Chapter Nine
I t doesn’t take long to find the prince. It’s almost as if these nobles and royals are afraid to stray too far from the ships; if they are not in their houses along the cliffs, they are walking the marginal way there, admiring the same wildflowers they noted yesterday, commenting on the size of the waves.
I’ve spent so long feeling out of place in the castle, I don’t think I realized just how dull its occupants are.
Prince Ruairí is on the zigzagging path along the cliffs. From the street above, I can see him trekking down the rough-hewn stairs through the rocks, nearing an isolated swath of beach below.
I narrow my eyes at the tide. He does know it’s coming in, right? Doesn’t he know how to read a tide chart?
With an admittedly equine snort of dismay, I hurry down the path between houses, climbing over stone walls and ignoring the stares of servants and readers in windows.
“Prince Ruairí!” I call, forgetting the lengths I’ve gone to in order to separate myself from him. There’s no helping it now. Not when Fiadh’s safety is at stake.
He doesn’t hear me. Doubtless, the crash of waves muffles my voice.
By the time I reach the lower cliffside way, he’s almost down the convoluted flight of stairs. “Your Highness!” I call again, cupping both hands around my mouth.
He stills, then straightens. Slowly, the prince turns. Even from this distance, his dark brows outline his surprise clearly.
A softer voice carries up from the beach. “Prince Ruairí?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, a mighty wince keeping me from any attempts at composure. Lady Taliana. She and two servants, who are all about to be ankle deep in water, step out from the shadow of the cliffs below.
Something else catches my eye. As I lean over the rocks, gold-colored fringe flutters into view, attached to some kind of awning.
A chill runs through me. What are the odds that Lady Taliana and her servants can swim?
“The tide!” I call out just as Prince Ruairí, confused by my silence, begins to resume his descent to the little beach. “Your Highness, the tide!”
If he hears me, he doesn’t know what I mean. With a huff, I grab the sides of my skirt with both fists and hasten down the steps, cursing the impracticality of these courtly slippers along the coast. The rock is fairly dry from the low tide, but even so, I slip and my heart leaps from my chest.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I push on.
A word from Lady Taliana—and not a very friendly one, by the looks of it—turns the prince’s attention my way again. I drop my skirts, waving my arms like a fool. “The tide! The tide is coming in!”
Fools. They don’t understand what I mean. Have neither of them ever been to the sea before?
I hurry down the last dozen steps—if they can be called that—just as the servants raise the alarm. And Lady Taliana and Prince Ruairí just stand there, watching the waves creep in.
“The tide is coming in,” I bark at them, dropping all formality. “Get up the stairs, quickly!”
Lady Taliana tears her eyes away from the foaming waves, frowning at me as if it’s my fault. What is the point of the Royal Fae Astronomers if they ignore the tide charts? The position of the sun and moon, combined with the magic of faerie, means the sea arrives voraciously—especially on a narrow beach like this one.
“Please pack this up,” Taliana bids her servants.
As I follow these poor men and women as they begin to scurry, my eyes bulge and I stop dead. A picnic. She thought the time before high tide would be lovely for a beach picnic .
Or did they both? It wouldn’t surprise me if Prince Ruairí thought it a splendid idea, too. High King Tadhg has a decent enough head on his shoulders, but I cannot say I’ve ever thought the same of the prince.
Not that I think he’s ever tried to be clever. As the second son, I doubt he’s ever had to.
“There’s no time,” I snap at them all. “Can’t you see how quick it’s coming? This’ll all be washed away before you can pack it.”
Lady Taliana narrows her eyes. “And how am I to enjoy the beach without an awning? I didn’t bring it all this way just to leave it for the elements. My people will pack it promptly.”
“My lady, I fear she’s right.” Dismay laces the prince’s voice. I follow his line of sight to the burst of lacey foam, climbing halfway up the secluded beach already.
“Hurry, please,” Lady Taliana bids her servants.
And I don’t know why it shocks me, but my head snaps up as I hear the rustle of skirts: She’s already heading up the stone steps to safety.
“Prince Ruairí,” she says from the third step, pouring every ounce of cultivated charm she possesses into her voice, “I’m dreadfully frightened of slipping on these difficult stairs. I had such trouble with them on the way down! Won’t you escort me?”
I don’t hide the curl of my lip. What I wouldn’t give to be in my púca form and show her the bottoms of my hooves! But alas, these nobles are as protected as they are cossetted.
It simply wouldn’t do for a queen’s maid to kick a noble lady.
Bracing myself for utter disappointment, I watch the prince. At least his eyes dart between the servants and the lady, the high prince experiencing a moment of indecision as the tide creeps ever inward.
At a word from him, the servants could be free to follow their lady. He could order it, promise to find her a new awning and picnic basket and—is that glass dishware?
