A FOOL AND HIS KINGDOM
After my maid filled the tub in my chamber and helped me out of my costume, I soaked until the water was the same greenish brown as the mud from the lily pool. While I put on my nightdress she built up the fire, and then she bade me goodnight.
Sitting in a chair by the hearth while my hair dried, I listened to the wind in the trees, which seemed to mock my restless thoughts with their violent thrashing.
Real damage had been wrought by Doro. In addition to calling the king’s legitimacy into question, he’d caused Finvara’s first fete to be disrupted by a violent attack that was sure to be discussed far and wide. The king would be doubted now by fairy and Irishman alike.
Which is exactly to plan and so why am I fretting?
There was no longer any mystery about it—I liked and trusted the king more than I liked or trusted the man I had agreed to marry.
As I sank back in the chair, something on the floor beneath my bed glimmered in the firelight. I rose and walked over to peer underneath.
A knife. Gasping, I took hold of the weapon and carried it into the lamplight. I ran my thumb over the polished wooden hilt and then touched the sharp edge lightly with one finger. It had two edges, in fact—it was an Irish skean.
Your father has told me that you do not shrink from spilling blood.
Doro had visited my chamber. I went back to look under the bed again and found a slip of paper I’d missed. The only word written on it was snart—which in Elvish meant “soon.” I shivered.
Voices drifted up the stairs and I lifted my chin toward the sound. The king was below, speaking with Treig.
“My lady has retired,” she said.
“Nevertheless, I intend to speak to her,” replied the king.
My heart galloped at the sound of his boots on the stairs. I shot a panicked glance around the room. The bed was turned down—I thrust the knife between the sheets.
“I’m not dressed, Your Majesty,” I called out, straightening to meet him.
He didn’t answer, and the footsteps drew closer. Finally he appeared at the top of the stairs.
Our gazes locked, and for a moment, neither of us moved. My heart pounded so violently I thought he must hear it. What could have moved him to burst in on me like this?
He took a few steps into the room and I closed my parted lips to calm my breathing. He no longer wore the jester’s costume, but simple black trousers and boots, and an untucked, half-buttoned shirt.
His blue eyes were cold and hard.
“Are you well, Your Majesty?” I asked, speaking low so my voice would not tremble. He knows something.
“I am not,” he said, his voice as cold and hard as his gaze. “In fact, I am thrice a fool.”
I fought for composure. “How so?”
He held a fist before his chest, and it bounced with each line he spoke. “First, I trusted Doro. Third, I walked around in that disguise while my own steward sneered at me. But second . . .” The muscles of his jaw clenched. “I trusted you.”
My stomach roiled. Perspiration trickled down my back, and the ash tree between my shoulders began to tingle. What options were open to me? He would believe no denial, for despite his assertion, he was no fool. If I could reach the knife, I might make my escape. Treig might help me.
Or, I could tell him the truth and accept the consequences.
The mere thought of exposing my involvement in Doro’s scheme caused the ash tree to burn like the heated blade of that knife pressed against my spine. A cry broke from my lips and I stumbled toward the bed.
The king moved quickly toward me and I drew away from him, maneuvering so one corner of the bed was between us. My furies poured out of me like dark smoke from the fireplace, but the king banished them.
He held out one hand in a steadying motion. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
I watched him warily, drawing quick breaths as I recovered from the pain. “What will you do, Your Majesty?”
He hesitated, his face drawn and grim. “I don’t know. What I want now is answers.”
I gripped the bedpost, waiting for him to continue.
“Have you and Doro deceived me?” Somehow, he managed to keep both accusation and anger from his voice—though accusation and anger would have been easier to take.
I nodded. Again, pain knifed down my back and I squeezed my eyes closed and gritted my teeth. Perspiration wet my upper lip.
Finvara’s voice was closer as he asked, “How long?”
I looked up and caught his grimace as I replied, “From the beginning.”
Am I really doing this? Any thought of attempting to continue the deception had fled. I felt powerless to do anything but answer truthfully. And yet his ability to compel me was not the result of a spell.
“To what purpose?” he asked.
My mouth went dry. I wiped my damp palms on my nightdress. “Doro wishes to—”
Pain cut through my reply. I cried out and fell forward, toward the king, who caught me.
