Aurelie: A Faerie Tale

by Heather Tomlinson

  The Fae calling herself Burgida bowed again. "Another woman, First Inglis."

  His cheeks flushed an unbecoming red. "My mother hired you?"

  "We reached an agreement this morning," Burgida said. "I'm to helm her iceboat this season."

  Hui Inglis's fists clenched. He straightened from the doorframe with a violence that had Aurelie tensing on her stool. The helm didn't move, but the air around her bloomed with danger, a rusty tang that Aurelie tasted in the back of her throat. Her stomach turned.

  When Loic smelled like that, she, Netta, and Garin had learned to leave him alone for a while. And he'd been a baby, with hardly any magic. Aurelie didn't know what this dragon-woman might be capable of, but she didn't want to find out in a high, walled courtyard where Hui Inglis blocked the only exit. He couldn't be aware of Burgida's true nature; Aurelie didn't believe a competent ship's officer would dare to treat a Fae like a flunky.

  What had possessed the otherworldly creature to put herself in this situation? Except for the melusines, Aurelie hadn't heard of Fae pretending to be mortal for more than a few hours at a time. This one must have passed for years to earn a helm's rank.

  Yet Inglis bulled toward her, stupid with anger.

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  "The flatbread smells delicious." Aurelie jumped off the stool and helped herself to a knife from the table next to the grill. A poor weapon, but better than nothing if the Fae attacked. "Baked with garlic and rosemary, yes?" she babbled, trying to draw Hui Inglis's attention to herself. "They make it that way in the mountains near Cantrez, where my mother was born. We'd spend summers there, on Grand-mere's farm." She chose one of the small loaves cooling on the rack and sliced it in two, then held out the bread so Garin could flip a seared fish steak onto each piece.

  "Cantrez?" Hui stopped short.

  "You've heard of it?" Aurelie shoved a piece of bread and fish into his hand.

  "Aye." The First spat on the ground.

  Before Aurelie could react to the insult, Garin took two lurching steps from the grill. His scraper waved between Burgida and Inglis, and the First had to retreat or risk getting fish grease and charcoal smeared across his yellow coat. "Hot sauce or lemon, pretty lady?"

  "You'll address her as Highness," First Inglis snarled. His free hand cuffed Garin's ear.

  Aurelie tensed, but Garin dropped against the stone grill, managing to make it look accidental that no part of his body touched the banked coals. Her silent apology didn't penetrate Garin's blank expression. "Lemon, thank you," she said. "And another for my maid Elise, if you'd be so kind."

  "Crew slop," Inglis sneered.

  Aurelie's temper, stressed already by his rudeness, snapped. "Then I'm sure it's good enough for you, First," she said, leaning on his title.

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  She took a big bite of steaming, flaky fish and the garlicky bread underneath. No spices, no sauces, just honest food, perfectly cooked, and about time, too. She chewed and swallowed. "Unless First is a courtesy title?" she said with poisonous sweetness.

  He couldn't object to the insult, since she'd posed the slander as question. A muffled cough behind her told her that one other person, at least, appreciated the distinction.

  "No, Your Highness," Inglis said. His dignity was spoiled by having to lick fish juice off his hand before it could drip onto his polished boots.

  "Nor helm, neither." Garin held out his hand for the knife. Reluctantly, she surrendered it. Burgida had slipped away; Aurelie wouldn't need it anymore. Garin sliced another loaf. "Lotsa tests, the officers take. Makes my brain hurt, thinkin' on it."

  "I'm sure it does," Hui Inglis said sourly. "Princess Aurelie, if you're ready?"

  Aurelie nodded. Garin gave her another helping offish and bread wrapped in a worn cloth napkin. "For your maid. Highness."

  "Thank you." All her attention was focused on the spot where their fingers met. Not quite a squeeze, nothing so definite as a caress, but the light pressure filled her with warmth. He turned back to the grill, humming under his breath as if she'd already gone.

  She'd found him. She even thought she understood why he didn't want her to acknowledge him. Princesses usually didn't recognize lowly crewmen and cooks; both Burgida and Inglis would have wondered at it. Curious, though, that Garin should be keeping company with a Fae. Not to mention working for a rival family's iceboat crew.

