Aurelie: A Faerie Tale

by Heather Tomlinson

  Aurelie relaxed into her seat. At least one other person hadn't dressed like a buccaneer's pet parrot. She could forgive the gold studs glinting in his ears, it was so restful to look at him. "You thought the party was informal, too?" She gestured from her gown to his equally plain coat.

  "What?" He sounded surprised, then laughed. "No, these are ship's dress blacks. Considered suitable for the most formal event."

  "Oh," Aurelie said. "Your pardon."

  "Don't mention it." With relish, her seatmate cracked open a spiny crustacean. "Informal means the serving style," he explained. "The latest rage. Dishes set out on the tables, you pick what you like, sit where you please, then circulate between courses. Not like a banquet, where you're stuck in one chair all night."

  "Ah." She studied her lap.

  White teeth flashed as he dismembered another sea creature and sucked out the meat. "Claw?" he offered.

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  She repressed a shudder. "No, thank you."

  Without asking, he took some of her squid, chewed, and swallowed. "Delicious. Last bite for you?"

  Aurelie opened her mouth to refuse. The stranger tipped the squid into it. "Down the hatch," he said cheerfully, and wiped his greasy hands on a napkin. He didn't appear to notice how the sauce made her nose run.

  She choked it down. She'd emptied her goblet but was desperate to wash away the pepper flakes searing her tongue. Aurelie leaned across the pushy fellow and seized his drink. She gulped half its contents at one go, only to cough in surprise as the clear liquid burned a second, even more incendiary, path down her throat. Not water.

  Far from being offended, he grunted with approval. "Spirited girl, aren't you? Not at all what I'd expected from a lubber."

  She couldn't mistake the tinge of scorn, but Aurelie was sputtering too breathlessly to challenge it. "What... what was--"

  "Mother's private reserve." The Skoeran closed one eye and tapped the side of his nose. "More where that came from, Your Highness--you stick close to me." He swigged the rest, smacking his lips.

  Aurelie stood up. "And you are?" Her voice came out shakier than she liked. Between the fiery spices and the liquor, her head was spinning.

  The light eyes opened wide. "Plank me for a mannerless Fool. Hui Inglis, First of the sailing vessel Splinter, at Your Highness's service." He stood and snapped off a salute, then seized her arm. "Let's promenade." His brisk air made it a command rather than an invitation.

  Aurelie stretched her legs to keep up. She couldn't think how

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  to extricate herself from a man so determined to parade his prize through the room. Even when he paused to speak to an acquaintance, Hui kept a firm grasp on her arm.

  Diplomacy, she reminded herself. Best not offend her hostess's son. Especially when Aurelie's job included mending relations between their countries. She kept her mouth closed in a tight smile so as not to admit any more of the spicy Skoeran tidbits Inglis kept trying to feed her.

  Other women, she noted, seemed flattered by the First's attention, whether to their plate, pearls, or person. Like his mother's, those light eyes calculated the worth of the goods on display, rendered an internal verdict, and moved on.

  Inglis seemed a popular sort; guests sought his opinion on topics from weather and trade to fashion and politics. But his true passion, and that of his closest friends, soon became apparent. They shared a mania for sport. Three men arguing about crag-climbing routes halted their tour of the room for quite a while, as did a discussion ranking those of Dorisen's competitive step-racers not recovering from broken legs.

  Aurelie stood, shifting from foot to aching foot in her tight shoes. Her neck itched. She scratched it surreptitiously. Her escort didn't notice her fidgeting. He was droning on about iceboats. "Sea Wolf," he told a group of adoring young beauties. "Fresh crew, plenty of talent. They'll make the eight."

  One red-haired girl with a band of emeralds blazing around her head dared to contradict him. "Hirondelle's helm told me they were sure to narrow her point deficit and qualify ahead of Sea Wolf for the finals."

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  "An iceboat crewed by women?" Hui Inglis's lip curled. "Isn't Hirondelle's patron the same idiot who sponsored Iceflash two years ago? I heard she lost a fortune."

  The redhead's cheeks flushed. Aurelie looked down to spare her embarrassment. Green light flared in the corner of her vision. The emeralds or the headache returning? She closed her eyes and willed it away.

