The Stone of Destiny

by Caroline Logan

  He quickly glanced again at his brother, ramrod straight beside him, and then back to his companions. No matter what lay ahead, he had gained a new brother and sister over these last few weeks.

  Finally, the chanting came to a stop. Duncan strode forward, ready to complete his duty. After a final blessing, he threw a torch upon the wooden pile, and they all watched as his father’s body fed the flames.

  Chapter 57

  Ailsa watched as the flames from the pyre rose higher. The crowd was silent, listening to the priests and priestesses as they hummed a slow, sombre melody.

  Prince Duncan and his wife had stepped forward, ready to receive their guests’ sympathies, the very image of a solemn, future King and Queen. He was wearing his family’s tartan, while she was clad in an ebony, but heavily embroidered, dress. Angus took one step back into the shadow of the castle towers, his eyes meeting Ailsa’s again. Her heart ached for him. After everything, this wasn’t how she’d imagined they would end their journey.

  The holy men and women stopped their humming, extending their soon-to-be king respect.

  “My fellow Eilanmòrians and honoured guests,” Duncan began, his rich voice resonating from his spot beside the fire. “I appreciate your attendance here today. We have just said goodbye to my father, a good king. I hope that I can one day be half the man he was.

  “As the sun rose today, we prepared to formally end the rule of one king. Before the sun sets tomorrow, I will take his place as the next one. Today we will mourn my father, tomorrow we will celebrate. There is food and drink in the great hall. Please join us.”

  Once he was finished, he wrapped an arm protectively around his wife and they exited together, stopping only to receive Prince Douglas’s sleeping form from a nursemaid. Together, the family disappeared through the large doors followed by a myriad of servants.

  The crowd began to depart, some heading straight for the food, others coming forward to offer a more intimate goodbye to the late king. Ailsa scoffed under her breath. If they thought a flaming corpse was going to listen, they were fools.

  In their black clothes, everyone looked the same; it was hard to tell nobles from servants, and Eilanmòrian’s from foreigners.

  It’s oddly liberating, she thought as she walked slowly back into the castle with Iona and Harris, to blend into the crowd. Here they were just people who were honouring their dead king. No one looked twice as they approached the doors.

  She spied Angus leaning against the stone, hands in his pockets, staring wistfully at the cloud-speckled sky. She wondered where he would fit in now that his brother and sister-in-law were to be crowned. Would he have a role to play? Or would he finally be afforded some of the freedom he desired both in his daily life and romantically?

  He lowered his head when they reached him, his gaze soft. She had expected to find sorrow there, but the desolation from the night before was gone. If she wasn’t mistaken, there was now a kindling of hope reflected in his eyes.

  “Thanks for being here.” He pushed off from the wall and came to join them on their way inside.

  “How are you feeling?” asked Iona.

  He let out a long breath, the force of it moving the hair above his brow. “Better. I’m glad it’s done.”

  Harris swung an arm around his shoulders, giving a squeeze. “Now to the food!”

  “Do you think,” Angus began quietly, biting his lip, “We could grab something and then eat it somewhere else?”

  “Of course, Angus,” Iona said, swatting her brother upside his head, “If that’s what you want.”

  “Thanks.” He hung his head. “Hearing condolences, it just makes it harder. I’m glad it’s not my duty to stay, I think Duncan is even less thrilled to greet all our guests than I am.”

  Harris smiled. “The perks of being a younger brother. Do you think you could help me lose my sibling? She’s been nagging me since we returned.”

  Iona let out a harrumph. “Ailsa was probably the only reason you managed to survive the last couple of weeks. I can’t imagine how often she had to save your hide.” She opened the door to the hall and ushered them inside. The smell of roast chicken and gravy was enough to make their mouths water. They had made it to the food before everyone else; the room was almost empty, save for a few servants who were busy with their tasks.

  “Actually,” Ailsa said, her lips quirking up, “I think in terms of life saving, we’re pretty even.”

  Iona groaned. “The fact that you had to save anyone’s life at all worries me greatly.”

