Aoibheann

I can’t believe that I am thinking this, but I am glad to be leaving Slanach.
It’s the sort of perfectly sunny day, the sort Slanach is famous for. But howling rain and wind would have been more appropriate.

My babies were oblivious to the pall that hung over me and Frederick and Aunty Fifi as we rode back to the station in the golden carriage.

We sat on opposite sides of her; she insisted on being in the middle.

She went on about how much she would miss me and wished we would stay longer.

I did not hear a word of it. I was too busy trying to read Frederick, and I was pretty sure he was busy trying to read me. 

We had not had time to speak much since yesterday and the …brawl that capped off the grand tournament. Something always popped up or got in the way.

I suspect Aunty Fifi might have arranged it that way.

The carriage stopped at the train station, and we filed out.

Aunty Fifi accompanied us to the carriage as Vicky, the locomotive dragon, sang “Oh I wish to be beside the seaside” while she waited.

Frederick eagerly jumped on board with the twins in his arms, followed by Pippy with the rest of the babies and our servants.

I was the last to board.

I was mounting the steps when Aunty Fifi hugged me.

“I really do wish you could have stayed longer, Rosebud.”

That wasn’t quite a lie. I still loved Aunty Fifi. I just didn’t want to spend another minute in Slanach.

“Now remember to keep up your goddess practice,” she said.
“I will,” I replied.

“And remember that little promise we made.”

I shuddered. “I won’t.”

She gave me one last wet aunty kiss and released me

“All aboard that coming aboard,” Vicky sang out.

I hurried up the steps into the carriage and into the salon. Lillabella and Tristan had climbed up to the chairs and were waving at Fifi, and she waved back. The train lurched and started to move. They kept waving until Aunty Fifi was a turquoise teal speck in the distance.

I slumped onto one of the sofas and opened an old issue of Modern Baroness Magazine. I normally don’t read such periodicals, but it was the only thing to hand to drive off the sickening thought in the back of my mind.

This vacation was a disaster, and it was all my fault.

Perhaps I should have planned a vacation to Cauerwald Bay instead; tropical days and sparkling sand beaches would have been better than this. 

Frederick

Home again, yet these familiar sights and sounds bring no comfort. Not even my private study, with its shelves of verse dedicated to my angel, the magic mirror, the comfortable chair, and my easel and paints, can balm my soul. Especially not the portrait of my beloved, glowing in white silk on the garden swing. Since the tournament yesterday, something has been consuming my beloved from within, something she cannot talk about.

I am pretty sure why she cannot talk about it and who is preventing her.

But worse still.

She has been lying to me about it.

She has deflected my every inquiry with skill and tact unbecoming of her, weaving into new topics and parrying attempts to discuss it with small talk and discussions of the state of the realm.

We barely talked about it on the train, and we probably won’t have time to now, given the number of envelopes and scrolls in my in-tray.

But I cannot put the matter to bed, not yet, not after what I saw in Slanach.

So here I wait for a familiar face in the fading dusk, reading reports of magical activity that swing between requests for crisis response and bemused anecdotes and piling the misshapen remains of wax seals at the edge of my desk.

Footsteps with a distinctive clink, clink ring out beyond the door. The latch turns, and I feel the faintest breeze as the door opens.

“Howdy, Your Grace,” said a pretty voice that was distinctly a woman’s but had not completely thrown off girlhood yet.

I looked up at the familiar young hobgoblin spitfire in denim and leather, red braid falling from her wide-brimmed hat. The so-called Cassidy Rose, queen of the kingdom’s bounty hunters, mantrackers, and thief takers.

“Please take a seat,” I said with a roll of my eyes.

She sauntered over and sat in the other chair and put her boots up on the table. “So what can I do for you, chief?”

I sighed. “Can you please talk normally, Caitríona?” I said. “I am your godfather, for Pete’s sake. I remember when you used to play tea party with Kaida, in pink silk and satin enough to dress 10 little girls. So cut the… cow… girl accent.” The word for what Caitríona was playing at was foreign and lumpy on my tongue. “And take your boots off my desk.”

