Once she had removed her clothes—without assistance—Ailsa dipped a toe into her own bathtub. It had been so long since she had bathed in a full-sized tub. She sank down into the foam and purred.
“You scared our helpers away,” Iona remarked, though she didn’t sound too dejected.
Ailsa closed her eyes and settled into the relaxing liquid. “I’d rather not have an audience.”
Iona laughed. “You’ll get a reputation, no one will want to come near you!”
“Good,” said Ailsa and started cleaning her hair with some divine shampoo that smelled floral and spicy.
“Well I, for one, am not that easy to scare off,” replied Iona, flicking water at her. “So you’ll just have to deal with me.”
“We’ll see,” Ailsa sighed, ducking her head into the bubbles.
Chapter 13
To Ailsa’s horror, it seemed that the servants had complained about her behaviour, because when they came out of the bathing room, there was an older, rotund woman who looked like she would not be so easily spooked. The woman glared at her, before pushing her into a chair so that she could begin on her hair. Ailsa gripped the chair arms as the woman worked out the knots.
“Ooh,” cooed Iona from behind her, “it seems that we have been left a choice of dresses!”
“Dresses?” groaned Ailsa.
Iona hit her on the arm. “Play along and don’t ruin my fun.”
Ailsa could hear Iona moving around and the rustle of fabric behind her. The servant was doing her best to brush her hair over her left cheek and make it stay there, so she folded her hands into her lap in submission. “Are you excited to see the King and Princes?” she asked Iona.
“Yes and no,” she replied slowly. “I’m usually a little worried whenever I meet Eilanmòrian royalty.” She skipped into view beside her. Ailsa couldn’t deny that Iona looked stunning in her pale blue dress. Wave-like embroidery swirled around her bust and down her arms. The neckline was respectable, but the dress hugged her body snuggly, revealing luscious curves.
“Why are you worried?” Ailsa stared at her sceptically. She glanced at herself in the mirror nervously. The servant had left most of her hair unbound, though she had braided some of it back behind her right ear to show off that side of her face; the other side remained in shadow. While she knew the woman was trying to be kind, it just made her more self-conscious.
Interrupting her thoughts, Iona sighed. “Go on, go and pick a dress.” They swapped places and Iona settled herself regally on the seat. “I’m worried,” she explained, “because I have some history with the royal family.”
Ailsa shot a quizzical look at her and moved to the wardrobe.
Iona cleared her throat. “I may have had a… friendship… with the king’s father.” Ailsa’s head whipped round from the dresses to look Iona in the eye through the mirror. How was that possible? The servant also looked like she was having difficulty processing this, before she schooled her features into a neutral position again.
“And when exactly was this?” Ailsa asked, frowning.
Iona just shrugged and looked wistfully into the mirror. “Around fifty years ago.”
The woman, clearly confused, abruptly stopped doing her hair; Iona motioned for her to continue. The servant did her best to hide her anxious fingers from the selkie, but Ailsa could see the woman was as shaken as she felt.
Ailsa knew that Iona was older than she looked, but she hadn’t been expecting this. She stared incredulously into the back of Iona’s head. “You’re looking good for your age.”
“Remember,” sighed Iona, “selkies age differently. It was before the current King was born; before his mother even arrived from Crait. He was handsome, funny, and liked to paint, especially coastal views.”
Ailsa sensed the selkie’s sorrow and realised the tale did not have a happy ending.
“What happened?”
“He had to return to court. He would have taken me with him but… On our last night, I looked at the sea and I couldn’t leave. So, I returned home. I knew he didn’t regret it; it was beautiful and brief and when it was over, he was crowned and presented with a new bride he later grew to love.”
Iona closed her eyes. “When I was here last, Alasdair had just died in a terrible war and his son was being crowned. It was strange for me, seeing his resemblance in King Connall.” She paused for a moment, caught up in her memories. “I know that they know who I am, who I was to his father. And it always makes me feel a little uncomfortable.” She seemed to reprimand herself, then quirked her lips up, her whole face brightening with the smile. “But I do look good for my age. Maybe I’ll snag a duke or a knight this time?”