  “It’s like having Mother around,” Harris groaned, grabbing a plate and helping himself to a pile of steaming hot food. “When will you be fun again, sister?”

  “Oh, just you wait until tomorrow night,” she laughed, placing a few parsnips delicately on her plate. “Ailsa and I are going to find some men in kilts to surround ourselves with, right?”

  Harris made a choking sound but Ailsa snickered. “Absolutely. Maybe I’ll borrow one of your dresses, too.”

  Iona’s eyes lit up. “Oh Ailsa, I have just the one! I’ve seen how good your legs are in trousers… I’ll get them out tonight!”

  Sensing that she had dug herself a hole, Ailsa made a noncommittal noise and scooped some haggis onto her plate.

  Chapter 58

  The next day, Ailsa stood in front of a mirror, examining the gown Iona chose for her.

  The dress was fit for a warrior queen. The bodice was made from leather painted gold, cut to resemble the breastplate from a suit of armour. There were no sleeves, but gold chains hung from the neck over the shoulders, creating a waterfall of metal which flowed down her arms. True to Iona’s word, there was a flash of leg, where slits in the dress allowed Ailsa to walk freely.

  “It’s wonderful,” she breathed, running her hand over the smooth material. She circled around so that she could see the back. The dress was held together not by buttons, but a row of straps, with Ailsa’s skin visible between each one.

  “Perfect for a lady and a guard. Possibly even a knight,” smiled Angus. “My brother has decided to offer you a job.”

  Ailsa stopped spinning and stared at her friend as he lounged on the chair by the dressing table. “He wants to make me a… knight?”

  “Well, why not?” He shrugged. “You saved my sorry ass and helped secure the safety of the kingdom. I’d say he should give you a castle, but then we’d have to evict someone…”

  Ailsa threw herself onto the bed with as much grace as she could muster in the dress.

  “Do you really think it will help then? The Stone I mean?”

  “No idea,” he chuckled. “But if it makes people feel better, I’d say it was worth it.” He paused, his face darkening. “I still don’t feel right about Nicnevan knowing the location of the Stone. She could have taken it at any point—”

  “And if it’s so important, why let it go?” Ailsa pulled at a curl that had escaped her up-do. “Something else is obviously more important to her.”

  Angus nodded. “Her daughter. I wonder what happened to h—”

  The door banged open, cutting them off. Harris strode in, carrying three glasses of a sparkling liquid.

  “Right lad, and lass, no more moping in here. The coronation is in two hours and I say we should get rip-roaring drunk before then.” He handed one to Angus, who placed it on the dressing table.

  “I am never getting drunk with you again,” stated Ailsa as she stood and brushed her dress off. “You cannot be trusted.”

  I cannot be trusted.

  “But Ailsa,” he said, his voice like honey as he approached, “The last time we had such fun.” His eyes flicked down her body, heating her cheeks. “Nice dress, by the way.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You just want an excuse to try to kiss me again.”

  His grin was feline as he sidled closer, purring in her ear. “One, it was you who kissed me. Two—” He placed the glass into her hand, his fingers brushing against her own. “Two, I don’t think I n
eed an excuse.”

  “Oh, give me a break,” muttered Angus. Harris spun around, surprised Angus was still in the room. The prince just shook his head. “I’ll see you both at the coronation,” he said, doing his best to not look at them, before leaving the room.

  “Do you think he’ll be okay?” Ailsa murmured. She took a sip of her sparkling wine, needing time to collect her thoughts.

  “Well he has us, doesn’t he? We’ll make sure of it.” Harris turned to face her again, his eyes unreadable. “Ailsa, I think we need to talk—”

  The door swung open again and the selkie cursed.

  “Come on, we need to head downstairs,” called Iona. “Harris, someone from somewhere wants to meet you.”

  He huffed, his eyes still on Ailsa’s face. “We’ll speak later,” he promised. Mischief crossed his face. “I really like that dress. Especially this bit.” He reached up and stroked one finger along her exposed flesh between the straps on her back, goosebumps blooming in his wake. Her breathing sped up as she inhaled his sea salt scent. He was so close. If she just raised herself on her tiptoes…

  Harris seemed to sense exactly how it was affecting her. “I can’t wait to see how you dance in it.” And with that he pulled away, giving her one last wink before he went into the hallway.

