Ailill covered his mouth with a kerchief as he supervised the servants who were removing the dust cloths from all the furniture. It would take weeks to put his townhouse in order.
His townhouse. It did not matter the number of years that passed—that he was past thirty and had been a Duke for a very long time—he would never grow used to being nobility. To having his townhouse, his country house, or whatever else he felt like acquiring.
The servants ... and how had he acquired so many, anyway? The servants finished removing all the cloths from the library and began to fold them all up to carry them out. Ailill stared at the empty shelves, dull with dust and neglect. No doubt his cook, one of the only servants he did recognize, would have some poor maid in the library for days dusting and scrubbing and oiling the shelves. Thinking of his cook reminded him that he still lacked a housekeeper.
His real sympathy went to the footmen who would have to haul in the crates of books and his assistant and the clerks who would have to catalog and shelve them. He didn't sympathize enough to help with such a tedious chore, but he did feel bad enough he would probably overpay them.
"Your grace ..."
Ailill turned around and quirked one brow at the young man who had been following him around ever since he had returned to his estates. Well, that might have been an exaggeration. But he had definitely been about whenever Ailill needed him—even before Ailill realized it. When Andre only remained silent, Ailill removed the handkerchief from his mouth and said, "Yes, Andre?"
"Your assistance is required in the kitchens."
Kitchens? Plural? Why would a house need more than one kitchen? Ailill did not voice the question, however, because he was relatively certain his servants already regarded him as damaged in the head. He nodded and followed Andre from the library, through the halls of the house, and into the back rooms.
Upon entering the kitchen—it looked like just one, so why the plural?—he immediately saw the problem. "What happened?" he asked, looking around at the debris littered about everywhere: leaves, sticks, animal carcasses, and animal bones. The cooking tools were beyond repair, and he was relatively certain some sort of critter had made a nest of the stove. The other stove looked unfit even for rodents.
"It looks like someone broke in once," said a tall, slender, muscular woman. A tiger, he would bet. Most of his staff seemed to be feline, but that was not unusual. Cats of all sorts would be drawn to him and feel most comfortable working for him. "After that, it became ... well, you can see the results, your grace. I'm only grateful the main door there was sealed up proper, or the whole house …" She bowed low. "I apologize, your grace. I accept full punishment, as it was my mother who would have seen to the closing up of the kitchens and I have assumed her place."
Ailill scoffed at that. "No house is absolutely sealed against robbers; they are known for their persistence, after all. I would say that it is thanks to your mother that the rest of the house was not breached. Please do not worry further upon it. Make a list of necessary repairs and replacements and give the list to my secretary so he can draw the funds. Keep him apprised of the kitchen repairs. I will leave you to make suitable arrangements for meals until the kitchen is set to rights."
The cook smiled at him, eyes wide and startled. The rest of the servants assembled in the kitchen just gawked. Ailill smiled hesitantly, then nodded and walked out again. Andre was close on his heels. "Do I actually have a secretary?" he asked.
"You have a number of interviews arranged this week so you might select one," Andre said.
Ailill sighed. "I suppose that is not a decision I can tell someone else to make. Very well. When is the first of these?"
"Not for two days hence, your grace. Today the tailor is coming to take final measurements for your new wardrobe. Tomorrow you have errands about the city, mostly for goods for the house."
"Thank you, Andre. I appreciate your taking my secretary's role until I can obtain one. I am certain you would like to go back to doing ... whatever is your proper post? And where did you come from?"
Andre drew himself up, looking slightly affronted, but also faintly amused. "I was informed by a friend who has connections to the household that you required a valet and inquired with the cook. She was satisfied with my references, and I did put them with your other papers—"
"Why is she only the cook if she is doing all of this? Has there been any luck locating a housekeeper?"
Frowning, Andre pulled out a small notebook in which he seemed to jot down everything and regarded a list with only two measly items crossed out. "No, your grace. Several people were interviewed before your arrival in the city, but so far no one has suited."
"Promote my cook, then, and find a new cook. I would imagine finding someone who knows how to turn out decent pasta without burning down my kitchen would be easier to find than someone who can run a household."
