The Summer King

by O. R. Melling

“If you lose, you eat it,” Grace confirmed.

  She laughed out loud at his glare of hatred. When he stood up to leave, her men pushed him down again and crowded him menacingly with their weapons drawn.

  Laurel gave him a look of sympathy but there was nothing she could do.

  Dazed like a man caught in his worst nightmare, Ian checked his hand. Blinked. Checked it again.

  Grace lifted her cards and studied them impassively.

  It was up to Ian to begin the round. Discarding a single card, he spoke coldly to the sea queen.

  “One.”

  Laurel was relieved. He had a good hand. But just to be certain, she would play to lose. She couldn’t risk adding to her pair of nines or her face cards. She would not be the reason he broke his taboo.

  “Pass,” she said quietly.

  A satisfied look crossed the pirate queen’s face. Laurel saw it and wondered.

  “I’ll take two,” said Grace.

  The moment of truth had come. Ian lifted his cards to his lips before laying them down. Three queens, two sevens. With a little smile, Laurel showed her pair of nines.

  It was the pirate queen’s turn. Snorting with disgust, she revealed her hand. Three tens, two aces.

  Close.

  Both Ian and Laurel let out their breath.

  “I believe this is mine,” said Ian, taking the dagger.

  He did not hide his triumph. With exaggerated glee, he admired the gems on the handle and made a show of tucking the knife into his belt.

  Grace’s eyes flashed angrily at his antics, but she was nowhere near as furious as Laurel expected her to be.

  “Come, my foreign girleen, time to drink up!” she commanded.

  There it was again. That smug look.

  Laurel chugged the drink down. As the fiery liquor coursed through her bloodstream and exploded in her brain, she suddenly understood. In one fell swoop, her enemy had ambushed and disarmed her. It was on Laurel’s loss that Grace had wagered, not Ian’s win. She had no doubt bargained on Laurel playing to lose for Ian’s sake.

  A deadly gambler indeed.

  Laurel slammed the empty cup onto the table.

  “What do you want?” she hissed at Grace.

  The sea queen’s eyes darkened till they were almost black.

  “Have you not heard of the Devil’s card game? We are playing for your soul.”

  Laurel shuddered. Her head was buzzing. The room seemed to blur. The faces around her looked distorted. She tried to sit up, but her body kept slumping. The whiskey was burning through her veins. Her face felt hot. And though she fought to keep her mind clear, she was already thinking fuzzily. How silly it all was. What a funny old world. She started to giggle. Then she hiccuped. Ian looked concerned.

  Grace looked pleased. “Next round!” she announced.

  It was Ian’s turn as dealer. He chose to keep things simple and called the same game; the best five out of seven cards, one draw, no raises, maximum discard of three. But before he could deal, Grace called to one of her men to sit down at the table.

  An affable young ruffian, he had a mane of fair hair and a handsome face.

  “This is Cormac, my First Mate,” she introduced him. “A most able seaman in every way.”

  Her lascivious wink made Laurel laugh out loud, resulting in more hiccups.

  “Is he joining the game?” Ian asked, suspiciously.

  “No,” said Grace. “He is my wager.”

  Ian’s eyes widened.

  Laurel was struggling to grasp what she meant.

  “And you will be Laurel’s. This round is between the girleen and me.”

  Ian’s face went livid. Again he rose to leave and again he was stopped.

  “’Sh no prob,” Laurel assured him, waving her arm limply. “I’m perfeckly fine. ’T’s good game.”

  Cormac eyed her with approval.

  She grinned tipsily back.

  Ian glared at the two of them. Then, surveying the hall quickly, he spied what was needed and signaled to his friends to bring it over.

  When the basin of water arrived at the table, he pushed it in front of Laurel with a meaningful look.

  She blinked at him blearily.

  He sighed and muttered, “Sorry about this,” and reached over to grab her. With one swift move, he plunged her head into the water.

  It was like a cold slap in the face. Laurel jerked back and jumped up, chair falling behind her, wet hair flung in the air, and comb flying loose. With a roar of fury, she picked up the basin and hurled it at him.

