The Raven Lady Read online

  “Do you know this ship?” I asked the lady.

  She shook her head. “I have never seen such a vessel, Your Majesty.”

  Was it likely she would have told me if she had? I turned to Keane. “How did it come to be here?”

  “No one knows, sire,” he replied. “It just appeared, like all the other things.”

  All the other things. Mechanical creatures, fantastical clocks, unsolvable puzzle boxes—you could hardly walk down a corridor without tripping over something that had just appeared. Now airships?

  I continued to study the vessel, seeking some means of boarding her for a closer inspection. She rested about fifty yards above the castle’s battlements and about the same distance to the southwest. The parlor tricks I had mastered using the magical knowledge inherited from my ancestor were not powerful enough to overcome the laws of gravity.

  “Is it a ghost ship, your majesty?” asked Keane.

  “She looks real enough to me,” I replied. “Though if you’re asking about the nature of her crew, I’d say that’s anyone’s guess.”

  “Your Majesty,” said the lady, the whites of her eyes bright in the moonlight, “your servant has explained to me about the recent . . .” She dropped her gaze, and her lips worked silently as she sought a word that eluded her. There was something inexplicably appealing in this fleeting display of vulnerability. “About the recent manifestations in your court,” she said finally. “I can imagine that they would be unnerving for you and your servants. But must it follow that they are evil in nature?”

  It occurred to me that the same sentiment could easily be applied to her.

  And it then occurred to me that might be exactly why she uttered it.

  Ach, I was neither born nor bred to courtly intrigue. This waltzing about, trying to avoid saying anything that might make you appear weak to your enemies, seemed like a colossal waste of time. Was this how my life would be from now on?

  “I quite agree with you,” I replied, “but I’d feel a lot easier if I understood where the damned things are coming from, and why.”

  “How many are there?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “There’s a heap of them in the prison tower. How many, at this point, I could not say.”

  She considered a moment, and then said, “Why not allow me to look into this for you?”

  I turned to study her. What exactly was she proposing?

  “I can examine and catalog the items for a start,” she continued. “Maybe it will help me to learn something about their nature.” She glanced again at the ship, shrugging. “Maybe it won’t. But I believe we can agree I have the time, and I suspect that you do not.”

  While her gaze was trained aloft, I took in her profile. She was so utterly alone here, and again it struck me how vulnerable she seemed.

  Vulnerable as an adder.

  Yet this exile was not of her making. I did not want to marry her, certainly—neither did I wish to confine her to the tower. It was not kind, or even humane. There had been a time when I had tried to do such a thing to another woman—or rather my ancestor had tried to do so through me. I had cast an enchantment on a lady I now counted as a dear friend, and it still chilled me to think about it. I might not be fencepost-straight like the lady’s husband—my cousin Edward, Earl of Meath—but my mother had not schooled me to mistreat any woman, even one who was my enemy. More pragmatically, would the princess not be likelier to make mischief without some occupation?

  “It would please you to do this?” I asked, my fingers curling around my mother’s brass compass and sundial, which I always carried in my trouser pocket.

  The lady brightened—though still no smile—and looked at me. “It would, Your Majesty. These things, they interest me.”

  The openness of this statement had a softening effect—both on her features and my heart. I was beginning to take an interest as well, though not in the pile of oddities in the tower.

  “Well then, go to it,” I said. “It should be properly looked into, and you’re right that I don’t have the time.” I glanced up at the ship. “But leave this one alone for now. Keane,” I called to the servant, “set a watch, day and night. Notify me of any change, no matter how small. I’ll not be caught out like King Priam of Troy.”

  Koli

  Growing up, I had hated my English tutors. They looked down on my mother and me, and in the beginning, they seemed to believe I was not capable of learning. I had worked hard at my lessons just to spite them. The last of these prickly old gentlemen had set out to culture me, and I had been made to study Britain’s artists and poets. I had preferred the work of my own countrymen, particularly the stories of our gods that had been preserved across centuries. But one English poem had spoken to me, and I’d remembered it over the years—“Little Boy Lost” by William Blake.

  Father, father, where are you going

  O do not walk so fast.

  Speak father, speak to your little boy

  Or else I shall be lost,

  The night was dark, no father was there,

  The child was wet with dew.

  The mire was deep, & the child did weep

  And away the vapour flew.

  I had expected the king to refuse my proposal. And though he had not, it would be dangerous to believe he’d been taken in by my portrayal of a “little girl lost.” But was it really an act? When my mother died, I had learned not to hold on too tightly to anything. In fact, I’d had nothing left to hold on to. My father was my king, and all he expected of me was loyalty and obedience. He offered not affection, but approval. The only thing I’d ever thought of as my own was my homeland, and now that had been taken from me. Maybe Finvara had seen the truth and agreed because he felt sorry for me. It made me burn inside to think of it, despite the fact it had worked to my advantage.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” I replied.

  The king could hardly turn his gaze from the ship. While it had merely roused my curiosity, I could certainly understand why he found it troubling. Now it occurred to me there was more than one reason for his fixation—he had chosen a life at sea, after all. And that had been taken from him.