"Yes, your grace," Andre murmured and slipped away in his spooky fashion.
Ailill sighed and decided it was time for a strategic retreat. If he had to do anything else Duke-like that day he was going to lose his mind. Eschewing hat and coat and gloves, he slipped out the unmanned front door and bolted down the steps and down the street, weaving his way through the city throngs, hoping he went largely unnoticed.
Unlikely, given he was so pale against a backdrop of people who had plenty of color to them. He glanced at his fair skin, remembering when it had been red from too much sun, or tanned gold by it.
He wondered what his family was doing, far away on the farm where he had grown up. He wondered if they still considered him family. They had stopped replying to his letters years ago, but he still sent someone now and again to discretely check on them and see they were doing well.
Ignoring the streets that would lead to the shops and parks and other proper parts of the city, Ailill turned east and headed toward the seedier parts that would end in the harbors.
The smell of the sea called to him, made him ache. He longed to be free again, to sail on the white-sailed ships of Kundou and explore the islands, the thousands of delights they contained. Swim in waters so much warmer and clearer than those of his homeland.
He wanted to go south to Piedre and indulge in the wine and food, the dancing, the dark, beautiful landscape and the fervent appreciation for life held by a people who worshipped death.
Most of all, he wanted Pozhar, the land of fire covered in snow, the Heart packed with people while the Cathedral of Ashes looked down over them. The beer, the vodka, the food. And the nights spent tangled in the sheets with a mercenary he could not get out of his head. Two years later and not even a single letter had been exchanged between them, but he could not forget Vanya.
Had the mercenary life gotten him killed? What would he do if Ailill just showed up one day? The way they had parted ... it felt like Vanya would remember him and welcome seeing him again.
Ailill wished he could see Vanya one last time in case the ceremony did not go well. He had hoped the tragedy would at last end because of all the rumors he'd heard of the other countries. Pozhar was doing quite well under the unexpected return of their Holy Firebird, Kundou had been thriving for the past three, and even Piedre had apparently restored their Basilisk …
It gave him real hope for Verde, though he tried not to let those hopes rise. But if the tragic cycle did finally break, his time would be his own again. It was a selfish motivation when his only concerns should have been for his gods and the people of Verde, but lofty goals were only so motivating.
He hoped he was not fooling himself in thinking Vanya would remember him. A mercenary had little use for a noble, especially when that noble was a White Beast of Verde, no matter how reluctantly. He sighed again and flicked back the braid that had fallen over his shoulder.
He paused at a street vendor's cart and bought a small sack of roasted nuts. Eating them as he walked, he continued on toward the harbors. He wasn't quite certain what he would do when he got there, but it would hardly be the first time in his life that he improvised.
Sometimes he felt as if he had been doing nothing but improvising ever since he had shifted and been revealed as the White Panther. It should not have been so easy to go from 'farm boy Ai' to Lord Ailill le Blanc, Duke of Durant, but it had been. A matter of hours, in fact. Less than a day.
The smells of the harbor hit him first: rot and refuse, piss and cheap alcohol, the sea and the ships. It was not a pleasant combination of smells, but there were too many fond memories attached to harbors for him to hate it entirely. Ailill finished the last of his nuts and crumpled the paper sack that had held them, tossing it in a rubbish barrel as he ventured further in.
Maybe he would see about procuring his own ship. Why had he never thought of that before? The idea sent a shiver of excitement down his spine. His own ship to take him wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He would have to go to Kundou for something like that—
His thoughts broke off when he heard someone cry out in pain, the voice ripping through his mind like claws on soft flesh. Where are you? Ailill asked, immediately dropping all selfish thoughts to focus on the fellow feline begging for help.
Instead of a reply, there were just more cries of pain, followed by a flare of anger—and that accompanied by an audible roar. Ailill looked around, trying to get his bearings, but sound was tricky in the harbor. It all bounced wrong, and pinpointing the true source could be impossible.
Another cry of pain raked through his mind, and Ailill decided he'd had enough. Shifting, he roared loud enough it echoed through the harbors. Where are you?
