“Shall we head inside?” she asked Iona and Harris.
Harris ran a hand through his hair, watching a group of Edessans follow the Eilanmòrian royals towards the front of the castle. One of them, a woman with turquoise braids, turned and gave them all a wink as she passed.
“You go ahead,” Harris said with a grin. “I’m going to watch the ribbon ceremony first.”
“Well we’ll come with y—” Iona started to say, but her brother had run off before she could finish.
Ailsa bit her lip. What is he up to? She sighed, trying her best to brush her worries off.
“Come on, Iona. I think I need some wine.”
They took each other’s arms, muttering curses about boys and the impracticality of heels on grass, and made their way back into the warmth of the main hall.
An hour later, the band was in full swing. Iona had danced to every song and even Ailsa had allowed Angus to sweep her into a jig. They hadn’t found Harris again, but Iona just shrugged and explained he was probably getting up to mischief somewhere.
I’d like him to be here getting up to mischief, Ailsa thought with a scowl. She’d thought he might ask her to dance and she had been debating whether to accept or not. It was highly irritating to wait around to rebuff him.
Iona took one look at her, sulking in the corner while the crowd was waltzing, and pulled her to the food table.
“Have you tried the cranachan? I think you need some sugar.”
They weaved between the colourful dancers, being careful not to tread on toes. The ambassadors from the different countries were exhibiting various skill levels. While the Mirandellies were doing their absolute best to follow the moves, the Monadhians seemed to be making it up as they went along.
I know who I would prefer to dance with, Ailsa thought, watching a young Monadhian woman spin, her skirts flaring out like an orchid. She imagined spinning with Angus and Harris like they had when they had attended the first ceilidh, but the memory was tainted with her current annoyance for the selkie-man.
Where the hell is he? She scanned the crowd as she accepted two glasses of sparkling wine from a servant’s tray.
Iona came back from the table with dessert and they exchanged their offerings. The combination of raspberries and wine fizzed on their tongues. Iona narrated their meal with her ratings on the guests’ clothing choices.
“I’m really not sure about that big ball gown Lady Isobel is wearing. She looks like a cake.”
“How do they keep them so… puffy?” asked Ailsa, watching the Mirandelli Duchess turning red as she attempted to keep up with the dance.
Iona smirked. “There’s a theory that they have their servants sit underneath to hold it out.”
Ailsa snorted at the impossibility of that and Iona rewarded her with a friendly pinch on her arm.
A deep, male voice caught Ailsa’s attention, cutting short her mirth. She knew that voice.
“You would enjoy Mirandelle, M’Lady. Maybe you will visit one day.”
“Perhaps I will,” answered Lady Moira, a laugh in her voice.
“Perhaps I’ll take you with me.”
Ailsa’s heart stopped as she turned. With Moira’s arm in his, Captain Scarsi should have looked like a gentleman. Yet, even now, surrounded by royalty, he had the air of a pub brawler. Indeed, he still sported the faint but unmistakable bruising under his eyes from where she’d kneed his nose. His swaggering was more exaggerated since he had to walk slowly for his companion.
The pair walked close enough to them that Lady Moira clearly thought it impolite to ignore them.
“Lady Iona,” she said, and, with a barely hidden grimace, she greeted Ailsa, “Miss MacAra. Have you met Captain Scarsi? He is the leader of King Merlo of Mirandelle’s first battalion.”
His grin was lazy but rage flared in Scarsi’s eyes as he looked Ailsa up and down.
“Soon to be Major Scarsi when we return to Mirandelle. King Merlo thinks the success of my mission here merits a promotion.”
“Oh?” asked Iona and his eyes snapped to her, taking in her height, her flaming hair and the barely concealed curl of her lips. “And what mission would that be?”
He placed one hand on his sword as if just shifting positions. “Making new friends of course,” he drawled. “Speaking of, I believe I met your brother, Lady Iona.”