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  If Aurelie remembered correctly, Garin's parents were merchants like the Inglises and just as prominent in Skoeran society. Garin must have a good reason for hiring out. Had his clan's fortunes suffered during the war? Not an easy question to ask; Garin had his pride, too. How else could she find out? Again, she missed Netta. Her friend would know exactly how to discover the truth without hurting anybody's feelings.

  In thoughtful silence, Aurelie followed Hui Inglis's stiff back through the warehouse and out the sliding doors to rejoin the waiting Elise.

  Crew slop or not, the First had finished his meal almost before Elise had taken one bite. The Skoeran recovered his good humor by relating several tedions anecdotes from his most recent voyage. Things were always breaking on a boat, it seemed, and needed to be fixed with the tools and materials on board, which were never precisely suited to the job.

  "Excuse me, First Inglis," Aurelie inserted into one of his infrequent pauses for breath, "does Dorisen have a library?"

  "Certainly, Your Highness." He sounded affronted, as if she'd accused his capital of lacking covered sewers, or any other benefit of civilization. "We'll pass it shortly, up two step-ways from the university's main lecture hall."

  Behind them, Elise made a small, unhappy noise. Even before the iceboat warehouse, the maid's enthusiasm for the city tour had flagged. As they'd approached the step-way that led down to their guesthouse, her pace had picked up, like a horse that scents its stable nearby.

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  Aurelie wanted to visit the library, but not with Hui Inglis looking over her shoulder. She cast about for an excuse to be rid of him. "I'm afraid we'll have to leave the remaining sights for another day, if I'm to sit in on the afternoon session."

  "Afternoon session?" The Skoeran sounded puzzled.

  "The treaty negotiations," Aurelie reminded him.

  "They don't need you, do they?" he asked, and again Aurelie heard him telling Burgida that it was a waste of talent for girls to crew iceboats. His own mother was a captain. Why did he have such a low opinion of women's capabilities? She hoped, for their sakes, that none had to crew under him.

  "I trust Count Sicard completely, but I like to know what's in the documents I sign." She curtsied. "Many thanks for this delightful and instructive morning."

  "You're most welcome." He smiled, and Aurelie understood why I he Skoeran women found him so charming. "Until soon, I trust," he added. "Fireworks tonight, down at the harbor. My mother's partners are sponsoring; they should put on a good show. You'll attend?"

  "I believe we received an invitation," Aurelie said, and curtsied again.

  As she descended to the guesthouse, her head buzzed with plans. She needed information about Skoeran Fae and Dorisen's trading families and iceboat racing, to start with. She'd leave Elise to soak her sore feet, and hire a box-chair to visit the library.

  But when they reached their rooms, Count Sicard waited, his ruddy face creased in anxious lines. "The negotiations are not going well, Your Highness." He paced across the floor of Aurelie's sitting room,

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  boards creaking under his weight. The resident cat watched his progress through half-closed lids. "Captain Inglis has demanded the most extraordinary concessions regarding timber allotments. Both the Alsinhalese ambassador and I find them unacceptable. This morning, I regret to say, our hostess flew into a rage, accusing us of sabotaging the talks and, worse, attacking Skoeran convoys on the high seas."

  "Is that true?" Aurelie asked.

  "No, of course not."

  "But we confiscated some of their hulls at the Lumielle breakwater, didn't we?
"

  "Well, yes, when war was first declared. But they've been returned, and we've initiated no attacks since the truce was declared. Unfortunately, Captain Inglis has convinced herself--and many of her fellow councillors--otherwise. If you'd attend the afternoon session, perhaps your presence would moderate her behavior."

  Aurelie's lie to Hui Inglis, back to bite her. "Why should she listen to me?" Aurelie said. "The Inglises don't seem to care for anyone's opinions but their own."

  "The captain seems to, ah, entertain some hopes regarding her son," the count said, delicately. "The two of you enjoyed spending time together at the supper last night, and his attentions today were noi unwelcome?" he finished, as Aurelie frowned.

  "Frankly, monsieur, I'd rather not marry Hui Inglis," she said.

  "He didn't, ah, that is, your chaperone..." Eyebrows raised, the count glanced at Elise, who shook her head.