The Dancing Duck.
Relieved he knew that pub, Ailill ran—and arrived just in time to see a group of six men running out of an alleyway. He snarled, angry they'd get away because he had to see to the kitten.
I'll get them, your grace, came a soft voice, and Ailill turned as movement caught the corner of his eye. A sleek black panther leapt neatly down from the roof and ran after the men who were fleeing.
Ailill decided questions could wait and slipped into the alleyway where a young tiger was curled into a ball, covered in filth and blood. Purring, Ailill nuzzled against the tiger, gently checking for serious wounds as she slowly relaxed against him. Can you stand, little one?
I think so, the tiger said softly and shakily climbed to her feet. She couldn't be more than eighteen or so and must have been pretty new to shifting. Ailill walked alongside her until they were out of the alleyway.
He led her to the safer parts of the city, as far from the harbors as they could get while she was still so weak. When they reached a pub he trusted, The Ugly Swan, he stopped in front of it and licked her face. Can you change back, sweet?
I don't know, she said.
Ailill reached out to her, weaving his magic into hers, lending her energy and helping her change when she struggled to make her body obey. It was not a skill he had to use often, but he was glad it was there for the few occasions it proved necessary. After she had shifted, he did the same, and then slid an arm across her shoulders and led her inside the pub.
A small man came up, the smell of a dog about him, and he nearly fell over bowing. "Your grace! It's an honor—"
"The honor is mine, always," Ailill said, smiling politely. "I need a quiet place for the girl to rest."
"At once, your grace," the man replied and led them through the crowded pub to a private room.
Ailill handed over a few coins and said, "Food, drink, and have a room and bath prepared for her. Another man might arrive looking for me, a black panther."
"The Royal Voice, my lord?"
The words made Ailill blink. "The Royal Voice is a black panther, now? I have been away from Verde for a long time." How had he missed that during the entire length of his recovery? Then again, he had scarcely left his room and remembered little of that time. He smiled crookedly. "Surely there is more than one black panther in the city, however?"
"Oh—well, to be sure, your grace. I only thought how it was your grace, that you must be meeting with the Voice."
Ailill laughed. "I have no idea who I am meeting, if I am meeting anyone at all. He chased down the vagrants who hurt the young woman and may come to find me to report on his success."
Bowing, the man said, "Yes, your grace. I'll just get that food and wine." He slipped away, closing the door behind him, leaving Ailill alone with the girl.
The room was a decent one, walls and floor of warm, gold wood. The table was scuffed and worn, but well cared for, and the seats padded with soft, velvet cushions. "Have a seat," Ailill said quietly, and he settled the girl into a seat that would let her see whoever walked into the room.
She had dusky skin, dark brown hair and blue eyes—a halfling, likely from the mountains, where Verde and Piedre overlapped. Ailill felt sick thinking that her mixed heritage was probably why she'd been beaten. The feuding between species had been getting worse and worse in Verde, and that hostility was starting to spill over to include hatred toward 'impure' shifters.
"Are you all right?" he asked softly.
"Y-y-yes, your grace. They didn't get in many hits. I am sorry to trouble you," she replied and lowered her head.
Ailill stroked her hair and gently tilted her face back up. He used his handkerchief to wipe her tears away then pressed it into her hands to keep. "It is my honor and duty to help all the children of the Faerie Queen. You are no trouble to me. I am sorry you were hurt. Do you know what provoked them?"
"I'm mixed and refused to be their whore," the girl said bitterly. "I was just looking for work. None to be found back home in the village, and my family needs the money ..." She shrugged and fell silent.
It was a common enough situation, children heading into the larger cities to make money to send home to their families. Ailill's mind spun while he contemplated various possibilities, but the thoughts broke off as the door opened. The man from before came bustling in with a tray laden with bread, fruit, roasted vegetables, nuts, and a pitcher of pale pink wine.
"Thank you," Ailill said.
"Room is ready, and we'll prepare the bath as soon as milady desires it," the man said. "If you need anything, just ask for Jacques, your grace." He bowed and slipped away again.