This threw the selkie off enough for her to show a hint of shock on her face. Ailsa was thankful that she recovered quickly.
“Oh? When did you meet?”
“I am honoured to say that I ran into him and—Miss MacAra was it?—while we were up north a few days ago.” He raised his chin. “Why were you up there again?” he fired the questions straight at Ailsa but kept his voice light.
“None of your business,” she growled. Moira looked at her sharply, but Ailsa continued to stare him down. A sneer ghosted across his face.
“I always love visiting Eilanmòr,” he told his companion. “You are all so… accepting.” His voice became deathly cold. “Allowing changelings to the King’s coronation, for example. In Mirandelle, I’m afraid we are not so tolerant.”
Ailsa glowered, but before she could deliver a biting retort, Lady Moira smoothly placed a hand on his elbow.
“Captain, please indulge me, I would love to go and watch the dancing.”
He chuckled: the sound like nails scraping down Ailsa’s spine. “Better yet, we should dance together.”
Shame had Lady Moira ducking her head, her skin reddening. “I’m afraid… my leg—”
“Don’t worry,” he grinned. “When you’re dancing with me, your foot won’t touch the ground.” He held out his arm again and Lady Moira took it, beaming.
“Well, until we meet again.” He narrowed his eyes at Ailsa before sweeping Moira off to the dancefloor.
“What a prick,” announced Iona but Ailsa found she was barely able to handle an answering smile.
“Why was that asshole over here?” asked Angus, appearing at Ailsa’s shoulder.
“He was demonstrating how to be an asshole,” she replied quietly. She watched as Iona and Angus exchanged concerned frowns.
“Shall we dance?” he asked, giving her a playful shove. She ignored him, still staring after where Scarsi had disappeared.
“I think I’m going to have some more food. You two should go, though,” she said, giving Iona an encouraging smile.
“Well…” The selkie looked hesitant. “If you’re sure.” She grabbed Angus’s hand, leading him away. Ailsa realised that Iona was slightly taller than the prince in her heels. Perhaps she would give him a run for his money.
“If you find my brother,” called Iona, “Please tell him he is an eejit.”
Ailsa nodded, watching as they blended into the crowd of dancers.
Chapter 60
Bonfires, Ailsa decided, were beautiful.
She had been sitting out in the shadows on a balcony that overlooked the gardens. When Angus and Iona had left to dance, she had decided to disappear for a while, grabbing a wool blanket and a bottle of deep red wine. She knew she’d probably regret swigging it from the bottle in the morning but found she didn’t really care as she stared into the flames of the bonfire someone had built outside. It was a balm against the civilisation of the dancing hall. Fire felt distinctly uncivilised. Primeval. The revellers who had crowded around were just silhouettes. It made them anonymous. This could have been a party anywhere.
She sipped the wine again and smacked her lips together at the warming liquid. Even with the flames, she could still see the stars above. What would it be like, she wondered, to fly between them? To be free?
Her mind flew back to the words Scarsi had sneered at her.
Allowing changelings to the King’s coronation…
Don’t they say that changelings kill their human mothers?
She growled. He was a bully, just trying to upset her. He’d probably said even fouler things to other women who had refused him. And yet, here she was,
hiding from everyone downstairs. Squatting on this balcony like a terrible beast in a cave.
Maybe I’ll eat some villagers, she thought bitterly, the sarcasm a welcome inoculation against her melancholy. Her eyes swept across the scene below, taking in the merriment and laughter.
She had never felt more alone.
A sudden flash of copper on the stairs below caught her attention. Light spilled from the open doors to the castle, casting a warming glow on those gathered there. She scanned the area again and found the male selkie speaking animatedly with an older Visenyan man. His companion clapped Harris on the back and he responded by throwing his head back in gaiety.
For a reason Ailsa couldn’t really understand, the sight had her choking on her wine. She stared as he raised his hands, telling a story, in full flow. The Visenyan called over to one of his friends; clearly whatever Harris was saying was funny enough to share.