  "That rig's a show act, not a serious contender, mademoiselle," Inglis said. "Waste of talent, girls crewing iceboats. Why risk your pretty fingers to frostbite and worse? That's what brothers and sweethearts are for. Though women do make some of the fleet's best navigators," he added gallantly.

  "And captains, and helms," Aurelie thought she heard, but Hui galloped her out of earshot before she could be sure.

  An older man hailed them over a plate of scallops in a seaweed broth. "So what d'ye think of Woolyworm's chances?"

  Hui snorted. "Gargouille, you mean? Superstitious nonsense, that nickname."

  Aurelie couldn't agree with him. She wondered whose stupid idea that had been, treating a dangerous Fae as a sporting mascot. Names had power. Gargouilles were even deadlier than dracs, though fortunately rarer. They must not live in Skoe. In Jocondagne, naming a vessel Gargouille and racing her anywhere in the country would be like shouting "Here, kitty, kitty" to a tiger.

  "As you say, First." The man didn't argue, but he didn't repeat the name, either.

  Inglis sneered at his caution. "That old tub has needed a refit for

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  years, and with the current timber shortage..." He rolled his eyes in Aurelie's direction,

  She hardly noticed. A large, loud group had drawn her attention to a corner of the room. Guests surrounded a cluster of boisterous young men and one or two women wearing red jerseys and gold caps with a dragon emblem picked out in red beads. Aurelie frowned when she recognized a gargouille's likeness. Under the caps, the iceboat crew's faces had been painted gold to match, like jeweled idols come to life. The effect was dramatic, and also strange, since the skin paint blurred the uniqueness of each person's features into the same gilded mask.

  Why, then, should her eyes return to one man in particular, finding familiarity in his stance, the set of his shoulders, the considering tilt of his head?

  He turned. Gray-green eyes met hers, and recognition sparked between them. Garin! The air left Aurelie's chest as if a suck-breath had stolen it.

  Hui Inglis swung round to follow her gasp of surprise and swore under his breath. "Woolies, here?"

  Fortunately, Aurelie was not required to answer. She needed to remember how to breathe. In, out. So simple, so impossible. Her insides tumbled; her skin tingled. This time, it wasn't liquor but impatience that set her whole body on fire. She willed her friend to cross the room and speak to her.

  "Been at sea awhile, eh, Inglis?" The older man licked broth off his spoon. "Word on the wind, their new patron took Fleur de Glace apart for her wood and scoured the northern fleet for prime riggers."

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  If the man had more gossip to impart, his listeners disappointed him. At top speed, Hui towed Aurelie toward the woman dressed in crimson and gold who stood in the center of the room chatting with the Alsinhalese ambassador.

  "Good evening. Ambassador." Hui dropped Aurelie's arm like a hot poker and seized Captain Inglis's sleeve. "Tell me you didn't take on Gargouille."

  "Hoist chain, son," the blond woman said. "We'll discuss it later."

  "But, Ma--"

  He sounded, Aurelie thought, like a child unhappy with his Midwinter gift.

  Captain Inglis patted her son's hand and smiled at Aurelie. The expression didn't reach her cold eyes. "Later, 1 said."

  Aurelie took advantage of Hui's sulking fit to curtsy deeply. "A pleasure meeting you, First Inglis. Ambassador, Captain Inglis," she gabbled. Picking up her skirts in both hands, she swept across the floor as fast as her
tortured feet would carry her. But when she elbowed her way into the group of iceboat riggers, Garin had gone.

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  Chapter 5 Garin

  The gold paint itched. Cheap pigment mixed with grease, it smelled like sulfur and made my eyes burn, but I couldn't wipe it off until I'd finished spying on my employer. Though another rigger claimed credit, the costumes and makeup had been my idea. Those of Captain Inglis's guests who might know Garin Deschutes wouldn't see him in (Jar the Woolie. Except my parents, and they'd arrived late and left early, careful not to give me away.

  This party was an unexpected chance to get inside the Inglis town house. So far, I'd wasted it in the blue salon, stuffing my face with our host's excellent seafood and listening to that fool Neff yap about Princess Aurelie. Too flat, too plain, too dull. Dull? He had never spoken with her, that I knew. And, yes, her gown was simple, compared with other girls' getups, but it suited her. No show filly, this princess, foof'y ribbons in her mane, oiled hooves, all that. A racehorse, Aurelie was.