  "We had a fine time," Aurelie said. Except for Hui hitting Garin. "I just don't think we'd suit."

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  "But for a day or two?" Her adviser spread his hands in polite inquiry. "At least while the negotiations are in such an unsettled state.

  More lies. Aurelie sighed. But the count had only asked her to butter up the Inglises until the treaty could be signed. She probably wouldn't have to work very hard at it. Hui, at least, was capable of flattering himself; she had only to smile and hold her tongue, and he would think her in complete agreement. Of course, she would also have to delay satisfying her own curiosity. That was a small sacrifice, for her country's sake.

  She forced her lips into a false smile, no doubt the first of many. "I'd be honored to attend, monsieur."

  "Splendid."

  When the worry lifted from the count's face, Aurelie knew she'd made the right decision. That didn't mean she had to enjoy the results.

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  Chapter 8 Aurelie

  Alone in her box-chair, Aurelie brooded on the afternoon's events as the porters carried her away from the meeting rooms, down toward the guesthouse. During the session, Captain Inglis had been brusque to the point of insult to all the participants except Aurelie. Under that lacquered helmet of fair hair, the woman had skin like cowhide and a tongue to match. Whatever had possessed the other Skoeran councillors to put her in charge of the treaty talks?

  Aurelie squinted through the window slot into the gathering dusk. Oil lamps glowed in windows and over doorways, though Dorisen's streets were otherwise unlit. A few people trotted past the box-chair, hurrying homeward for their suppers, most likely. The approach of night didn't slow her porters, Two lanterns fixed to the roof of the box-chair cast halos of light fore and aft. In their watery glow, the porters marched easily down the step-ways.

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  Until the first explosion.

  "Plank mel" At the loud booming noise, the man in front stopped short, causing the rear porter to slew the box-chair sideways.

  "Watch yer step," the second man growled.

  The chair hobbled. Aurelie put her eyes to the slot. "What's happening?"

  "Trouble at the docks," the lead man said. "Hear that?"

  Another dull boom echoed up the crater's sides, followed by the crackle of smaller arms.

  "They attacking?" The second porter sounded more resigned than afraid. "Councillor said the truce wouldn't hold. Cursed Joks, can't trust 'em farther nor I can spit." He hawked up a gob of phlegm and demonstrated.

  The box-chair shook. Aurelie shrank against the bench. Cursed Joks? Did they resent carrying her? Should she try and escape? It couldn't be her father's forces attacking, not while she was in Dorisen working for peace. The Alsinhalese, maybe? But they, too, had sent a representative. Had the Skoerans other enemies? And which two-faced councillor had spread such a vile rumor? It must be a mistake.

  "Shift stumps, man," the first porter said. "We'll ship this load, get to a station, case there's fire."

  Aurelie clutched the frame as her box-chair heaved like a ship in a storm. With little care for their passenger's comfort, the porters charged down the stairs. When they reached the guesthouse courtyard, they heaved her out of the box-chair. She swayed on the pavement, trying not to cry from her fear and the rough handling. If the fighting started again, what would happen to her party? Except for

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  a pair of armsmen, their crew had stayed aboard ship rather than come into town. Less provocative, Count Sicard had said, and Aurelie agreed. Dorisen's council had stationed city guards at the guesthouse gate, but they owed no loyalty to the Jocondagnans.

  "Sorry, mam'selle." The lead porter jerked his thumb at the other. "We're fire line, see, to keep the ships 'n' warehouses covered."

  Aurelie nodded, not trusting her voice. At least they hadn't left her at an upper level to make her way down alone in the dark. Or worse, dumped her in the harbor as a "cursed Jok." She pressed a coin into the man's hand.

  "Right kind of ye, mam'selle." More box-chairs rattled into the courtyard. Count Sicard tumbled out of one.

  "Aureliel" he called, his voice rich with relief. The informality startled her, until she realized that, ever the diplomat, the count had avoided using her title in order to protect her. He must have heard the same tale from his porters: a sneak attack and Jocondagne to blame.

  The box-chairs were jostling for the courtyard's single exit when the sound of cannons firing made all those present cover their ears and run to the shelter of a shed's overhanging roof. The sea breeze carried a sulfurous reek.