  Ian and the men near him were soaked. Grace was splashed, too, but she didn’t appear to mind. She was howling with laughter.

  By the time everyone had calmed down, and linen was brought to dry off the players, the game resumed.

  Ian dealt the cards, though he was no longer included.

  Laurel had sobered a little and was trying to concentrate. She had two pair, queens and nines. She discarded the rest, hoping to gain three or four of a kind. Another queen! But nothing else. Still, it wasn’t a bad hand. Three of a kind, even low, was good enough to win most pots, and these three were high. Her heart beat rapidly. She waited for Grace.

  The sea queen’s face was composed, but there was a gleam in her eye.

  “One card.”

  Both Laurel and Ian flinched. Not a good sign.

  Time to show the hands.

  With cautious optimism, Laurel displayed her three queens and two nines.

  Grace let out a whoop.

  And threw down four tens.

  Ian’s face went red, then white, then resumed its own color. He looked around the hall. His friends among the men raised their cups and cheered. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

  Cormac shrugged at Laurel and left the table.

  Laurel pressed her lips together.

  “It’s my turn to deal,” she snapped.

  “Fair enough,” said Grace, with a casual shrug.

  The pirate queen leaned toward Ian and placed her cup to his mouth. He glared at her helplessly and took a sip. Her grin was wicked, her meaning clear. He was hers.

  Laurel shuffled the deck violently. Over her dead body. She dealt the round. When she lifted her cards and saw what she had, she couldn’t stop her reaction.

  Grace heard the gasp and snorted.

  “You think such ploys convince me you hold a winning hand?”

  Laurel fought to keep her face straight, but she could hardly breathe. She checked her cards again. Yes, there it was. The reading she had got on the hippie bus! Face cards all: Queen of Hearts, Ace of Hearts, Ace of Spades, King of Spades, King of Clubs, Ace of Clubs, King of Hearts. A bright thing may lie hidden inside the dark. Well, here was the silver lining inside the cloud. Fingers trembling, she rearranged her cards to choose the best five. Three aces, two kings. An excellent hand. The kind of luck you could bet your life on. But Laurel knew in her heart this was more than chance. It was a sign, and she was ready to put her faith in it.

  Her tone was quiet as she challenged the sea queen.

  “Let’s up the stakes. I want more than Ian.”

  Grace raised an eyebrow. Ian looked startled.

  The hall was now deathly quiet. All other games had ceased. Everyone was crammed in that one corner. Some had even climbed into the rafters above. Jugs of whiskey were passed around. Another whole log was thrown on the fire. The air grew thick and smoky.

  The pirate queen studied her cards. Her face was blank.

  “Name your terms,” she said in the same quiet tone as Laurel.

  Laurel took a deep breath. The moment had come. The cards had told her. It was now or never.

  “If I win, you will place yourself, your fleet, and your men at my disposal.”

  The words were no sooner out of her mouth than Grace’s men reached for their weapons with angry shouts. It was an outrage.

  The pirate queen remained still. Only the slightest flutter of her eyelashes indicated she had been taken by surprise.
A slow smile twitched at the edges of her mouth, but the eyes were cold. Sword-eyes.

  “I like you.”

  She signed to her men to stand down, barely glancing at her hand a second time.

  “And if you lose?”

  Laurel paused, but she knew the words had to be uttered.

  “You win my soul. Forever.”

  “Are you crazy?” Ian burst out.

  Grace’s eyes flashed. Her gaze was locked on Laurel.

  “I like you,” she repeated. “I could get used to your company. Your dark-haired Irishman surpasses my bard, but methinks he would not like to stay here alone. He will sing only mournful songs of lost love and have us all weeping in our cups.”

  Her men guffawed until she raised her hand.

  “The two of you together are most entertaining. You would keep me amused throughout the long winter. I accept the wager.”

  It was time to draw and discard.

  “Pass,” said Grace.

  The crowd cheered. Ian clenched his fists.

  A tremor passed through Laurel, but she steadied herself.

  “I pass too.”

