A Family Oath

by Auburn Tempest

  Fionn chuckles. “I do so enjoy how ye tend to think in queer circles.”

  “Um…thanks?” My cells tingle with the excitement of it. I’m going to safeguard humanity and remove the Eochair Prana from temptation for the next fifteen hundred years. Yay me! “Okay, so how do I do it? Where do I get it?”

  Fionn pulls us to the side of the sloped walkway as the worn dirt ground gives way to a cobbled road. The higher up we go, the more polished the surroundings get. The castle proper is still quite a climb into the city.

  “We must gain the confidence of someone within the royal hierarchy and learn who might possess a book tethered to Morgana’s very soul.”

  “Right. No biggie.”

  Lost in the paradigm shift of my place in the history of fae magic and humanity’s well-being, I don’t notice the man backing his mule out of its harness.

  The jack and I collide, and the beast of burden brays and fights against the farmer’s hold. I dodge and slide. Fionn catches my arm and saves me from skidding out on a steaming heap of mule shit. The farmer yanks the mule sideways, and his muscled hindquarters knock me as the beast stomps his hoofed feet.

  The man yells, and even without a formal understanding of Celtic Brittonic, I get that he’s cussing me out.

  I flip him off and give it right back. “Screw you too, you mangy ass—and I mean you, not the mule—you ass.”

  Fionn places a firm hand at my back and escorts me away from the street scuffle. His eyes are alight with laughter, and I’m glad he’s amused because I’m fuming and have mule crap on my fabulous new boots.

  “Asshole,” I grumble.

  Fionn chuckles. “While it seems certain languages are universal, I’m not sure foul-mouthing the locals will achieve our goals. The viler ye are, the more enemies ye make.”

  “Yeah, well, he started it. I couldn’t even understand what he said, but I knew what he was saying.”

  Fionn takes me behind a wooden guardhouse and grips both my wrists. “Let us address the language barrier. Connect with yer source power and repeat after me.”

  Ancient tongues of pasts long gone

  Fill the air like Babylon.

  Charm my ears and bless my words

  To sing their tune like sweet songbirds.

  I close my eyes, breathe the ambient magic in the air into my lungs, and pull from the earth below my boots. When the connection is firm, I repeat his spell.

  When I open my eyes, he’s there watching me with warm reverence. “Well done, a leanbh. Four months only, and yer further along than I was as a young man. I was wrong to think ye’d be as good as my father’s sister, Bodhmall. Yer gearin’ up to stand in a class all yer own.”

  That’s high praise from a master mentor.

  I stick that feather in my cap, and the two of us stroll into the main courtyard at the front of the castle. The wide-open area is paved in gray, interlocking stones and seems to stand as a social and political meeting place of the people of Carlisle Castle.

  There is a teenaged boy locked in the stocks with children pelting him with rotten produce. Everyone seems to think this is hilarious, including the teen.

  A group of lovely gowned ladies giggle and watch two knights practice their swordplay.

  On the far side of the courtyard, a mason pieces together the last blocks of a huge stone fountain.

  Fionn and I climb the six polished steps and stop in front of the oversized wooden double doors. Fionn bows his head to the guards at the main entrance and offers them a charming smile. “Fionn mac Cumhaill and family.”

  “State your business.”

  “My niece and I bring gathered herbs, tinctures, and remedies for yer court physician. Could ye direct us to where we might find him?”

  “Will you be staying for the Feast of the Last Harvest tomorrow night?”

  “If our business isn’t concluded, we would be honored to attend.”

  The guard looks me over, then Fionn. “Are you armed? No weapons are permitted within the castle walls in the hands of the common.”

  Fionn holds out his arms and does a runway turn. He’s wearing hide pants and a thick navy blue tunic with a wide leather belt. Over that, he has a vest made out of the fur of some unfortunate beast who once had a very long, brown coat.

  Other than the walking stick he holds in his right hand, he’s unarmed. Having seen what my father can do with a staff, I well know how dangerously armed Fionn truly is.