Ailill poured the wine and fixed a plate for the girl. "What's your name?"
"Celine, your grace."
"My name is Ailill, though you may have known that," Ailill said with a wink. "I—" He paused when a knock came at the door. "Come in."
The door pushed open and Ailill stared in surprise at the man who slipped inside. "Noire?"
Grinning, the man closed the door, moved around the table, and then dropped to one knee and bowed his head. "Your grace, I have come to report that the vagrants who assaulted milady have been captured and detained until you see fit to address them."
Ailill nodded, but was still too surprised to form words. Noire Chevalier, a boy he had grown up with in a tiny village far from the city he currently called home. It was close to the border of Piedre high in the mountains, tucked into a valley known for its orchards. Noire's family had owned the general store and the post shop.
Though there were innumerable questions he wanted to ask, duty had to come first. "Where are they being detained?"
"In a city holding cell two blocks from here, your grace. Shall I escort you? Have them brought to you?"
Ailill shook his head. "No, see they are kept secured and have them brought to me at the head office tomorrow. I will question and punish them there."
"Yes, your grace. I shall see your orders are carried out."
"Do so, then return to me," Ailill said.
Noire looked up, a smirk curving his mouth. The small boy he had known had grown up into a handsome, sensual man. Ordinarily, Ailill would have been more than happy to renew their childhood friendship and make it very adult.
But something held him back, the same way it had ever since he'd left Pozhar. Ailill had never been one for attachments, not since all his attachments let him go with such ease. He was a traveler, anyway, which made attaching himself to anyone impossible. He had been perfectly content with that life style.
Until he'd decided to play with a fiery wolf. Since then ... well, he was growing heartily sick of his own hand for company, but he was tired of trying and failing to enjoy himself with anyone else.
"Yes, your grace," Noire finally replied and then rose to his feet with feline grace and departed.
Ailill turned back to Celine and smiled. "Well, the culprits have been captured and they will be punished tomorrow, my dear. You look exhausted. I think I will hand you over to Jacques so you can get cleaned up and rested."
She looked terrified, so Ailill stood them both up and embraced her, sharing calming thoughts and emotions through the bond he had with her as a White Beast.
When she was steadier, he kissed the top of her head, then went to the door and called for Jacques. "She's ready for her bath—and see that there's a girl to help her and stay with her until she falls asleep. If you could, I'd like something stronger to drink than this wine."
"Yes, your grace," Jacques said, and he immediately vanished, returning a moment later with a woman who, by their rings and the way they acted with each other, Ailill guessed to be Jacques's wife.
A few minutes later, the woman had bustled Celine away, and Jacques had left him with a bottle of good brandy. He had just taken a few sips and started eating a slice of bread with honey when the door opened again and Noire slipped inside.
Crossing the room, he knelt, bowed his head, and murmured, "I have returned as bid, your grace." He spoke with a flawless palace accent, wore clothes as costly as Ailill's own—and the badge on his arm and the breast of his black velvet jacket announced to all that he was the Royal Voice of the Faerie Queen and Guardians. Some argued that it was the most powerful position in the kingdom, short of the throne.
Like Celine, Noire was half Piedren. His skin was darker than hers had been, however. No doubt a combination of his heritage and a great deal of time spent outdoors. His black hair was unfashionably short, but cut neatly to accent the lines of his handsome, pretty face. His eyes were all faerie child, a blue so pale they almost looked silver.
The little boy he'd played with, ink smudges on his face and paper dust in his hair, had grown up into a beautiful man. "Noire Chevalier, I do not believe it. How did you come to be the Royal Voice? Why am I only now learning of this?"
Noire looked up with a laugh. "You were sick and I was busy. I have always been good at delivering messages, your grace. You know that better than anyone. I ran fastest in the village and could recite even long messages perfectly." He winked and continued. "I came to the city several years ago, your grace. I was apprenticed to a herald of the city, then worked as a journeyman as a herald of the court. I am still not certain how I came to the attention of the Triad, but so I did. Now here I am. It is good to see you returned to the land of the faeries, your grace. It's good to see you healthy again."