His palm came to my cheek, and he bent my head back so he could examine my face. Tears streaming down from the pain, I offered no resistance.
His brow creased in confusion. “This is no play for mercy.”
“No,” I croaked.
“Has your leg worsened?”
I shook my head. His arm was drawn tightly around my waist, like a lover’s embrace. Without its support, I would have fallen.
“What is causing your pain, then?”
“My back,” I said. “My father—”
The burning tree spilled lava down my spine and I shrieked.
Finvara held me away from his chest and turned me. I stumbled forward onto the bed and then felt his hands at the nape of my neck, quickly unfastening buttons. As he peeled back the fabric, cool air rushed in and soothed my skin.
“Good God,” he uttered. “What is this? Some mark of your people?”
I nodded feebly and rested my cheek against the cool sheet. Pressing my hands into the coverlet, I felt the hard outline of the knife’s hilt—and froze.
Treig heard my scream. She stands at the top of the stairs. I knew it without looking up. I only need command her. I slipped my hand between the sheets. The pain will stop. I will have fulfilled my duty.
But my attention was drawn to the sound of the king’s voice—he was repeating the words of a spell in low, soothing tones. His voice conjured images of mountain pools, cold and deep. Of icy peaks, and frothy rivers. The searing heat at my back eased.
I grasped the knife and sat up, raising it between us.
The king’s eyes flashed blue fire and his lips parted. He would cast a defensive spell—I had no more than a moment. From the corner of my eye, I saw Treig raise her pike, and I knew beyond doubt that I was the one she intended to champion. What I did not know was if her loyalty lay with me, or Doro.
“Your Majesty,” I said, my voice raw, yet forceful enough to still both Treig and the king. I turned the knife in my hands, taking the blade between my palms. “The mark is my father’s. The decision to betray you was Doro’s. This decision, to betray them both, is my own.”
I bowed my head, and I held out the knife to him.
Finvara
The princess shrieked again and her knife clattered to the floor. Her eyes were bright and wild from the pain. I eased her damp body back onto the bed.
Tattoos were common among sailors—I had one myself of the constellation Argo—yet I’d never seen anything like this. An upside-down tree with a root system as large as the branches, it covered more than half of her back. And all of it was inflamed.
“Clean cloths,” I called to Treig, “and fresh water from the well.”
The most effective treatment for powder burns, in my experience, was cool water. I could not be sure the same method would work on a magical burn. The skin had not opened, at least, so presumably there was no risk of putrefaction.
“Bring a bottle of brandy,” I called as the firglas woman started down the stairs. Then something occurred to me and I amended, “no, bring absinthe—there’s a bottle in my study.”
Before the seal between worlds was broken, absinthe had given some people the ability to see into Faery. It had also prevented my cousin Edward from being overtaken in his sleep by his immortal ancestor. Might it protect the princess from the Elf King’s violence? It was worth trying.
Anger flared hot in my chest at his barbarity—was this not his daughter?
She betrayed you, I reminded myself.
Nay, something changed her mind.
I took up the cooling spell again, though I knew it would not work indefinitely. But soon she was resting quietly. Her face was pressed into the coverlet, and the muffled moans that snuck past her lips had subsided.
Turning her head to look at me, she said in a broken voice, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Treig and the princess’s maid returned with the things I’d asked for, saving me—for the moment—from having to figure out what the devil I was going to say to her. I was rising to meet them when the princess reached out and stopped me. Her fingers felt hot against my wrist.
“There is time to put a stop to Doro’s scheme,” she said quietly. “And there is a way.”
“We’ll speak more of it later,” I replied, attempting to place her hand back down.
She held fast. “We must act before he suspects. He is powerful, Your Majesty.”
I saw genuine urgency in her face, and I recalled Lady Meath’s warning. I needed to gain a better understanding of what had been plotted, yet talking about it was causing her excruciating pain.
Glancing up at the servants, who were awaiting my direction, I said, “Leave those things and wait downstairs.”
When they’d gone, I asked, “Act how, lady?”
“He is bound to your queen. He must do as she commands. You only need fill that office.”
I stared at her. “You are suggesting I marry?”
“You—or she—will be able to stop his mischief in an instant.”
I shook my head. “I’m not prepared for . . . I haven’t even a candidate.”
“Do you not, sire?”
For the space of a startled heartbeat, I believed she was thinking of herself. She was of course referring to Elinor.