  "Harbor guns?" a rough voice said.

  "Nah," another man answered, sounding doubtful. "More like--aww."

  A huge orange chrysanthemum bloomed over the city. Each slender petal folded into a lick of flame that kissed the dark before melting into nothing.

  Ssssss. Boom! A thunderclap split the sky. This time, a giant blue

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  and green spiral unwound, rippling to earth like a knot of celestial snakes.

  The porters burst out laughing. They slapped each other on the back. "Over the yardarm, man."

  "Had you spooked, dinnit?"

  Count Sicard chuckled weakly.

  "The fireworks," Aurelie said out loud. Her knees gave way, and she sank, mindless of her long skirts, onto the ground.

  Doors flew open; lodgers and servants ran out to see the spectacle. Bang! Bang! Bang! Plumes of white light waved overhead. Yowling, the gray cat shot across the courtyard and disappeared inside the guesthouse.

  "Isn't it splendid, Your Highness?" Elise appeared beside Aurelie. The maid hopped from foot to stockinged foot on the cold stone. "As good seen from here as any old reviewing stand."

  Aurelie hugged her arms across her middle. Her stomach still felt queasy, as if she'd swallowed too much fear. "Who invited us, again?"

  "The D-something family. Desfleurs? Desamis? The sponsors, anyway."

  "Deschutes?" Aurelie croaked.

  "Yes, that's right," Elise said. "You met them?"

  Garin's family. "No," Aurelie said, and tasted brimstone with the lie. Smoke wafted past her upturned face as a hundred ruby pinwheels spun into oblivion. Garin's command echoed in her brain. Don't know me. Lies upon lies, and what would she have said to his parents? Just as well the diplomatic session had run late.

  A question stirred in the back of Aurelie's mind. "I thought First

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  Inglis said his mother's partners were sponsoring the fireworks?" She was asking Elise, but a porter answered.

  "Aye, mam'selle. That's a new deal."

  "Talk of the wharves," another man put in. "Captain Inglis don't take partners, her usual run of business."

  "Hauls her profits on a short line," a third agreed, rubbing his fingers together. "Whoo, d'ye see that?" A burst of green, red, and blue sparks crackled into acrid smoke.

  "Between Deschutes' hulls and her investment, they'll make a killing," the first man said.

  "Good timing for Deschutes' too; they'd a run of mortal bad luck, lately."

  "Bad luck o
r bad judgment? He's all right, but that wife"--the porter shook his head--"shiny bright work, but not much ballast to her hold. These fireworks, f'rinstance. Generous of the lady, but not too business wise, spending her profits afore they're counted into coin."

  "The Deschutes hadn't hooked up with Inglis, they'd be sellin' hulls to cover their old debts."

  Fascinated, Aurelie listened to these working folk discussing the affairs of Dorisen's most prominent families. As Lumielle's citizens did hers, no doubt. "What about their children?" she heard herself asking.

  "Bit of a dandy, that Hui, but a sound head on his shoulders. He'll rise far in the fleet," her porter predicted.

  "And the Deschutes?" she said.

  "Dunno 'bout them."

  "Girl and a boy, wasn't it?" another porter offered.

  "Nah, just the one boy, but he can't be much help to his folks. Fostered off-island, 1 heard. No rank in the fleet, any road."

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  "Seems I recollect--"

  But what the porter recollected was forgotten when an immense BOOM was chased by a grinding, creaking roar. A hungry sound, Aurelie thought, and shivered. From the direction of the harbor, red-blue flames shot into the air. They started much lower than the previous displays, barely clearing the rooftops behind the docks.

  "Dud fuse," a porter said. The others cursed.

  From an upper story of the guesthouse, a woman leaned out a window and shrieked. "Firel Fire on the docks!"

  As if in response, bells clanged all along the waterfront, a brassy counterpoint to the leaping flames. "Hoist chain for yer stationsl" a porter yelled. Dropping their box-chairs, the men ran from the courtyard, leaving the Jocondagnans gaping after them.

  "Excellencies!" The guesthouse night-man opened the door and motioned frantically. "Come in, come in. Along to the dining room, if you please."