"Oh, stop calling me that," Ailill groused. "And stop kneeling. Honestly, Noire."
Standing up, grinning, Noire took the seat next to him and helped himself to the abandoned wine. "It's good to have you home, Ailill. Everyone can feel how different it is when all twelve Beasts are present."
Ailill made a face. "Yes, so different that I have broken up no less than seven fights in the streets since I have been in the city. I am astonished that there was no fight over your appointm—" He broke off when Noire flinched. "There was a problem."
Noire shrugged, smiled crookedly, and tried to keep his tone light when he said, "Of course there was trouble. Everyone says that the Royal Voice should be as pure of faerie blood as the Queen herself. But there is not much anyone can do when the Triad and the Beasts support me." He took a swallow of wine and licked the traces from his lips. "But it will be nice to have a truly friendly face. I was crushed when I arrived here and learned that you were abroad indefinitely. But I heard you returned with all of the missing crown jewels. You must be pleased with yourself."
"I am glad that I was able to fulfill the duty appointed me," Ailill said. He took a sip of brandy. "It's good to be home, if strange. I admit I'm still not quite certain what to do with myself. It took me a long time to heal from the injuries I took in Pozhar, and it's only the past couple of months or so that I have been up and about and not tired after just a few hours. I have not been in the city very long; my country estate was reluctant to let me go. What does it say that I am more accustomed to foreign lands than my home? I could sail through Kundou or ride through Piedre or traipse through Pozhar with ease, but here, I do not even know how to manage my staff. I do not know what is required to staff my house."
He should not have been rambling so at Noire, but something about Noire made it easy—but that was a quality about him that Ailill remembered. "Well, you certainly look the part, and I have learned that is more than half the fight," Noire said with another one of his crooked smiles. "As to the rest, you'll figure it out. If some of the idiots I've encountered can manage it, so can you."
The cynicism in his words made Ailill sad; someone who had been so sweet should not have that sweetness taken away. "Indeed," he said. "But no more of my whining. How are you? Has someone seduced the boy who used to have dreams—" He broke off laughing when Noire's cheeks darkened. "Did you think I would forget?"
"No, merely hoped," Noire said sourly. "No lover for me. What of you? Bring someone home with you? What were these injuries you suffered? I never heard about them in detail, only that you were badly poisoned. His highness worked hard to heal you, I know that much."
Ailill shook his head. "I have brought no one with me. I was attacked by a man in Pozhar who was using magic illegally. He broke my arm and left me pretty battered. Did something that drained me, left me … soul sick, was how Prince Gael explained it. Recovering from that took a long time. At times, I feared I wouldn't. By the time I was healthy, I had lost all my strength by being bedridden. As I said before, I am only just on my feet without tiring these past two months."
"I'm sorry," Noire said, gently squeezing his arm. "It sounds like you've had quite the rough time of it."
"There were good points, too. I made it home, I accomplished my mission; that is all that matters. Speaking of my mission, I have to deliver the jewels in a few more days."
"Are they as beautiful as legend says?" Noire asked. "I've seen what few images remain of them, but they vary so widely it's impossible to say exactly how they look. Do they have power?"
"They definitely have power, and they're beautiful." Ailill finished his brandy, set a couple more coins on the table, and then rose. "Come on, we can better talk in the comfort of my home, unless you've somewhere to be?"
Sadness flitted across Noire's face, but before Ailill could ask after it, Noire said, "No, I am quite free tonight, your grace. I am expected at the palace first thing tomorrow morning, but I have no obligations at present."
"Good," Ailill said and led the way out of the pub and back out onto the streets. "We can catch up, and you can take me to those meat-eating bastards in the morning and then go on your way. I am glad we crossed paths, Noire."
Noire smiled at him. "It's good to see an old friend, especially these days when everyone is so very tense. So tell me what it was like to go abroad."
"What would you like to hear about first?" Ailill asked, and he did not wait for an answer, simply launched into a story about his first time in Kundou as they walked along steadily darkening streets back across the city to his home.