  Ailsa collapsed onto the bed with a groan.

  The sun shone shyly from behind a cloud as they waited outside for the coronation. From the corner of her eye, Ailsa admired the selkie beside her. Iona had left her hair unbound and it flowed around her like a living flame in the slight wind. The green dress she’d chosen glittered in the light. It was almost modest, save for the open back which revealed freckled skin all the way down to her—

  Iona caught her gaze and smiled.

  “I like your dress,” said Ailsa, and she meant it. Maybe one day, I’ll be brave enough to wear something like it.

  The selkie gave her a wink, her expression an imitation of the one Ailsa had seen on her brother so many times.

  “I may need to kidnap the dressmaker when I return to Struanmuir; his talent is wasted here,” she teased.

  Ailsa laughed. “You can be a bit terrifying, you know.”

  “Well, what a pair we make!” She grabbed Ailsa’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “A couple of terrifying, magnificent, powerful females,” she declared.

  Ailsa couldn’t help but grin and raise her chin. Perhaps, with Iona’s help, she could become that person.

  The coronation was taking place behind the castle, on top of an outcrop of land. It faced westward to the hills and mountains, allowing the sun—when it could be bothered to appear—to sink behind, blessing the crowning of the new king.

  They made their way over a wooden walkway, which had been placed there to save the ladies’ dresses from the damp grass. They soon found some chairs which had been set out for the ceremony. Ailsa and Iona took a couple near the back, saving Harris a seat beside them. Towards the front, the chairs had already been taken. From their regal clothing and poised positions, Ailsa could tell these were foreign dignitaries. Iona saw her looking and quickly set to work telling her who they all were, her knowledge limitless.

  “Those two with the embroidered coats are from Visenya. Usually a pretty friendly bunch but do not accept a drink from them. They begin drinking gin when they are ten,” Ailsa noticed their dress and looks were similar to Princess, soon to be Queen, Vashkha.

  “Over there, wearing the silk wraps are the Monadh ambassadors. Their country isn’t really ruled by anyone. Instead, a matriarch runs each village, and every year they gather to have a big old gossip. The ambassadors are usually daughters, chosen at random from a lottery. The Monadhians are neither a threat, nor an ally. They keep to themselves and everyone lets them because their country isn’t worth invading. Too many jungles with things that can kill you.”

  “Remind me not to go there, then.”

  Iona frowned as she scanned the crowds.

  “Of course, there are no Avalognians. Mirandelle has sent someone, though. Ah yes, over there.” She waved her hand politely in the direction of some people under large umbrellas.

  Ailsa could barely make out the dark, puffed skirts on the women and the pale suits on the men. Her heart stuttered as she scanned the group but there was no sign of Captain Scarsi or any of his soldiers.

  “I’ll never understand Mirandelli fashion,” huffed Iona. “It’s sweltering hot there, and humid to boot, but they still insist on wearing heavy velvet dresses with buttons all the way to their necks.”

  Ailsa laughed behind a hand. “They look like vampires.”

  Iona gave her a knowing smile. “Between you and me, I’ve often wondered how they sustain themselves. Apparently, the women never eat in public. Could it be that it’s so no one discovers their secret?”

  Ailsa grinned. “I could believe anything after these last few weeks.”

  The seats were quickly filled and any latecomers formed a standing crowd behind. A priest started to walk up the outcrop, swinging ceremonial incense. A hush descended over the guests, watching and waiting.

  Where is Harris? Ailsa wondered.

  A herald addressed the gathering.

  “Please stand for Your Royal Highnesses, Prince Duncan and Princess Vashkha.”

  Everyone rose from their chairs, watching for the couple.

  First came a piper, his instrument bellowing the first notes of the Eilanmòrian anthem. Next came the royal retinue, lords and ladies close to the crown. Angus’s bearded face poked up from behind an old man and Ailsa shot him a smile, which he returned when he saw her.