  A collective gasp sounded. Ian looked stunned. Grace’s eyebrow arched.

  It was time to show their hands. With a grand flourish, Grace stood up and spread her cards across the table.

  Four jacks, plus the Ace of Diamonds.

  An unbeatable hand.

  No wonder she had accepted the terms. The chance this hand could be trumped involved such astronomical odds, no gambler would have reckoned them into her calculations.

  And Grace was right not to do so.

  Darkness descended over Laurel. It came with a whirring sound, like wings beating at the back of her head. Her stomach twisted, as if a knife were gutting her. How could she have been so wrong? How could she have been so stupid? In one move, one reckless gamble, she had lost everything! The mission. Her chance to save Honor. Her own life and Ian’s.

  A sob escaped her lips. Ian shuddered as he registered her response. Grace threw back her head and crowed.

  But the cry choked in the sea queen’s throat when Laurel flung down all her cards.

  Three kings, three aces … and the red Fool.

  Laurel barely managed to stop her own cry of surprise.

  The Fool now stood in the lost queen’s place, granting Laurel four aces. Only the wild card could have won her this round. The random element of magic in the universe.

  Laurel scanned the hall quickly. There by the hearth stood a small figure in red. But he was gone in a second, leaving only the flames roaring up the chimney.

  Grace staggered back from the table. Silence filled the hall.

  “You were playing with me? You let me think I had won?”

  The flash of rage was as bright and murderous as lightning. She reached for the dagger in her belt, but it wasn’t there. Instinctively Ian gripped it himself. An eternity seemed to pass as the pirate queen stood speechless, face working with emotion. Her fists closed and opened and closed again.

  A thought snaked through Laurel’s mind. How many people has this woman killed with her bare hands?

  Grace’s shoulders began to shake, then her entire body, as she roared … with laughter.

  They let her laugh alone for a while till they were certain, then her men joined in. Laurel and Ian managed brief smiles.

  The pirate queen leaned on the table. Her features were clear. Her voice firm.

  “A game well played, my foreign girleen, a gamble well risked. I knew the moment I clapped eyes on you that you meant to ask a boon. And I tell you now that regardless of your cause, I would not have granted it. In a world where allegiances change by the day, I keep my power by fighting no battles but my own.”

  “There won’t be a battle—” Laurel began.

  Grace struck the table with her fist.

  “There is always a battle.”

  aurel woke the next morning to the sound of birds scrabbling on the castle walls. Her eyes shot open. And she groaned. The pain was excruciating. It splintered through her brain, threatening to crack her skull, and throbbed like an engine behind her eyes. Disoriented, she didn’t move as several insights struck at the same time. The pain was a blinding hangover. The ground was damp beneath her. She was snuggled against another body snoring loudly. Ian, with his arms around her. She held herself rigid, determined not to wake him. First she needed to remember what happened. Images from the previous night were slowly seeping into her mind.

  Grace clasping her hand with an iron grip and an iron-clad promise.

  “I’ll be there when you need me.”

  A call to celebrate. Cups of uisce beatha.

  Many cups.

  That explained the bursting head and the queasy stomach. Ian had stopped snoring, but didn’t stir. Was he asleep or pretending? She wasn’t ready to deal with him yet. She raked her memory. Where did she go to bed? Ah yes, in a chamber high up in Grace’s stronghold. Soft blankets on sweet-scented rushes. A crockery night-jar filled with hot water to keep her warm. Moonlight streaming through the slit of a window in the massive stone wall. The sound of the sea on the rocks below. And from above, the clank of sword against stone and the murmur of male voices on the night watch.

  But how did she get there?

  Oh no.

  An image of Ian helping her up the stairs. Carrying her, in fact. She was laughing loudly and singing out of key and making a lot of noise as she insisted that he join her. You sing like a bird, like the birds you love. Cringe. Those startling blue eyes, filled with laughter. He had drunk a lot too, but held it better. Much better. An earlier memory. The two of them dancing in the hall to wild reels and jigs played on pipes, drums, and bones. They spun across the floor, like figures on a music box. The golden comb went flying again. Her hair and skirts swirled. Clasping her waist, he had lifted her up and swung her around before he kissed her.