  The guard opens Fionn’s satchel, peers inside, and squeezes it from the bottom. When he’s satisfied with that, he looks me over once again.

  I hold out my arms and open my cloak to show him that I too am unarmed.

  “Very well. You will find Davant in the apothecary on the lower level most days until the dinner gong. After which, he’ll be too gone with drink to be of much use to you. “

  Fionn nods. “I thank you, sir.”

  The two of us move inside when the second guard on the other side of the door opens our way. I step onto the polished stone floor and breathe in the scent of—oh, it doesn’t smell like a crumbly old castle at all.

  Oh, yeah. That makes sense. It’s not old yet.

  I cast an assessing glance around the pristine space and think of Sloan. He’s going to have a crap and a half when I tell him about this.

  Oh, I have my phone. I’ll take pictures.

  “What puts that devilish smile on yer face, a leanbh? Have ye a suitor on yer mind? A betrothed, perhaps?”

  Granda and Da call me mo chroi, their heart, while Fionn calls me a leanbh, my child. It’s sweet. “I was thinking of a guy, yes, but Sloan’s only a friend.”

  “I recognize a look of feminine affection, and the smile ye had on yer face a moment ago had little to do with mere friendship.”

  I tilt my head back and forth, and my hood flops onto my shoulders. I pull it back into place and shrug. “How about a friend who is lobbying to be my suitor?”

  Fionn nods. “Yer smile suggests yer taken with him.”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “What is yer objection to the match? Is he uncomely, of meager means, or perhaps indifferent to yer sensibilities?”

  I chuckle. Are those the only reasons a woman of his time would hesitate to jump into a relationship? “No. He’s very handsome, quite wealthy, and more attentive and understanding of my queer sensibilities than I likely deserve.”

  “And yet, ye rebuff his advance?”

  Why am I having this conversation with my ancient ancestor? “Not rebuff so much as ask his patience. I mentioned earlier that a lot has happened in four months. I need a moment to steady my footing.”

  “Wouldn’t having a husband be the quickest way to ensure yer life’s stability?”

  “Husband? Slow your roll, Fionn.” I say it a little louder than I meant to. “I live in a time when a woman is looked on as an equal to a man…in most cases. I don’t need a husband to stand on my own. I’m a force in my own right.”

  Fionn chuckles. “Then perhaps yer the one who should court him. If he’s comely, of fortunate means, and of kind temperament, he sounds like a rare prospect.”

  I laugh. “Enough about my love life. Can we get back to our quest? Tell me more about this part of history. Morgana’s book is here, but she isn’t, right?”

  “Aye, there are theories as to what befell her, but theories they remain.”

  “And she was Arthur’s sister?”

  “There are different interpretations. A ward to Uther Pendragon, Arthur’s father, raised within the halls of the royal family is the one most commonly believed.”

  “But no relation?”

  “Not beyond a commitment to the obligation of rearing and sheltering her.”

  Fionn and I saunter through the castle’s main entrance, and I’m surprised how bright it is. Windows aren’t a thing on its main floors so yeah, I figured it would be dark. Second and third story windows peaked with Gothic arches allow light into the grand entrance.

  “
So, our cover is that we’re here to track down Davant, the court physician, but who are we really looking for?”

  Fionn shrugs. “Someone who knows about the book.”

  “In a castle filled with people and more flooding in by the hour to attend the big Harvest Feast tomorrow, how will we find that someone?”

  “By the will of the gods, I suppose.”

  I frown. “That’s not comforting. How much time have we got to getter done?”

  Fionn’s expression gives me no confidence. “I have never held travel for longer than a day. I expect this will be no different.”

  I reach into my pocket under my cloak, pull out my phone, and face the wall. While keeping my cell hidden under the folds of my mantle, I set an alarm for twenty-four hours.

  “That’s not a lot of time.”

  He shrugs again. “It’s time to sup now. I’ll find the head of the house and arrange lodging and a late sitting for us for tonight. We’ve surely missed our opportunity to speak to Davant until morning. We’ll eat and get our bearings tonight.”