Yet Prince Ruairí fixes her attentions on Lady Taliana, a smile warming his face. “It would be my pleasure, Lady Taliana.”
My nostrils flare, and I nearly stamp my foot. This is madness. But there’s little I can do besides help the servants’ work go faster. Unlike them, I won’t drown if the tide knocks me down and pulls me out to deeper water.
While the maids tuck the food away into one of three lidded baskets—this one home to a lavish spread of fruit, cheese and dried meat—I pack the delicate dishes as if slinging mud. I keep thinking how quickly this little beach, hemmed by high rock on all sides, will fill with water. So the very moment I cannot see the prince and the lady any longer, I tell Taliana’s servants, “Go on to the stairs. I’ll bring the rest to you.”
“You cannot pack it all yourself,” says one of the manservants, his two sets of wings fluttering nervously at his back. “The awning needs all of us—”
“Then take the awning now!”
“If the poles fall before the dishes are all packed, it’ll crack them!” one of the maids protests.
I roll my eyes toward the sea, asking for help from its goddess.
“All of you, just go!”
One of the maids stares back at me solemnly, neither helping nor fleeing. “We have orders, miss.”
I huff, then redouble my efforts, packing silver cups and searching for a place to set the wine in the basket. The maids make noises of protest, until one gasps. Then all of them are packing baskets any which way. Put together, they're at least the size of the chest containing the queen’s wardrobe.
What frivolity. It’s clear that Lady Taliana wished to impress the prince. And why wouldn’t she? A prince would be a fine match for anyone.
Anyone but a púca.
I shove one of the baskets shut, just barely able to latch it. The others are finishing just as water soaks into their slippers.
With a nod to the footmen, I follow the others’ lead, lifting the awning's support poles from the sand in unison. We walk them inward until they meet; I assist the smallest maid, who looks more like a lady’s companion and doubtless was only meant to chaperone, while the footmen pull the fabric from the top of the awning, rolling it until it can be set into the remaining lidded basket.
“Go,” I urge them all.
They’re worryingly slow with the baskets, and the tide creeps to the bottom step just as they reach it. Soon, the rough stairs will be too slippery to manage with their burdens.
“I’ll take the tent poles,” I offer, picking the most ungainly load.
“I can’t let you go last,” argues one of the footmen, but I shake my head.
“I won’t drown,” I remind him, “but you might. Go.”
With a wide-eyed glance at the sea, he follows the rest, leaving me with four metal poles licked by saltwater. They’ll be rusted in no time—yet I make my way up the first few steps with them, knowing it could be trouble for these servants if anything is left behind.
Stupid prince. Why didn’t you say something? Why humor a noble lady instead of thinking of everyone’s safety?
Jaw clenched, grip tight upon the awning's supports, I take one agonizing step at a time, trying not to pitch the ends of the metal tubes into the encroaching rocks. I may not be able to drown, but that doesn’t mean I won’t crack my head.
I'm up the stone stairs now, with a steeper half yet to go. The other servants are well ahead of me. With a bitten-off curse, I set my burden down, removing my shoes and shoving them down my dress front, behind my stomacher. They stick up oddly, marking my lips with sand and salt, and it does little to help with the situation. Except that I am just a little more surefooted now.
Would that I’d just chucked these stupid shoes into the sea. They’re probably ruined now anyway. Fancy slippers are like that—expensive and not good for much.
As I struggle upward, I feel a tug at the back of my skirt. The tide.
At the pace I'm going, it will be lapping at my knees before I get much higher. With a nod of apology at Taliana’s servants, who are just now reaching the top, I am about to set the bundled supports down when a figure appears on the cliffside path. Squeezing around the servants as if these were the wide, flat steps within the castle, he races down the stairs.
Prince Ruairí .
And there, with her hands squeezed together on the path above us, is Lady Taliana. More than the shadows darken the look she fields me.
“Is that some kind of púca fashion?” the prince asks of the shoes protruding from my neckline.
I don’t dignify that with a response.
With nothing further than that cocky half smile of his, he grips the awning poles, sliding them higher so he can carry them under one arm.
I follow behind him, barely holding my tongue. It has barbed words perched on its very tip, aimed at everyone involved in this ridiculous debacle.
When we reach the top, Lady Taliana applauds.
“Very gallant, my prince,” she says from a smiling veneer so thick I might’ve imagined the fury she leveled at me moments ago.
Your stupid picnic set is saved, I think at her, wishing I could speak my mind.
Instead, I listen to the sounds of the approaching waves to calm myself, splashing ever higher as they attack the stairs. The water is halfway up them now. I close my eyes, trying not to picture diving into them.
“Fortunate you were here to help, isn’t it?” Lady Taliana says. I’m so engrossed in the sounds of the sea, I don’t at first realize I’m being addressed. “Why are you here, Queen’s Maid Laoise?”