Of the two unmarried ladies, there was only one that I would even consider marrying.
“I do not wish to cause you more pain,” I replied, “but I think before I consider such extreme measures, I must have more information.”
Leaving her bedside, I fetched the absinthe bottle and a glass from a tray Treig had brought. The anise fumes rose to my nostrils as I poured half an inch and held out the glass to the princess. “It may provide some protection. It may not.”
When she had swallowed the pale green spirit, grimacing at the strong flavor, I wet one of the towels the maid had brought, wrung it out, and laid it across her back.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she murmured.
Returning to her, I asked, “Can you tell me Doro’s purpose?”
She took a deep breath, bracing herself. “To turn your people against you. To take your place as king.” A good old-fashioned mutiny, it would seem. “He has been working against you since I met him. Perhaps even before. He needed me because . . .”
At first I feared the pain was returning, but then I realized she had simply hesitated. “Because?”
“Because of his bond to your family.” Again, she hesitated. Then finally: “He cannot kill you.”
The knife—of course. “You can.”
The princess sank deeper into the coverlet, replying, “Except I find that I cannot.”
I knelt beside the bed to better see her face. “And why is that, lady?”
She closed her eyes, and a quiet sigh escaped her lips. “You have been kind to me. You have been my friend while others have sought to use me.”
Others. Her father, and Doro. It pinched at my heart, as did seeing such a stout-hearted lady reduced to this state.
“There is more,” she continued, opening her eyes. “Doro formed an alliance with my father. As the fairy king, Doro would join forces with the Elf King to take Ireland. I was promised to Doro, as his queen, to seal their agreement.”
Her dark eyes held mine, and I saw the moment the Elf King’s punishment returned. Her cry was feeble this time—either she was exhausted or our methods were providing some relief.
Another tear slipped onto her cheek and I thought about all she had just given up for me. Merely because I had been kind to her for a handful of days.
“I will do as you have advised me,” I said, bending closer to her, “if you agree to become my queen instead.”
Koli
“Your Majesty! Have you not heard a word I’ve said?”
“On the contrary,” he replied, and there was a smile in his eyes that had not yet touched his lips. “I’ve heard all of your words, and I can think of no better way to foil the plans of my enemies.”
I stared at him, incredulous. “I had intended to assassinate you.”
He raised his eyebrows. “And were not equal to it, and warned me of the plot, and pointed out a way to prevent it. I can’t think of a single other creature in this godforsaken place who has done more to earn my trust or been more genuinely helpful.”
I rolled onto my side to better see him, careful to move slowly and not dislodge the wet dressing. My heart was beating wildly.
“I think you must be in jest, Your Majesty.”
“I know you have no high opinion of me, lady, but even I would never jest about a marriage proposal.”
I let my gaze drift to the window, my thoughts racing. I had made a choice—a very dangerous one—to take no more part in Doro and my father’s schemes. And there was no point in denying I had come to respect and admire Finvara—I was beginning to suspect it could be more than that, Freyja help me. But marry him?
“Please don’t be alarmed,” said the king. “It need only be a marriage in name. You can think of it as a political alliance, if you like, to protect Ireland’s treaty with your father, as was originally proposed. Can you not see how much better a solution it is than for me to marry Elinor? Doro would have her eating out of his hand in a matter of minutes, magical bond or no.”
He was right. About all of it. Except— “What of yggdrasil?”
He frowned—I’d used an Elvish word.
“The ash tree mark,” I said.
The hopeful light in his eyes dimmed. “Aye. That is an obstacle. Has anything we’ve done made it more tolerable?”
I nodded. “The cold cloths. The drink you gave me—it does seem to have dulled the effects. And your spells.” I couldn’t help recalling the gentleness of his voice—only moments after I’d admitted to betraying him.
“We will simply have to continue with all of it,” he said with characteristic optimism. “And when we are wed, you will order Doro to discover a way to counter it.”
Doro, of course. I had only thought to neutralize the fairy steward. I realized now, under my control, he could become a powerful ally.
“Only you may say, lady, whether you can bear it,” said the king. “Both your father’s punishment, and a lifetime of my company.”
I studied the gentle upward curve of his full lips.
The king might not be in love, but he was certainly in earnest. And there was only one answer I could sensibly give.