  “Will a day here be like last time when I went back, and it was the same moment I left?”

  Fionn nods. “If all transpires as it should.”

  Okay, cool. “Then it’s cake and eat it too time. I get to focus on our task in the past and not worry about my posse in the present shitting kittens.”

  “What kind of magic is that?”

  “Is what?”

  “Shitting kittens.” His face screws up. “I have never heard of a spell to defecate felines and what would be the purpose?”

  “Oh, not literally. No, it’s a saying. It means they’ll be beside themselves with alarm.”

  “If they are passing animals they should be alarmed.”

  I’m about to explain more of that when I see—“Holy-freaking-schmoly, no way.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Dora!” I rush over to the six-foot-four male and realize my mistake too late. “Oh, sorry, we haven’t met yet.”

  In royal velvet garb, with long, dark brown hair and a drunken glaze to his gaze, Merlin of old rakes me with a blank look. “Are you the boy to wash my feet?”

  I drop my hood and smile. “No. I’m the girl who becomes your friend in about fifteen hundred years. We live in Toronto. You’re my ink spell artist.”

  I tug the neck of my shirt down my shoulder a little to expose a recent concealment sigil. With all the trouble I’ve stumbled into, we thought it would be a wise addition to my repertoire.

  He stiffens, pulls my cloak to cover me, and shoves me back. He casts a glance around us before looming forward. “How dare you openly flaunt a sigil? Have you a wish to kneel in the gallows? Out of my sight, wench, before you get us both sentenced to death.”

  With the back of his arm, he knocks me aside and stomps off, his cloak billowing in the wake of his fury.

  Thankfully, there’s no one around except Fionn to catch the full exchange between us. The few that saw him shove me and stomp off seem quite accustomed to such scenes and pay no attention.

  I frown and return to Fionn. “That could’ve gone better.”

  Fionn sweeps a hand through the air and gestures for us to take our leave. “Failures lay the foundation from which to build a new level of understanding.”

  “Ha, if that’s true, I’ve lain more foundation than the crew who built the Great Wall of China.”

  He smiles at me with the blank look he gets when he has no idea what I’m talking about. “Come. Let’s secure our lodgings, and I’ll arrange for a proper gown for you so we can attend dinner.”

  “A gown? Seriously?”

  He throws me a look, and it’s as familiar as any could be. The Cumhaill scowl has inarguably passed down through the generations. “Aye, a gown. In yer time, if ye choose to dress as a male, there’s naught to be said about it. In this place, it’s liable to get us arrested and burned on a pyre. There are appearances to be kept, and consequences for those who raise the disapproval of the gentry.”

  Well, la dee da. “Fine. I’ll wear a gown, but I’ve seen the movies. I’m not gripping a bedpost while some sadistic maidservant yanks on the lacings of my corset until I can’t breathe. I don’t play the body image game. Like it or lump it.”

  Fionn snorts. “What makes ye think ye rank a maidservant? Ye’ll dress yerself. Like it or lump it.”

  * * *

  Our lodgings are modest but perfectly acceptable. Fionn says I get the bed, and he’s fine with a straw pallet on the floor in front of the fire. I’m not about to argue. The fact that we scored a fireplace at all is a boon. I think that has more to do with Fionn whispering a few private words to the girl making the arrangements than two snake oil peddlers ranking an upgrade.

  I hadn’t thought about it, but we have no coin.

  Fionn pointed out that there are many currencies beyond gold, and he considered himself a wealthy man.

  ’Nuff said. Do what you gotta do.

  I don’t think the payment owed is much of a hardship on either side. Fionn has a weathered, worldly way about him and is in peak physical shape while the room assignment girl was plain, but seemed nice and filled her dress out to Fionn’s liking. Live and let live.

  My clothing arrives, and I step behind the dressing screen to figure out how to put it on. Man, there are so many layers. “Women must get up an hour early to put these on.”

  “Thus the privilege of having a maidservant.”