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  And brave! On her ownsome in a room full of possible enemies but a smile on her lips, even if it wasn't her best one, the one that snuck out when you said something funny and caught you both by surprise. This one wasn't bad, a court number, serene. Princess Aure-lie's real smile could make a person spend half the night lying awake, trying to think of amusing things for the next day. A younger person, say, who didn't know how fickle girls could be.

  Another reason I liked the Jocondagnans' plain dress was that it made it easy to spot them coming and stay out of the way. I'd already scouted their guesthouse, spoken to a couple of their armsmen and chair porters. Netta hadn't traveled with the princess; someone would have mentioned a blind girl in the party. So Aurelie and I would talk when I was ready. Which might be never, considering how she'd plastered herself like a limpet to Hui Inglis's arm. How could the princess be fooled by him? I'd expected her to see past the First's rank and mark him for the callous, arrogant, shallow...filthy rich, good-looking son of a councillor he was.

  I ate some shrimp and cursed the gold paint for making my eyes water. But I knew the minute she recognized me. A change in the air, like smelling rain in the wind. Oh, I could have--should have--kept my back turned, so she wouldn't be sure. But I was too glad. Glad and proud that she hadn't fallen for the disguise, proving my good opinion justified. Smart girl, that Aurelie. My best friend, once upon a time, when we were children. Before the war made us both grow up in a hurry.

  It was worth the risk to see distant politeness sharpen to her most imperious look, Come here, you, even if I wasn't going to obey. Hui

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  Inglis hadn't gotten that look from her, or the secret smile, either. He wouldn't, if I could help it.

  So I'd better do what I'd come here for, besides getting a look at the princess and downing several plates of devil squid so hot the fumes would have stripped varnish. The chef's best dish, in my opinion. He'd made it often when he cooked for us, before my parents' last run of bad luck.

  Yet another reason to stroll out of the dining salon. Nonchalant. An invited retainer, out for a breath of fresh air. Nod at the footman like a guest with a little too much beer inside him. Head's along here? Thanks. Down a side corridor, look both ways, up a flight of stairs, right past another footman flirting with a maid. Slack job of keeping curious partygoers from the town house's private rooms, but I'm hardly going to report the poor lubber to Inglis, now, am I?

  Bedroom, bedroom, man's sitting room. The captain's husband died last year, so this must be the son's. Dirty boots on the floor, animal heads staring from every wall, their glass eyes empty. Quite the sportsman, our Hui, Travels to foreign lands, sees beautiful, exotic creatures, shoots 'em, stuffs 'em, and hangs his bathrobe off their antlers. Another sitting room, crimson and gold (a theme, here?), a woman's slippers beside an armchair, more promising, I'd say, and behind the silk tapestry... yes!

  Cozy little office, geraniums dripping down a balcony that faces the harbor, bet the view's a stunner in daylight. Feminine but not frilly, more flowers on the desk, three good seascapes. One of them my aunt painted; the frame's exactly the same size as a blank spot on the wall at my parents' house. Why do you hate the Deschutes so

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  much, Captain? Or is it admiration that you covet our family's chef, our paintings, our trading partners, our voice on the council?

  Strongbox bolted to the floor, no key I can find. Pity. A drawer full of ledgers, wish I had all night, but there's only time for a quick skim. Should have come earlier; guests leaving already, farewells drifting up from the courtyard below. Hurry, hurry.

  I raced through the ledgers without finding the records I was searching for: Inglis's accounting of her joint venture with my parents. The goods were stored in our warehouse at D-dock: lengths of woolen cloth; spices from cinnamon to mustard; tea leaves, coffee, and cocoa beans; and delicate porcelain cups for serving the expensive brews. All awaited distribution to the most exclusive shops in Dorisen and abroad, too, once the treaty was signed. Rales and bundles, crates and chests, a profitable sale would restore my family's fortune, unless Inglis had found a way to cheat us. My father fully expected her to try. Hence, my employment as a Woolie.

  I'd decided she must keep the records I wanted at the firm's office by the docks, when I found a slim book slipped between two others. No page titles, no headings to the transactions. All outgoing, it appeared, cryptic abbreviations and amounts. Large amounts. 6 c-ptr, r-t; 2 Jk crw, whs vst. Payouts, maybe? Was this why the council deliberations went her way so often? It was a puzzle for later.