  But that was none of my concern. What mattered was I had been given license to move about the castle—far more than I had expected to accomplish on my first day.

  “Your Majesty, if you will permit, I am ready to retire.”

  “Of course,” he said, breaking from his trance. He beckoned his man. “Help the princess find her way back to her chamber.”

  “Thank you, sire,” I replied, curtsying and turning from him. “I know the way.”

  I walked on, wondering whether he’d send the servant after me anyway, but he didn’t. Descending the stairs on the way back to the keep I encountered my guard, who followed me as I continued into the corridor that wound around to my tower.

  To be truly effective as a spy in this court, I would have to gain the king’s full trust—I began to feel that might be possible. For now, I had an occupation that would allow me to familiarize myself with the layout of the castle, as well as its routines, inhabitants, and defenses.

  At the moment, however, I was looking forward to solitude. This court was not yet fully established, but it was still more bustle than I was used to. At home in Skaddafjall, I rarely held a conversation as long as the one between the king and I at dinner. And there were no nervously chattering servants. Ulf and I had sometimes talked through long winter nights, but he told me of battles he’d fought, and long-dead heroes. I knew nothing about his mother or father.

  As I reached the top of the stairs and entered my chamber, my gaze fell again on the clock, looming like a dark sentry at the foot of the bed.

  I moved closer, watching its workings, listening to the steady ticktock, the soft clicking of gears, and occasional hisses of steam. Did the mechanics o
f it have any purpose? Did the whole of it have any purpose, beyond the obvious? These were the questions the king and I had agreed that I would try to answer.

  Feeling a pain at the back of my head, I reached around and began working my hairpins loose. As the tight twist uncoiled—the curtain of hair falling heavily about my shoulders—I sighed audibly and massaged my sore scalp. This would be the last day that I arranged my hair, or anything else, in an effort to look more like them. Let them think me the wild thing of nature that I most certainly was.

  Finvara

  After she was gone, I continued to study Corvus with a mixture of wariness and longing. I did not trust this apparition. Queen Isolde would have to be notified, which might very well mean that on top of playing host to a woman who more than likely wished a plague would take me, I might soon have my overbearing and obstinate cousin on my hands. The timing of it was demoralizing.

  And yet, in my seafarer’s heart, I craved some means of boarding the mysterious vessel so I might sail straight away from my destiny. From the court. From the crown. From the servants.

  From the problem of Koli Alfdóttir and her scheming relations.

  I did not, in fairness, know for certain that any scheming was afoot. But I’d be a fool not to assume that it was. The Fomorians and their northern elven allies were centuries-old enemies of the Irish, and no one entertained the notion that they’d been subdued for good. It was the reason Queen Isolde had insisted on placing someone she trusted in this outpost—to ensure the ambivalent fairy folk remained loyal to Ireland, and to keep eyes on the remote and lightly populated western wilds, where our ancient foes had traditionally made landfall.

  “Devil take them all,” I muttered, clutching the edge of the parapet wall. By all I meant both my enemies and my royal cousin, who’d abandoned me to this fate. My relationship with Izzy had always been complicated, though I knew she enjoyed my company, and she’d even sought my advice at times. But I’d guided my own ship far too long to feel easy under the management of others.

  It didn’t help matters that Corvus was so compelling. When my mind and body had first been invaded by my ancestor, the original King Finvara, my cousin and I had journeyed on Grace O’Malley’s Gap galleon to Faery. Though I’d been no more than a passenger in my own body at that time, I recalled every detail. The Sea Queen of Connacht had been built specifically for navigating the void between the overlapping worlds of Ireland and Faery, and its methods of propulsion were still a mystery to me. But Corvus—with the incorporation of the hot air balloon and wing-like sails—she was a true airship. What must she be capable of? I itched to board her and find out.

  Which would be a most foolish thing to do. Bollocks.

  It wasn’t just the risk to my person. I was responsible now. Responsible for upholding the treaty between Ireland and our enemies. Responsible for nurturing the fledgling alliance between Faery and the Irish people—quite possibly the touchiest of the undertakings, as the two had been separated for centuries by the seal that was broken at Ben Bulben less than three months ago.

  “Keane,” I called, turning decisively from the ship. The man nearly jumped out of his skin.

  “Your Majesty?”

  “Ask the chamberlain to come to my study.” I walked back toward the stairs, muttering, “My life needs simplifying.”

  MISCHIEF

  Finvara

  I watched the servant sweep away the ropes of hair that had dropped onto the floor in my study. My head felt light and strange, like it might float away from my body. I ran my hand over my closely shorn scalp and beardless jaw.

  “You look very distinguished, Your Majesty,” said the chamberlain, raising a mirror.

  It came as a shock—my hair had never been short. It aged me, I thought. Perhaps it was only that I looked more serious with the heavy lines of cheek and jaw exposed, and the dark slashes of brow that now took center stage. Perhaps that was for the best. At any rate, it would be one less thing weighing on me.

  “Thank you, Reid,” I replied.