  A different image now. A massive cringe. When he finally got her up the stairs and flopped her on the bed, she had insisted he stay. The blue eyes sparkled with amusement.

  It’s not on, darlin’, you’d only kill me tomorrow.

  Now Laurel bolted upright, pushing his arm away.

  Ian didn’t move.

  “I know you’re awake,” she accused him.

  “Is it safe?” he said, as he opened his eyes, grinning.

  They both scrambled to their feet.

  She let out a moan as lights exploded in her brain.

  “All right?” he asked, concerned.

  “Not a word!” she warned.

  Suppressing a laugh, he raised his hands in surrender.

  “I’m sayin’ nothin’ and repeatin’ it.”

  They stood in the empty shell of Granuaile’s tower. It was early morning. Through the ruins of the doorway they could see The Lady of Doona moored at the pier.

  When they reached the boat, they found Gracie sitting out on deck, reading her paper and sipping a mug of coffee. She squinted at them as they climbed onboard.

  “Well, if it isn’t my missing persons. When you didn’t show yesterday I made inquiries. Wasn’t I told the old currach you hired had come ashore without sight or sound of you? I almost put out an alert for an air-and-sea rescue.” Despite her words, she didn’t appear in the slightest bothered. “I couldn’t wait around, I had a party of Japanese booked. Howandever, you don’t look any the worse for wear.”

  She winked at the two of them. They didn’t know what to say or think. Despite the hints to the contrary, she acted as if she knew nothing of her other self. Indeed, she ignored them on the journey back to Achill, though she did offer Laurel two aspirin when she saw her looking a little green and leaning over the side. And yet, when Gracie left them on the pier at Kildavnet, where she had first picked them up, she seemed to add weight to her parting words as she shook their hands with her iron grip.

  “Keep in mind, now, I’ll be here when you need me.”

  Laurel had revived by the time they retu
rned to the cottage, but her feelings of shame and guilt still lingered. She had let herself go in Grace’s castle, dancing and flirting like someone who hadn’t a care in the world. Like someone whose twin hadn’t died.

  There was also a smaller matter that niggled her conscience.

  “We didn’t win fairly,” she said to Ian. “The cluricaun’s help was cheating. Grace might’ve been a bully, but she played an honest game.”

  “Cop on,” he said, with a snort. “Did you see that last hand she got? What are the odds? She stacked the deck. You beat her at her own game. All’s fair in love and war.”

  “And that kind of attitude can only lead to good things.”

  “Winning is all that matters,” he argued. “That’s how both worlds work. We’ve only got two days left. Grace is with us. Let’s free the king.”

  Ian’s plan was simple. Strike immediately. Gather Grace’s army and storm Slievemore, the mountain where Laheen said the Summer King was imprisoned. They needed to act fast and take the enemy by surprise. A short sharp war.

  Laurel disagreed. An attack was exactly what the Fir-Fia-Caw expected. They would be ready to fight, and any kind of a siege would be disastrous. The king’s jailers had only to hold out past Midsummer’s Eve and all would be lost. Yes, surprise was the answer, but it had to be something that would truly catch them off guard. Something small and furtive. Guerilla tactics. If she and Ian went alone into the mountain, they could free the king themselves. Grace and her men would be the backup, a last resort. No matter what the pirate queen said, Laurel wanted to avoid a battle.

  “Aren’t you overlooking something? What if we get caught? There’s no one to lead Plan B!”

  “If we’re captured, Grace will come for us,” she insisted. “Don’t you see? She’s our trump card. We don’t play her unless we have to, but we can take risks knowing she’s there.”

  “You’re the gambler,” he remarked wryly. Then he grinned. “You know the saying about that?”

  She didn’t.

  “Lucky at cards, unlucky at love.”

  That ended the discussion.

  They were sitting together at the living room table. Ian had made them some tea and toast, as there was nothing else to eat in the house. Now he slipped his arm around her and leaned forward for a kiss.