  From down in the courtyard came a burst of drunken singing. Neff shouted, "Gar, hey, Garboyl Where'ye at?"

  The rigger sounded stubborn enough to wait until I showed. Not out of any great affection; he'd think I'd found a better class of brew and was enjoying it without him.

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  I left the office as I'd found it. One glance down the hall told me the footman's watch had changed. A new man stood on the top step, whistling. I ducked into Hui's sitting room and fortune smiled: another balcony. It would be an easy jump to the garden wall and a convenient trellis, but I heard voices coming up the stairs. A man and a woman argued softly, the way people do when their house is crawling with guests. I crouched on the balcony just outside the door, hoping that the trailing geraniums and darkness would screen my gaudy outfit from the courtyard below.

  "...told you to engage the princess, not that Burgida creature." Captain Inglis, laying down the law.

  "Who, the redhead?" Hui, defensive.

  "Absolutely off limits."

  "I hardly spoke to her. Anyway, that Jok girl was eating from my hand; she'll trim out nicely, for a lubber. But what's this about Gargouille?"

  "New opportunity."

  "But, Ma, you said J could pick---" A door shut and cut off the conversation.

  Moments later, I was slapping the rigger on the back. "Bunk time for you, Neff."

  "Sailing the sweet salt sea," he bellowed, hitting only half the notes and blasting us with his pepper breath.

  A waiting porter grinned, teeth white in the torchlight. "Two coppers says yon crewman takes the last step-way on his scuppered a--"

  "Sure, sure," I interrupted him. "We'll beat you to the docks and

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  collect." Princess Aurelie was stepping outside, hadn't the fool seen? She didn't deserve to hear that kind of language.

  All the way down to our barracks, Neff sang and I stewed. So Captain Inglis had set Hui's sails in Aurelie's direction. Well, the First could chart the course, but it'd be an ill wind that brought him to shore. I'd warn the princess--as a friend--that the Inglises couldn't be trusted. All I needed was proof.

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  Chapter 6 Aurelie

  "Where'd he go, puss?"

  Amber eyes stared back at her. Aurelie snuggled deeper into the window seat and leaned against the cool glass. Fog had descended in the night and was lifting,
grudgingly. Between rows of slate-roofed warehouses, a sliver of harbor glimmered deeper gray in the dawn light. Tied to the docks, the ships wore wisps of veil, like shy brides.

  The cat nudged Aurelie's fingers. She scratched its chin. "I looked everywhere," she said. "Poof. Tricksy as a Fae." Long whiskers twitched; a purr rumbled in the cat's throat.

  Aurelie opened the instrument case and took out her flute. Enjoying the wood's satin feel, she lifted it to her lips and blew. Softly, at first, delicate as the rising fog, the notes of a mountain ballad trickled out. Aurelie closed her eyes. She'd often played this tune for Netta and Garin and Loic. The drac loved her music. He'd sit so still he

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  almost disappeared, letting Netta braid his hair into lutin twists. The melody--or the memory--worked its magic. Disappointment eased.

  They hadn't spoken, but she had seen Garin. He was here in Dorisen, not at sea with his family's ships. She might meet him again today, or tomorrow; the negotiations would take time.

  A faster tune followed the ballad, notes chasing one another like goats skipping from rock to rock. Beside her, the cat's full-throated purring stopped and his back went rigid. Still playing, Aurelie peeked through her lashes.

  The ears flicked, the hindquarters quivered.

  Cats were awfully moody creatures. They could be wholly present one minute, and the next...slinking along the floor after dust motes or spiders. Aurelie hoped it wasn't another big hairy one, like Elise had surprised in the washbasin the previous night. Aurelie squinted. Nothing, until she favored her left eye.

  Oh.

  The gray cat was stalking a lutin. An ugly one, the squishy, squashy body topped with giant bat ears and a shifty expression just visible through tufts of hair. Aurelie brought the tune to a close, set the flute down, and reached for a pair of boots, in case she needed to stomp in a hurry. But these two appeared to be old adversaries. Just as the cat pounced, the Fae ducked and rolled, tweaking the furry tail as he slid under the chamber door. The cat yowled in disappointment, then sat down, extended one hind leg, and licked with great concentration.