  I see the allure. “Okay, which is first?” I hold up two layers. One is a gown with sleeves, and the other looks like a sleeveless toga-type thing but the shoulders aren’t sewn together. “More importantly, how does this one stay on?”

  “The white one with sleeves first. That’s yer undergown. Then the blue. There should be a brooch front and back to fasten the shoulders. If not on the garment, the lass should’ve brought them as well fer ye to use.”

  “Why do it that way?”

  “How should I know?”

  “What’s this?” I hold up a swatch of dark blue cloth with silver piping. “It looks like a lopsided poncho.”

  “It goes over the top and covers one shoulder and arm.”

  “Why have a one-armed poncho?”

  “Why do ye think I can answer these questions? I have no notion of how to dress a female.”

  “Well, you get them undressed, don’t you?”

  “Occasionally. But far more often, it’s a case of finding a dark corner and lifting skirts.”

  “Such a romantic. And you’re lecturing me on settling down and getting betrothed.”

  Fionn harrumphs. “It’s not the same thing at all.”

  “Dream on, gigolo. It’s exactly the same thing.”

  “Has anyone ever told ye that yer a frustratingly outspoken female?”

  “It may have been mentioned on occasion.” I pull the peacock blue toga layer over my head and find the brooches in a cloth bag. “Okay, you’ll have to do this part.”

  I come around the screen, and Fionn throws me a flustered look. “Have ye no sense of modesty?”

  I laugh. “I’m covered from chin to toes. What am I flashing that’s making you uncomfortable?”

  “Well, yer underthings. Yer my granddaughter, for goddess sake.”

  “Trust me. This isn’t indecent. Just brooch me up, then I’ll get my poncho on, and my virtue will be safe.”

  “Ye have the wicked sass of a concubine and the forked tongue of a woman living in the lower town.”

  I laugh. “True story.”

  “Ye’ll have to put on airs for this to work, Fiona.”

  “Trust me. Once we leave this room, I’ll act the part of a perfect lady of the gentry, I promise.”

  He eyes me, and the tension in his face softens. “I look forward to witnessin’ the show. Very well. Come here, and I’ll see what I can do about yer brooches.”

  * * *

  The dinner is an experience I’ll never forget. As travelers arriving after the dinner gong
, we don’t get to eat in the hall with the royals and palace guests. Fionn and I join the middle class at the second sitting. We have a traveling minstrel, a few squires, a couple of lower-level clergymen, a Roman actor intent on gaining an audience for his monologue, and the entertainment arriving for the festivities tomorrow.

  In other words, I’m with the band—my peeps.

  “How was your dinner, milady?” the flutist asks and flashes me a coy smile.

  The chicken was greasy, the bread hard and grainy, the wine filled with filament floaties. “Delicious, thank you.” I flash Fionn a smug grin. If he knew how many hours I played princess to my brothers’ brash knights routine, he wouldn’t be so surprised.

  “Will you be staying in the castle long?” he asks while sidling near.

  “Only tonight.” I turn to face him so he can’t get much closer. “Then my uncle will take me to reunite with my betrothed.”

  “Betrothed, ye say?”

  I nod. “Oh, yes. A brawny male with shoulders as broad as a door and muscles that rise like the rolling Irish hills. He’s a warrior, fiercely loyal to his cause, and wildly protective of those he loves. I pity anyone at the wrong end of his sword.”

  My flutist dips his chin and eases back. “If you’ll excuse me, milady. I must make inquiries about the arrangements for tomorrow night’s performance.”

  “Of course. I look forward to seeing you.”

  “Until then.” He rises from the bench and makes a hasty exit.

  Fionn chuckles beside me. “Shall I escort ye back to our chamber or do ye wish to stay and torment some other poor fool with bright ideas?”

  I sip a little more of my wine before leaving the sediment at the bottom. “I’ll leave with you, but I think I’ll explore the castle a little.”

  He raises his brow. “A lady wandering the halls of a castle alone after nightfall is generally askin’ fer one of two outcomes. Neither will be to yer likin’.”