Chapter Eight
W hen the door closes behind her parents and they begin their hasty retreat down the slate walkway to the house, Fiadh lets out a heavy sigh. Her eyes are the lusterless brown of brined seaweed left for days on the beach. "Sit with me, Laoise," she says, and it almost doesn't sound like a command.
I do as she bids me, taking the seat across from her. I can tell she is waiting for something, so I search for something to say, something meaningful to soothe her after the crushing disappointment of her own family's treatment.
Of course, I find nothing. What can I possibly say? Family means a great deal to púcaí. Even though she has a bit less of it than most, she surely feels its loss.
For once, in my months of service and despite the misery of my parting with Cillian Cloudtongue, I'm glad to be here as her maid. Almost glad enough to reach across the table and offer her hand a reassuring pat, or even to hold it.
I don't do either of those things. It just isn't my way. I hope she senses my sincerity all the same.
After a minute more of pure silence but for the clinking of dishes being taken away, her eyes find mine, searching. And that's when I know.
She's waiting for the staff to leave.
Until the last of the serving staff disappear into the kitchen, she remains quiet, her eyes brighter than they've been in weeks. The kitchen lies in the back, set up reasonably well for nobility, though it is only the house of the town mayor and her family these days. Once they're all away, there ought to be enough distance for the queen to speak privately.
Personally, I think it strange, there being such a setup, and quarters for servants, in a púca town. But this house was volunteered by the mayor herself, and I have the sneaking suspicion the modest upper rooms were meant for children and not for maids.
Even without the royal trappings unloaded from the ship, it's clear this town went to some effort to make their homes look suitable for a visit from the high court. Yet I hear nothing but complaints among the courtiers, about sand, about the hardness of beds, about quaint houses they whisper about, calling them "stables."
If it wouldn't shame Queen Fiadh, I'd like to slap every one of them. Or perhaps to shift into my púca form and kick them with my rear hooves.
"Laoise," my royal cousin says at last, "I find my home court much changed. Changed in how they see me. Even this house, that I remember so clearly from when I was a young girl, is no longer the same. Everything is very small now, and all shuttered to me. As if I was never from here at all."
"I know, ma'am." I swallow, my gaze drifting to the table. "I'm sorry for it."
She shakes her head. "There's only one thing for it."
My eyes snap up to hers. Is that amusement?
"We must escape to the sea court here, where no one will care one jot that I've anything to do with the king of all earthen courts."
My jaw slackens a little. "You mean as púcaí?"
"How else?"
My hand goes to my chin. This is a fine plan, indeed. Except there's no real plan to it. With so many courtiers floating around, we'll be seen. And I know, with all my heart, that the sight of their púca queen in her unseelie form will be too much for so many of them.
“There are too many noble eyes around here.” I find my hand curling around my neck, as if my collar is suddenly too tight. “I haven't seen a single local in púca form, either. They're all afraid to be seen as they are.”
“I'm not,” Fiadh says, an iron-hard glint I'm her eyes. “Not any longer.”
“But the situation at court—”
“So we'll go after dark,” she practically snaps, and I lean back from the table, my fingers still brushing my throat.
"Aren't the sea courts here troubled by nightfall, the way those beside the Seaglass Court are?" I ask.
She blinks in surprise. "Troubled? I thought it was merely a rule of the Salann Court. They never permit us to stay after nightfall, except on revel days."
"You really don't know?"
"Know what, Laoise?""
I tap a finger to my lip. "They don't keep it secret from us—not the Diarmuid's Row folk. Nor from the nearby villages.” My hand stills and I frown, unsure if this isn't meant for other pointed ears. “Something is out of balance in the courts near Ireland. Each night, after sunset, there is a tidal wave of wild magic beneath the sea, powerful enough to sweep the strongest of swimmers far from home, or dash them into the rocks."
“That's a fairy tale,” she says easily.
“It most certainly is not! Have you no friends in the sea court here?”
I regret my words at once; glancing around me, I have to wonder whether Fiadh's life here was always a bit too solitary.
Her brow furrows, as if she doesn't quite know what I mean. Right. So the Salann Court isn't quite as friendly with púca as the Moonray Court is with Diarmuid's Row. Perhaps, with the fae here that much closer to Connor Castle, the sea fae don't feel quite as trusting, and the púca here not quite as free to associate with those who will never bow to the high king.
“What I meant to say, ma'am, is that my greatest friend lives in a sea court, and I know myself what it is to swim for home a little too late in the evening. The solstice and equinox days are the only times the sea is calm at night, and there's none who can say why.”
“You really mean that, don’t you? That it isn't just a tale.”
“There's truth to many a tale, ma'am. This one happens to be deadlier than most of them, and completely mysterious.”
Like a frightened púca, Fiadh's eyes are mostly whites as she says, "How long has this been happening?"
"All of my life, and I'd wager yours, too. It usually clears around midnight."
Her mouth twists as she says wryly, with arms crossed over the hard stomacher of her dress, "The witching hour."
I nod.
"And no one knows why?"
"None have ever found the exact cause. The faerie clams close their mouths tight, the sharks head out to the deeper sea, and every creature that can't take shelter on the sea floor or in the caverns vanishes."
Fiadh leans sharply over the table, her eyes eager and bright. Somehow, I already don't like where this is going. "We should speak to the sea fae at once. It's my duty, as queen of the earthen courts and a púca, to find out what's happened."
I absolutely do not like where this is going. "You know they don't care about what the earthen courts do."
"But the earthen courts are connected to the sea courts; our magic links with theirs. I must learn more, to report to the high king."
"And what will he do?" I laugh, forgetting my impertinence; for a moment, she is just another púca to me. "It's nothing that can be changed, or it would have been by now."
I sit back, satisfied with my cousin's obvious puzzlement as she wrestles with what she believes and what I do. Who knew there could be such different beliefs among púca courts?
"I can't let this stand," Fiadh says, her face relaxing. "The health of the earthen courts depends upon that of the sea."
"Tell that to the courtiers out there, ma'am," I say, barely holding in a snort of contempt. "I think they'd disagree."
"But you and I are púcaí. We know better."
"Alas, we are wisemen amongst fools here, ma'am," I say, more quietly this time. "You cannot convince them otherwise."
"Still, it cannot stand," she repeats.
A wash of hot worry floods me then. I find myself grabbing her hand, just as I'd avoided doing before. "Promise me you won't go out there after sunset," I say. "It's dangerous. Even the mer won't leave their homes at such an hour, and they're the strongest swimmers of all."
I do not bother to remind her of the weakness her condition has brought to her body; this, she already well knows.
Briefly squeezing my fingers, Queen Fiadh sighs and removes her hand. "I won't do anything foolish, Laoise. You needn't worry about me."
Which, I notice, is not a promise. Nor a vow not to go.
" Ma'am ."
"I've heard you, Laoise. I do not wish to discuss it further. Better we should plan when we might get away."
Has a queen's maid ever been executed for getting her queen killed by wild fae magic? Or by anything at all, for that matter?
Though I smile and carry on, my throat is tight.
Certain I was of Cillian's love, once. But I see now that there is a sureness even greater than that. I know, with every shifter bone in my body, that Fiadh is going to try to escape.
I have to stop her. Which means I have to catch her . And I'm only one person. Her cousin, it's true, but at the end of the day I'm but her lady's maid.
I need someone with authority.
And as much as I'd rather tip over this table and run on four hooves in front of all these High Fae courtiers, I know I must ask him.
Prince Ruairí .
Just when I thought I was rid of him for good!