She made a face, then sighed and removed her footwear from my blotter. “You can be a real killjoy, Your Highness,” she said in her normal voice.

“I am simply not in the mood to entertain the fancies of your masquerade,” I said with a sigh. “I need the services of your guild of freelancers and scoundrels. I have a job for you: difficult, high priority, well paid, and to be done with the utmost discretion.”

“I’m listening,” she said, shifting forward in her chair.

“I need someone to secretly deliver a message to your brother,” I said, proffering her a sealed envelope.

“Why take out a bounty? Lorcan is your secretary; surely you…” she said before she noticed the look on my face. “Oh… you mean Eamon.”

I nodded.

“Why?” she asked.

“I have need of a Faerie knight of impeccable character and skill to undertake a task for me, and I know but one who fits the qualifications,” I said. “It is the sort of task of herculean proportions and dire risks to life and limb that by tradition will be rewarded with a boon of equal value, the sort of quest that can wipe away the dishonor brought upon him last year.”

“Okay, I guess,” she said excitedly. “But I have no clue where he’s gone since his self-imposed exile after you offed our old man; having me track him down is going to cost ya dearly.”

“What makes you so certain that you will be the one to track him down?” I asked. “I have another task that needs fulfilling, one that I can trust only to you. I need you to go to Karak-Guld city to be my eyes and ears with regard to certain individuals who will be shipping out on Mr. Stormalong’s ship on the morrow.”

“You want to send me to Dwarfland? Why me?” she asked impertinently. Strange for a girl who ran away from home, she seems awfully eager to see her exiled big brother.

“Because I have known you since you were a baby, and from reports I know you still hold the old ways while your father and siblings have… strayed to a greater or lesser degree, especially in regard to oaths and obligations.”

“Obligations,” she said, rubbing her chin. “So what’s in it for me?”

I leaned back in my chair and smiled. “I don’t know much about…cow…boys, but I have read what few bits I could. I cannot help but notice that you are missing an essential accessory for the look.” I gestured to the braces of matchlock pistols on her chest.

“What can I say,” she said with a devil-may-care shrug, “The gnomes up in Ginkdimblid charge through the nose for those they find out in the junk, and Mr. Briggs out in Mr. Paxton’s personal little fiefdom is backlogged making muskets for your army.”

“Well, I have been considering what to get for your 60th birthday,” I said with a sly smile. “It is a big one- 20 Faerie years old, the threshold of adulthood. As my goddaughter, it’s my duty to spoil you rotten. So if you undertake this mission for me, regardless of what you learn or if you even succeed, I may convince the Ginkdimblidi to part with one of their precious… re…volv..ers as a diplomatic gift, with a supply of bullets to be your birthday gift this year.”

She did not even wait for me to finish. She practically leaped across the desk and hugged me. “Oh, you’re the best godfather ever,” she said. “Consider me your spy then.”

Now that’s the Caitríona I remember.

She snatched the letter and made for the door. “If that’s all, chief, then I will rally the troops and catch my ship,” she said, slipping back into that strange drawl.

“One moment,” I said. She turned. “Why did you dye your head red?” I asked.

“How did you know I was Caitríona?”

“I asked first,” I said.

“That’s the price,” she said.

“You’re one of Aoibheann’s favorite young nobles of this generation; she’s been watching you since you were 4. She finds your playing at being a …rough riding …bad ass to be adorable.”

She smiled knowingly. “The red goes better with the cowgirl aesthetic.”

The door clicked behind her, leaving me, for the first time in a long while, truly alone with my thoughts. Thoughts filled with uncertainty, speculation, and baseless accusations of unknown crimes. Those thoughts can wait until tomorrow. I have to deal with 30-odd more reports of magical happenings of the peculiar and whimsical sort all over the kingdom.

Somehow, I miss the clear, simple chaos I was dealing with a week and two days earlier; wyrd magic never cloaks itself in actual mysteries.