Ailsa grinned, glad that the mood in the room had lightened. “You sly seal.”
Iona just blushed and smoothed out her dress. The maid looked like she was about to keel over, but she continued to weave a tiara into Iona’s hair.
Turning back to the wardrobe, Ailsa snickered to herself. She really was glad to have met Iona, despite the circumstances.
“What about you?” asked Iona. “Any love interests in your past?”
Ailsa gave her a long look. “It’s hard to have a love interest when you are routinely chased out of villages.” She stared at the piles of silks and tulle. Her lips grew thin. “Though there was one, a soldier.” Her heart sank in her chest as images of strong arms and sombre eyes resurrected themselves from her carefully buried memories. But Iona confided in her, it was only fair.
“His name was Gris, he was an Edessan warrior.”
Iona’s eyes grew wide. Edessan warriors had all been exiled or killed when a neighbouring kingdom had conquered the country. Dangerously intelligent, their skills were honed from knowledge and studying strategy.
“He found me half-dead after being beaten by a farmer,” Ailsa continued, shaking her head. “He’s the reason I’m still here; he taught me how to hunt. how to defend myself…”
“What happened?” asked Iona softly.
Ailsa’s lips made a hard line. “I thought he liked me. Why else would you spend weeks teaching a girl how to throw axes, giving her food and letting her sleep in your home? Turned out, he just felt sorry for me. Said he was much too old for me,” she sniffed, her cheeks feeling hot. “I’d told him I loved him. After that, I couldn’t face him, so I left.”
Ailsa flexed her hands, which had curled into fists. “It’s fine, I didn’t actually love him.” She jutted her chin out. “I’m better off by myself anyway.”
Her last statement met with silence. When she looked up, she realised the servant had left the room. I wish I hadn’t revealed so much, thought Ailsa. She rolled her shoulders as if she could somehow shift the weight of the memories she carried.
“Of course, you can look after yourself.” Iona’s quiet voice drifted over from the chair where she still sat. “But you’re wrong about being better off—you need friends.” She smiled tentatively at her through her reflection, but Ailsa just returned her attention to the dresses.
She didn’t need to think about stupid men with stupid, sad eyes. She needed to figure out how she was going to survive this evening. If she could fit in, hopefully she would make it through the night without more humiliation.
Which dress would be best? She selected one and pulled it on.
“Is there anything I should know when we meet the King?” she asked, changing the subject. She didn’t like that Iona hadn’t said anything in a while, but she could see the selkie was lost in thought, gazing at her own reflection in the mirror.
“I’m sure you will be just fine,” she said. “Though you are our hired muscle, so I guess it would be best if you could look capable of defending us.”
“Right, bring the axe then?” said Ailsa as she fiddled with the buttons on the gown. There were way too many buttons on it; she huffed, trying to do them up.
“Maybe we’ll get you an ornamental sword or something?”
“That’s okay,” said Ailsa, “I ca
n look menacing without weapons.”
Iona finally turned in her chair and let out a bewildered bark of laughter.
“Pink?” She quirked an eyebrow at Ailsa.
Ailsa looked down at herself. She picked the dress because she’d seen another girl downstairs wearing a similar one in purple. The chiffon fabric cinched her waist but then draped over her hips to the ground in a way that allowed it to swirl around her legs as she moved. She’d never had the chance to choose what to wear; most of her clothes had been swiped from a scrap pile or washing lines.
She lifted her chin and looked Iona in the eye. “I like pink.”
Iona chuckled. “I’m not arguing with you. You look just as menacing in cerise as in black.”
Chapter 14
Once Iona had finished poking and prodding at Ailsa, they met Harris out in the hallway. Ailsa was stunned to see that he was capable of looking so cultured. He’d dressed in a plain ghillie shirt, a navy, velvet waistcoat with tiny shell buttons, and a blue and green tartan kilt; a tan leather belt held his kilt together. However, he still wore the boots he’d stolen from the Avalognian.