  “What did I miss?” asked Harris, sliding into the seat beside her.

  “Harris,” Iona hissed, furious. “Where the hell have you been?”

  He just shrugged. “Some Duke wanted to meet me.” He grimaced. “Well, he wanted to pawn his daughter off on me. I barely escaped with my life.”

  “I can’t believe you.”

  “I can’t believe you are talking through this sacred ceremony, sister,” he whispered back. Ailsa could feel the power of Iona’s ire and she silently thanked the Gods she hadn’t ever been in her bad graces.

  At the back of the procession, Prince Duncan and Princess Vashkha glided arm in arm towards the natural dais. Duncan was once again wearing a great kilt in his family’s tartan and carried a ceremonial broadsword on his back. His slate grey eyes scanned the crowd, noting those that had come to witness him.

  Vashkha’s raven hair gleamed in the braids atop her head, as if they were just waiting for a crown. Her red dress flowed out behind her, where two girls were holding the train to keep it from becoming sodden. Behind them, a nursemaid carried young Prince Douglas, cooing to keep him from crying.

  They approached the priest, who waved the incense over them. Then they turned, facing the crowd, ready to accept their destiny.

  Ailsa searched until she spotted Angus, off to the side, looking on with pride in his eyes.

  “People of Eilanmòr,” began the priest, his hand raised to hush the crowd, “Friends from foreign lands. We are here today to crown a new monarch.”

  A young woman stepped forward, holding a golden box. The head priest opened the lid, revealing the Stone of Destiny. He lifted it out carefully, cupping it in his hands and stood in front of Duncan.

  Holy men and women in the front began to sing, the sound much different from the sombre tone of yesterday’s sermon. The song was joyous, reverent. The priest held up the Stone and its purple interior shimmered in the light.

  The sun was beginning to set behind the royal couple. Duncan stood proud and strong beside his wife, but even from where Ailsa was sitting, she could see he gripped her hand tightly. Vashkha smiled at the crowd, already acting like a queen. The sun sank between their bodies and the priest raised the Stone higher.

  “Sire, is Your Highness willing to take the oath?” he asked.

  “I am,” replied Duncan in a steady voice, the sound travelling across the c
ongregation.

  “Do you, Duncan MacFeidh, first of your name, solemnly promise to govern the peoples of Eilanmòr, uphold their customs and guarantee their safety?”

  “I solemnly do so promise.”

  The Stone began to glow in the priest’s hands, amethyst light shining from within.

  “Will you, with the furthest reaches of your power, ensure Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgements?”

  “I will,” replied Duncan.

  The Stone glowed brighter and Ailsa watched it in wonder. Then, all of a sudden, the light winked out and the Stone was gone. Shocked whispers spread through the crowd. Was that supposed to happen? Then an almighty crack split the evening air and everyone gasped. There, in Duncan’s outstretched palm, lay the Stone of Destiny, still its mauve light casting shadows across his face.

  The priest turned to face the crowd, waving a ceremonial hand. “Then, as representative of the people, I proclaim you Duncan, King of Eilanmòr.”

  Duncan stepped forward, and the priest placed a crown upon his brow. He accepted it with a solemn nod; Duncan was now King.

  Chapter 59

  Following Duncan’s coronation, Vashkha was crowned as the King’s Consort. There were also various readings from high-ranking government officials and clan leaders. By the time Duncan strode off the outcrop and back to the castle, Ailsa’s backside was sore from sitting. Angus followed behind his family, to the front of the castle grounds, where the King would greet the people of Dunrigh officially and tie a large purple ribbon to the Peace Tree.

  After the royals left, the crowd dispersed, chatting and looking for the food inside the great hall. The sun hovered on the horizon during its final moments, the temperature lowering with it. Some of the crowd was glancing at her and Harris now that the distraction of the coronation was over. Ailsa wondered if they’d heard about their journey to find the Stone. She could feel a few sets of blatant eyes focusing on her face in particular. She clutched her arms tightly around herself, dipping her head to hide her mark.