tis the king,” Tommy said.

  “I see that, Tommy.”

  “I thought I should open the gate for him,” Tommy added as if his brain was as addled as some suspected.

  “Aye. You did the right thing. Whene’er the king comes to call, you have authority to open at once.” Lookin’ pleased with himself, Tommy nodded. I stepped back and motioned for the king to come in. When Tommy tried to follow, I firmly but politely shut the door in his face. “Your Highness. You’re welcome in my home. However humble.”

  The king nodded, stepped forward, and removed the black wax coat he wore to keep the rain off.

  “Thank you, Mr. Mayor.”

  “Please have a seat.” Frankly, I felt rather grand bein’ able to return the favor of offerin’ a seat by the fire and a splash of Irish whiskey. “I know ‘tis early in the day, but let me fetch ye a whiskey to ward off the chill.”

  “In truth, that sounds like just what I need. If I could trouble you for that and a few minutes’ conversation.”

  “Certainly, sir.” I handed him a pewter mug with a couple of fingers of my best whiskey at the bottom. He looked down into the cup like a man with a heavy burden, then drank deep.

  “’Tis about my son.”

  “Missin’ again, is he?”

  “I’m afraid so. He seems to have taken a likin’ to the Forest and ‘tis becomin’ a problem. I’ve been thinkin’. I do no’ want to cage my child.”

  When the king did no’ speak again for a few moments, I said, “No. O’course no’.”

  “But I want him to be safe.” I nodded. The king’s eyes searched mine. “Do you have children?”

  “Two daughters. Grown and married, but no’ yet parents themselves.”

  “I have a daughter. Sweet and obedient for the most part. Rammel…” The king sighed. “He’s a lot of trouble.”

  “Aye. To be sure.”

  “I’ve talked it over with his mother. He hates livin’ at Derry. But he seems to love livin’ here.” The king paused and studied the contents of his mug like a witch scrying the future. “We’re goin’ to agree to let him stay. Two months at a time here. One month at home durin’ which his mother can be reassured he is alright and I can arrange enough tutorials to condense his education.

  “But we’ll need your help because I’ve promised his mother that he’ll be safe. And fed. And clean.”

  I cleared my throat wonderin’ to myself how he could promise that a child livin’ alone among the wild things could be safe.

  He continued. “I was wonderin’ if I could offer some recompense for sendin’ someone out to check on him. I know every day sounds like a lot, but if he was hurt…”

  The sentence trailed off as the king’s eyes drifted toward the fire. In that moment I believed I could see the sadness the man felt for no’ knowin’ what to do with such an unruly child. He did no’ want to break the spirit of the boy. Gods know that would be the worst thing to do to the person who might someday be leader of Irish elves. But the king was clearly fearful that anything might the wrong thing.

  “Sir. I would no’ dream of takin’ payment. If you’re askin’ me to be his guardian when he’s in the Forest, ‘twould be my honor. The people who live here owe your family dearly for makin’ our way of life possible. I’m too old to make the trip myself every day, but I will see to it that someone reliable checks on him and reports that he is well. A couple of times a week I will take supplies.

  “My wife will delight in sendin’ him food and, I expect, she will no’ mind washin’ his little clothes.”

  If ‘tis possible for a man to smile sadly, that’s what the king did.

  “Thank you. Ram mentioned that we should bring your wife to the palace to teach them how to cook.” I gave a hardy laugh at that and wished the old girl had been home to hear it herself. “I’d like to borrow a horse and ride out to tell Rammel about my decision.”

  I cocked an ear toward the window and heard that the rain had stopped. “The trail may be messy, but at least the rain has stopped for now. If you’d like some company, I’ll ride along. Let me gather up some provisions to keep the lad’s body and soul together till the morrow.”

  The king’s face lit up when Ainsley trotted out one of his grandfather’s battle chargers. He laughed out loud. “You’re still breedin’ them. This fellow is a sight for sore eyes, I tell you.”

  He grabbed the reins and gave the horse’s neck an appreciative rub in a gesture common among horse lovers everywhere.

  For a long time we rode with no sound other than the splashin’ of horse hooves through puddles. When we were nearin’ the cottage, he began to talk, as if to no one in particular.

  “Rammel is rash and reckless like his mother. He has a great heart.” He looked over at me and smiled. “Also like his mother.”

  “I saw her, but we were no’ introduced. ‘Twas evident that she’s mad about the lad.”

  Ethelred sighed. “Aye. He has no trouble attractin’ love. His problem is that he lacks discipline, and with a country to look after, I can no’ give him all my time.”

  “If you’d permit me an opinion.” The king did no’ answer, but nodded. “It strikes me that he may no’ just be runnin’ away from something. Perhaps ‘tis just as likely he’s searchin’ for something he thinks he’ll find here. In the New Forest.”

  The king said no more, which made me wonder if I’d said too much. But either way, within a few minutes the cottage was in sight and I could see young Ram waitin’ for us by the front door. He’d apparently concluded that hidin’ served no purpose. So he watched us quietly, without movin’ or speakin’ until we were steppin’ down from the horses.

  He lifted his chin at his father. “Da.”

  “Rammel,” Ethelred replied in a stern tone that I knew might be interpreted by the lad as lack of regard. Readin’ between the lines, I knew that was no’ the case. The king loved his son. ‘Twas a shame the child did no’ know it. Ethelred handed the reins off to me and said, “I need a minute or two with my son.”

  “Take your time,” I said, turnin’ to walk the horses to the stream for a drink.

  The two of them remained inside the cottage for, perhaps, half an hour’s time. When they emerged, the king looked ten years older than he had when we’d first met at Derry. Ram looked pleased beyond description that he was no’ bein’ dragged home against his will. Again.

  As the king mounted his horse, I said to Ram, “Ride home with me tonight. Have a good meal. We’ll work out a system to stay in contact. Then tomorrow you can choose a horse to bring back here.”

  If possible, Rammel was even more delighted at that prospect. He put away the provisions I’d brought, closed up the cottage, and swung up behind me.

  All the way back, he chattered about various things he’d discovered in the Forest. He asked about the genus of every tree and bush, asked about the species of every bird whose song was heard, and asked if I knew there was a pack of wolves that roamed further north.

  I noticed the last question gave his father pause. “Rammel, when you come home on December 1st, talk all you want about trees and bushes and birds and the like, but do no’ be mentionin’ wolves to your mother or you’ll no’ be back come January.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “And give them a wide berth. Consider it a rule. Wolves are no’ dogs.”

  “Well…”

  “Non-negotiable.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Perhaps the threat of losin’ his Forest-visitin’ privileges would
be just the thing to keep the young scoundrel in line.

  The king did no’ kiss or hug his son goodbye. He gave a nod, then disappeared beyond the gate without turnin’ back.

  That night, after Ram had eaten his weight at supper and gone to sleep, no doubt weary from the events and emotion of the day, I fondled my wife’s ample and shapely arse, then left to go to the meetin’ I’d called at Ren O’Malley’s house.

  I had hastily requested that the heads of certain households gather to discuss the precious responsibility that I had accepted on our behalf. It seemed that, in the case of Rammel Hawking, it would take a village to raise a child.