  The man bowed. “Will there be anything else, Your Majesty?”

  “No, you may go.” Before he had exited the chamber, I called, “Hold, a moment. Run down Doro if you can, and send him to me.”

  Doro was a fairy who was somehow attached to Knock Ma. His form was really no different from any Irish gentleman’s, though his flesh was so pale it glowed in the shadows. I knew very little about him, except that he was always either underfoot or nowhere to be found. Truth be told, the fellow was odd. But I needed a steward, and he’d told me he had served in that capacity before. If I didn’t make some changes, I was going to make a hash of it all.

  I poured a glass of whiskey and returned to studying the map of Ireland on the wall. I supposed I should go to bed. The rest of the castle seemed to have retired, and it was clear I’d roused Reid from his sleep, though to his credit the man had not complained. I liked these quiet hours when I was alone and could think. I had always loved nights at sea in fair weather, Aesop gently rocking and creaking under a blanket of brilliant stars.

  I couldn’t help wondering about the Elf King’s daughter. Was she indeed resting after her long journey? My hunch said not—she had simply had enough of my company. I suspected that she, not unlike myself, was a creature that preferred her own. The difference was that she would have that option in the days ahead, whereas I must prepare for the impending official visit by my father, the Earl of Mayo.

  “Blast,” I muttered. The peace I’d enjoyed as a thrice-redundant son was about to come to an end. The queen’s appointment had thrust me up on a level with Owen, my eldest brother, if not higher. I had been installed here less than a fortnight when the telegram about my father’s visit had arrived. He might have at least waited for my affairs to settle before descending upon me. No doubt he’d scorn the state of things and provide all manner of unsought advice.

  “Your Majesty has made a change.”

  I turned, irritated to find Doro had managed to enter my study without my notice.

  “There you are,” I said. “Where is it you disappear to?”

  He smiled graciously, though it was a ridiculous question. The only creatures in this place that did not disappear and reappear with regularity were the mortal servants.

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he replied smoothly. “I do not mean to disappear. I am bound to this place, as you know, so I am never far away.”

  His manner of address was flawless, like a courtier’s. “That’s just it,” I replied. “I don’t really know.”

  The gentleman widened his heavy-lidded eyes, waiting for me to explain. He had an almost feminine beauty, with soulful light gray eyes and full lips. The bones of his face were delicate, too. But there was nothing feminine about his strongly built frame. He had told me he’d served as steward to the original Finvara’s succession of queens. For myself, I never would have allowed the handsome sprite such easy and regular access to my wife.

  “Never mind,” I said. “I’ve brought you here because I need a steward—someone to save me from my poor head for details, and also to help me get on better with my subjects, who seem skittish of me. Are you up to it?”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” he replied with a polite bow. “I would be honored.”

  I stepped toward the window and gazed out at the phantom airship. “My people from Mayo are coming in two days. My father, and my eldest brother and his wife. See that rooms are prepared, and that the larder is adequately provisioned.”

  “I will, sire. Have you some entertainment in mind for them?”

  I glanced back at him. “We’ll feed them. Let them shoot our birds. What else would you suggest?”

  His lips parted, and he seemed to hesitate—possibly reconsidering his decision to assist in such a hopeless cause. “I believe balls are customary, even among mortal folk?”

  I frowned. �
�Aye.”

  “A masquerade, perhaps? I understand they have become quite fashionable.”

  It was the very last thing I wanted to be doing. I took a deep breath. “A masquerade it is.”

  He nodded, seeming pleased. “What disguise will Your Majesty wear?”

  Finally turning from the window, I replied, “I haven’t the slightest idea. You choose for me. Nothing showy. Something that covers my face.”

  I have become dull overnight. The old Duncan had lived for a good revel, as had the original King Finvara. All I wanted now was to have as little notice taken of me as possible. Soon I would no longer recognize myself.

  Doro gave another nod. “I will see to it. Who else shall be invited?”

  Was there no end to the tedious detail? I rubbed my forehead. “We’d better have the County Galway landholders, as they are the ones most affected by our presence. We’ll need to hire goods and services from their tenants and merchants.”

  “Very good. Might I suggest inviting gentry from all the Connacht counties? The region is King Finvara’s traditional domain.”

  “It’s best,” I agreed reluctantly. “What of your people? The fairies, I mean. I hardly know what’s appropriate.”

  “They are your people, sire. I hope I may be forgiven for saying so.”

  “Certainly, they are. But I have acquired them without understanding how to rule them. What will they expect? How am I to avoid giving offense?”

  I waited while he considered the question. “You must invite them, of course.”

  “All of them?” I asked, dismayed.

  “I would not advise that, no,” he replied. “Each faction follows a leader of sorts, much like your Irish counties. These leaders and their families should be invited, but it would offend them were we to invite all of Faery, nor could Knock Ma hold them all. I can see to it for you, Your Majesty.”

  “Excellent, and that brings me to another question.” I fixed my gaze on him. “Is there any way of keeping them out? I don’t mean of the masquerade. Just generally.”