Ailsa sniffed surreptitiously. He had the same sea-salt smell as his sister, but she could also detect the fragrant aroma of something sweet, like fresh peaches. Her mouth watered involuntarily and she swallowed hard.
“Enjoy your bath?” she asked, remembering the ridiculous servants that had led him away.
“Not really. As soon as I reached the bathing chamber, I realised I was to be washed by a rather brutal looking man by the name of Mungo.” He screwed up his freckled nose. “He scrubbed me within an inch of my life. At one point, I couldn’t take it anymore and I transformed into seal. Oh, he did not like that,” he trailed off, chortling.
“That’s not nice, Harris!” admonished Iona, her hands finding their way to her hips in a gesture reminiscent of a mother telling off a naughty child.
This didn’t deter Harris, who grinned from ear to ear while taking her arm, leading her down the corridor.
“It was quite funny really,” he mock whispered. “Mungo fell into the tub trying to catch me. There were soap bubbles everywhere—even in his beard!”
Iona made a huffing sound behind them, but Ailsa couldn’t help giggling at this. “When did you turn back?”
“About the time he shouted for his aunt—who, by the way, is the head housekeeper and the scariest woman I have ever met—and they threatened to chuck me back to sea where I belong. No fun, these humans.” He nudged her playfully with his elbow. “No offence.”
Ailsa grinned. She could just imagine the chaos he’d caused. It made her infinitely fonder of the seal-man, since she was feeling so mutinous towards the household staff herself.
At the end of the hallway, they were greeted again by Lady Moira, a tired expression gracing her face. She had changed into a satin, lilac dress with long, billowing sleeves.
“Lady Iona, Lord Harris. Please come this way. I will take you to the King.” Descending the stairs, she briefed them about what to expect. “He is extremely sick. It’s like he’s aged forty years in a few weeks. Please don’t say anything about the way he looks. The healers have tried all they can, but it seems that he is bleeding on the inside. It will only be a matter of weeks, I think. He’s stubborn, so no doubt he’ll try to hold on longer.” As they reached the bottom, Lady Moira peered hesitantly around the entrance hallway. When she was happy no one else was around, she spoke again in hushed tones.
“He is ready for death but wants to live long enough to see the Stone of Destiny returned. Though we, of course, want to see his suffering end, Prince Duncan has remarked that he would be happy for it not to happen too soon. He is about to become a father any time now and would like the King to be able to meet his first grandchild.”
Ailsa felt a stab of sadness. If what they’d said about King Connall was true, he had been a benevolent and fair leader who’d tried his best to eradicate poverty in Eilanmòr. In the last twenty years, he had travelled to other countries to negotiate trade deals and alliances, including a peace treaty with Mirandelle. The King had ensured there was a steady shipment of salt from Visenya, which had allowed many people to store foods that would have otherwise rotted.
The trio was ushered through a heavy door to the left and then through a labyrinth of halls. It was gloomy and cramped; Ailsa instantly got the impression they were underground. Sconces held torches but they glinted dimly and she found herself unsure of her footing over the uneven flagstone bricks. Dozens of paintings and tapestries showing ancestors of the royal family lined the walls. She stopped when one caught her eye.
The painting was unlike the others, with their dark backgrounds and regal poses. It was also much smaller. It showed a beach scene with two sitting figures painted beside an elaborate sandcastle. The man was leaning back on one hand, relaxed and wearing his shirt half undone. He had a look of total contentment on his face. The other figure was a woman, leaning over the castle, holding a spade. She seemed to be in the act of adding another turret. When Ailsa looked at her face, her stomach gave an unpleasant turn; like she’d jumped and was falling longer than she had expected.
“Iona,” she managed to croak out, “this looks just like you!”
The other girl came closer, squinting at the canvas. “Well, it seems that it is me. I thought he’d got rid of that.”