To think that only a few days ago, he had been telling her and Angus his terrible jokes as they trudged through the wilderness. I wonder what the Visenyans would think of him if they were stuck with him for a full week, she thought.
Despite him being aggravating, flighty and quite useless with a sword, she was proud to know him, to call him her friend.
He laughed again and she smiled along with him.
Here was joy. Here was life. She could see the sheer force of will, the brightness that exuded from this man: he was eternal sunshine.
She leaned over the balcony to call down to him, then hesitated.
Keep your thoughts to yourself next time, filthy changeling.
If he was sunshine, what was she?
A cold hard wind, beating and shoving her way through people before disappearing again.
I am darkness.
The breeze picked up, whipping at the flames of the fire. The evening light vanished as clouds swiftly rolled in overhead, blotting out the stars. Ailsa had been sure it was a clear night before, but it seemed they would be in for a storm.
It was the perfect metaphor for her, she decided: I am a storm.
She could barely make out Harris’s puzzled features as he looked upwards, taking in the bizarre change in the weather. He seemed to stop listening to the men as his eyes searched the crowd and the castle until, like magnets, they found hers briefly where she was standing on the balcony. Confusion flashed across his features as he took in her face, before she stepped back into the shadows, away from his gaze.
It was time to leave.
Chapter 61
Ailsa made a mental inventory of the meagre belongings laid neatly on the bed. Along with the clothes she had arrived in, she’d been given new travelling clothes before finding the Stone. She’d felt bad for a second about taking them, but since they now had a few holes and stains, she reasoned that no one else would want them. She replenished her toiletries with some pine soap and wondered if she would smell like Angus from now on. The food came next: biscuits, cheese and the apples that had been left out for them in the sitting room she shared with Iona. Then there was her sleeping roll, the money Duncan had given for her time and her mother’s box of treasures. This she placed in her pack with the utmost care.
There was a knock at the door and her heart stuttered. If it was Harris…
Angus’s bearded face appeared as he cracked it open. He paused taking in the room—the clothes and the pack contents strewn everywhere—then he quickly stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.
They stood in silence for a few heartbeats. Angus’s face was unreadable as he explained, “I saw you leave the party.”
Ailsa nodded, her body tense.
“You’re leaving,” he sighed. It was not a question.
She nodded again anyway.
“Why?” he asked simply. His cheek twitched as if he was battling to maintain a neutral expression, and Ailsa had to look away. She returned to her packing and took a deep breath.
“I don’t belong here, Angus.”
He snorted. “Oh, I know at least one person who doesn’t agree.”
She carried on folding, ignoring his comment. If she didn’t harden her heart, she’d never do what needed to be done. As she threw in an undershirt, he stepped beside her, commanding her attention.
“Listen, it’s hard to fit in. I, myself, have had trouble with it.” At this she rolled her eyes. He just closed the top of the bag and shifted it behind him. “I’ve tried to be responsible, sensible, for my brother, but it never worked. I am who I am. And that’s okay.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze, drawing her closer. “I’m glad we’re not the same as everyone else, or the world would be a boring place.”
Ailsa’s mouth twisted. Maybe, but probably prettier, she thought, running a hand over her marred cheek.
He cupped her chin and lifted her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. There she found sadness.
“Let me make one thing clear,” he said, his voice hushed, “You, Ailsa, are beautiful. Not because your face is nice to look at, or you look fair in a dress, but because you are strong and kind and selfless.” He sighed. “When did we decide that having an unblemished face was more desirable than being a good person?”
She gave him a weak smile, pulling away. “Thanks, Angus. You’ve been a good friend these last few weeks. But unfortunately, not everyone thinks like you. Maybe if they did, the world would be a better place.”
He sat down on the mattress with a sigh and she took one of his big hands into hers; she still couldn’t believe he was younger than her. In this moment, he seemed world weary. She stepped between his spread knees and allowed him to wrap his arms around her body in a hug.