“The story you told me earlier… about the King’s father…”
“Yes, that’s him, Prince Alasdair.” Her voice was tight and she cleared her throat, continuing in a soft voice. “This was before his coronation. it was painted when we lived in our little cottage by the beach. About a month later, he was summoned back to Dunrigh and I decided to stay.”
“He was handsome.”
The King’s niece chimed in, “The painting was restored to the gallery when Queen Saoirse died. He said that he wanted both of his great loves remembered.”
Iona became glassy eyed as she stared at the painting. “I had thought to return to Eilanmòr when the queen died, but then Alasdair died in the Battle of Inshmoor against Mirandelle. Cursed, they called it. Remember how Harris and I told you about the last king who had been crowned without the Stone of Destiny? They couldn’t find it in time for Alasdair’s coronation. People say that’s why he and half his army died in that battle.” She cleared her throat. “Half of Mirandelle’s army perished too. The war ended and Connell was crowned, holding the stone. I had always wondered what would have happened if I had been quicker.” She reached up as if to touch the former king’s youthful face but stopped before brushing the canvas, lost in decades of ponderings. Finally, she heaved a sigh and faced Lady Moira again.
“Well, best be off to meet the future, instead of becoming tearful about the past.”
They carried on and finally, when Ailsa thought they must be back out under the city, they arrived at a wrought-iron gate. Two guards opened it and revealed a cathedral-like greenhouse. The juxtaposition between the cramped tunnels and the soaring heights of glass left her blinking in wonder. Towering foreign and indigenous plants stretched up several storeys. When she looked through the glass ceiling, she could see the turrets of the castle. This structure was behind the palace, away from the town. They had a clear view of mountains and a loch in the distance.
Still they walked further, coming to a narrow door which seemed to lead outside. Instead, it opened on to a much smaller glass chamber into which many people were crammed, all facing the centre.
“Please excuse us, everyone,” called Lady Moira in clipped tones. “I have brought the ambassadors to speak privately with His Majesty.” Immediately, the crowd dispersed: a line of people filing back out the way they had come. Once gone, only the King’s niece, Ailsa, Iona, Harris, a couple of guards and a fragile figure atop a bed remained. Lady Moira regarded Ailsa in blatant displeasure, as if she wanted her to leave too, but eyeing the selkies, she seemed to think better of it.
There was a moment of awkward sil
ence before the bedridden figure raised a hand.
“Please. Come closer.”
Iona and Harris moved towards the King’s bed, but Ailsa stayed back. She attempted to shrink behind the guards as much as possible, but it was hard in the cramped room. She pressed herself against the glass and let it cool the skin of her palms. Only the king’s head was visible from this position and for that she was glad. He looked ghastly enough. She didn’t want to see what was below his neck. His face was pale with bruise-like circles under each eye. His nose was completely blackened and rotting; a thick sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.
He murmured to the two siblings but, due to the shape of the room, his low voice carried to Ailsa’s ears.
“The ambassadors from Struanmuir. It’s been a while since I’ve seen faerie-folk and even longer since I’ve seen a selkie.”
“Your Majesty.” Iona dipped into a curtsey and Harris bowed.
“Please,” the king croaked, “There is no need for formalities. When a man is on his deathbed, he is equal to all others, for all men die.” He paused and Ailsa could hear his ragged breathing. “Although, some die quicker than others. How does it feel, Lady Iona, to see me so withered, when the last time you saw me, I was a young man in his prime, straight-backed as I sat on my throne for the first time?”
“Beneath it all, you’re still the same young man, Sir.”
“Am I?” A wheezing cough overtook him but he continued. “That young man was so full of passion for the world. I, however, want nothing more to do with it.”
Harris took a step forward. “What happened to you?”
“The life has been sucked from my body, leaving merely a shell.” His voice got louder and his head trembled with the effort. “My soul has been scooped out of my insides and left me raw and bloody.” Lady Moira gestured for them to stand back.
The Stone of Destiny Page 6