Into his hair, she whispered, “One of the most underrated qualities in this world is kindness. Few people value it, but it’s possibly the most important thing of all. I have met many people who have been smart or strong or handsome, but being kind is, in my opinion, the best thing you can be. You are the kindest person I have ever met, Angus. Don’t ever change that.”
She looked down to see a single tear running down his cheek and into his beard. She pushed down the feeling of discomfort and smiled. “If it weren’t treason, I’d even say you’d make a pretty good king.”
He wiped at his eyes and laughed. “Pfft. Are you joking? I’d probably blow the place up within five minutes.”
“Still,” She gave his arm a pat, “Don’t go too far away from your brother—he needs you. Eilanmòr needs you too.”
Angus nodded, standing to let Ailsa access her bag. “I’m going to miss you. I wish you would stay but…” He blew out a breath. “I know I won’t change your mind. Ailsa? Don’t give up on the world just yet. And if you ever need someone to get you into trouble—or out of it—just come back. I’ll be here.”
“Thanks, Angus. Take care.”
“You too,” he said, and with that he was gone.
Ailsa was just glad he didn’t see the way her lip trembled as he closed the door behind him.
Not long after, Ailsa finished packing and had slipped out of her dress into some trousers. She picked up her pack, surveying the room; it had been nice playing at being a lady, for a while. The food, the dresses… the bed! She groaned, realising she’d be back to sleeping on a roll-up mat again. But at least she’d be able to purchase some more home comforts with her money.
Of course, it wasn’t just the material things she would miss. It had been nice to have a female friend, especially one as wicked as Iona. She smiled as she thought of Iona, downstairs dancing in her dress, not caring when she shucked off her shoes or pulled up her hem for better movement.
And Angus? Angus had become a surrogate brother—it had been so long since she’d had that. Should she stay for him? To have that relationship again? But Angus already had a brother and a family. He didn’t need her hanging around, no matter what he said earlier.
Finally, her thoughts turned to Harris. If only—
A knock on the door snapped Ailsa out of her musings. She held her breath as she waited. The ca
ndles had burned so low hopefully no one would see the light in the crack under the door.
“Ailsa?” shouted Harris, knocking again, “Are you in there?”
No, she thought, I’m already gone.
She heard him grunt from the other side of the door and then his footsteps fell away.
Ailsa gave the room one last glance before heading for the window. She was too much of a coward to risk going back through the castle. She opened the window onto the storm, which was pelting the stone walls, and peered out. She was only one floor up. Ailsa gritted her teeth and made a slow descent, using the spaces between bricks as footholds, before disappearing like a wraith in the night.
Chapter 62
The road was quiet, but in every village she came to, there was merriment. All of Eilanmòr was celebrating their new king. It made it remarkably easy to travel; no one noticed one more stranger among them. If Ailsa kept her hood up and her hair swept over her left eye, she blended in as well as the next person.
On her second night, she arrived at a village decorated with bunting. It flailed in the wind, dancing to the music emerging from the local tavern, despite the rain. The smell of freshly baked pastries wafted from inside, the temptation too much to resist.
If I just sit in the corner and keep quiet, I won’t be bothered, she told herself, motioning to the barman for a drink and some food. Her stomach rumbled as she peered around the room, watching the locals enjoy their dinner. A half-hidden table at the back beckoned her over, and she slid into the shadows with a relieved sigh.
Dinner and that’s it, she promised herself as she settled into the leather armchair. She was surprised to find she was quite content to listen to the idle chatter of those around her.
“I heard her dress was stunning—”
“—Demons up north—”
“—I swear, he was healed, it was a miracle—”
“—the Stone of Destiny—”
Ailsa’s ears pricked up and she leaned her head in the direction of the couple sitting to her right, as the barman brought over a pint.
The Stone of Destiny Page 24