The Raven Lady

by Sharon Lynn Fisher

  With the rending of worldly boundaries that resulted from the Battle of Ben Bulben, I imagined it would be some time before Ireland returned to anything like normal—if in fact it ever did. The aftershocks—the evolving geography, the influx of fairy folk, the mysterious objects and visitors—made it very challenging to feel that I was giving my role as guardian of the west the attention it required. I couldn’t help resenting the time I’d been forced to devote to this impending family visit. Only a day ago, I had also resented my obligation to house an enemy within our walls. But now, the Elf King’s daughter had somehow become the only inhabitant of the castle who made me feel like my old self.

  All the more reason to leave her in Doro’s care and focus my efforts where they were most needed. I gave some thought to how I might fill the marshal position, and then resolved to consult my father when he arrived. He would certainly have an opinion, and it might soften him toward me and save me the lecture I was anticipating. I also looked into the servants’ preparations for my family’s arrival. As I suspected, my steward had things well in hand, despite his current preoccupation with the princess’s care. Knock Ma had become a hive of activity, with food and supply carts coming and going. The servants had been assigned to corridor-sweeping and rug-beating duties, and great clouds of dust—along with whole armies of spiders—were chased from the castle. Vases, cushions, and draperies appeared, festooning the great hall and brightening the chill, damp spaces—and my mood, truth be told. I was at home with this purposeful busyness.

  I did not forget the princess in all this. I sent servants to inquire every few hours, and Doro assured them that she would recover. I was wrestling a strong urge to visit her and find out for myself, when the courier returned to the castle with a one-line reply from Lady Meath:

  Advise caution until receipt of letter to follow.

  This was troubling. Perhaps my wariness was not unfounded. But what could I do? Doro was the only one at court who knew how to care for the princess, and my father was due on the following day. My steward’s aid could not be dispensed with. I resolved to keep my arrangements as they were, and hold my cards closer to the chest, until I received Lady Meath’s letter.

  Two days after the battle with the wraith, Doro proclaimed the princess recovered enough for him to return to his duties. He also informed me that she would likely be able to attend the masquerade on the following day. I was greatly relieved, for her recovery of course, but also because I intended to use her shamelessly as a distraction from the tediousness of entertaining my Mayo relations. The irony was not lost on me that a pleasing companionship had sprung from what I had at first considered quite a bothersome arrangement. Truth be told, our encounter in the forest had reinvigorated me. In the twenty-four hours that followed, my surliness had subsided, and I had found the yoke of responsibility easier to bear.

  Later that same morning, before the arrival of my family, a letter was brought to me. It had been delivered by a rider who had arrived in haste. On the outside of the envelope, the author had neatly penned: “King Finvara (Duncan O’Malley).” That Lady Meath had felt it necessary to circumvent both telegraph office and traditional post caused me further concern, and I broke the seal immediately.

  Dearest Duncan,

  Let me first communicate to you the pleasure Edward and I both felt upon receiving a message from you, regardless of brevity or circumstance. I do hope that you are well, and that your life at Knock Ma has not turned out to be as tedious as you feared. I know the queen was vexed over your defiance in the matter of the elf maid, but I must say that I applaud you for standing your ground. Was it not enough to ask you to give up your life at sea?

  I confess, however, that I have a great curiosity about your ward. I have begun to study Iceland’s Hidden Folk and find them fascinating. Is she formidable? I do hope so; it will suit you so much better.

  I laughed. How well Miss Q—Lady Meath—knew me. How it warmed my heart to hear from her. These friendly lines reminded me how isolated I had been in my new outpost.

  Forgive me, I have wandered far afield of your original question. Regarding your new steward, “Doro,” it is not a name I recall seeing in the lore. There is, however, a steward figure named “Far Dorocha,” and it occurred to me Doro might easily be a shortened form of that name. Far Dorocha is said to be the servant of “the fairy queen,” which could refer to the wife of Finvara and would explain why he appears to be attached to your household. Do you possess any ancestral memory of him?

  This was it: Doro must be Far Dorocha. I had not mentioned in my message that Doro had served the fairy queens—it had not seemed an important detail. Dear Lady Meath was worth her weight in gold.

  Regardless, I will again urge caution. The Far Dorocha I have studied, in addition to aiding the queen of fairy in some morally reprehensible endeavors, is also referred to as “the black druid.” He may very well be the druid that collaborated with Edward’s ancestor in creating the seal between Ireland and Faery. If these beings are one and the same, it would mean he is very powerful. He is said to be quite cold and apathetic, and he is known to possess great cunning. If he is truly bound to the house of Finvara, then you may at least rest easy that you will not be murdered in your bed by him. But it is the fairy queen that he serves, and as there is currently no lady filling that office, I would watch him closely and refrain from taking him into your confidence. At least until a time when you can be sure of his loyalties.

  I hope this information is useful to you. Do not hesitate to send me further inquiries, and I will reply with haste. I had very much hoped to visit you at Knock Ma, but Edward . . . well, he is being very Edward, because of my “condition.” He says that the fact I sit up reading until all hours is bad enough. I suppose I cannot blame him for not wanting to embark upon another journey into the unknown just now.

  There, I’ve told you our news, but you must keep it under your hat. The queen has lost interest in us, at least for the time being, and we would like to keep it that way as long as possible.

  All of my love and Edward’s,

  Ada

  Despite the warm glow that kindled in my chest upon discovering that she and Edward were expecting a child, I couldn’t help feeling this Doro matter was a great nuisance—just when I’d thought I was getting my house in order. Was the fellow dangerous? Should I confront him? Send him packing? Was that even possible?

  He had served me well thus far, and that was putting it mildly. I was inclined to leave well enough alone. I had not found him cold or conniving—on the contrary, he had proved respectful, obedient, and resourceful. If it was within his power to assassinate me, he could have done it many times, so stealthily did he slip about the castle. He had also saved the princess’s life, the most important service he’d yet to render.

  In any case, no change could be made until my family’s departure. I would have to keep my eye on him as best I could until then.

  Koli

  Doro was giving me herbs for sleeping, and they had caused vivid dreams. The morning he left my bedside, I woke with a giddy feeling in my chest and warm fluttering in my belly that were slow to fade. Recalling that I’d been dreaming about Finvara, I covered my eyes with the heels of my hands and softly groaned. But covering my eyes did nothing to erase the images of the two of us playing in the hot-spring-fed lake at Mývatn. Or the memory of the feel of his bare skin sliding against mine, his hands clasping my waist. I touched my mouth, remembering with a sudden thump of my heart that I had tasted his lips in the dream. I closed my eyes, feeling the phantom kiss again.

  Freyja help me.

  Sitting up, I swung my legs down and eased my weight onto them. The pain in my injured leg had faded to a dull ache. I made my way slowly to a window.

  It was a clear morning, and I could see all the way to the sea. The air in my chamber had become stuffy and stale, so I reached through the bars and pushed out the casement
, taking the fresher air into my lungs.

  I recalled that the king was expecting his visitors today.

  Though I was told Finvara had inquired about my recovery, I had not seen him since he’d carried me to my chamber. It was just as well, because my mind was unsettled.

  If even three days ago someone had told me how it would be between us, I would have laughed. The Elf King’s daughter would never fall into such a trap—for any sympathy of feeling between the fairy king and myself must be a trap. Yet somehow, inexplicably, it felt as if a kind of bond was forming.

  Doro had risked my life because he wanted to be king. Finvara had bloodied his hands binding my wound. All of Doro’s reassurances, despite sounding reasonable to my ear, rang hollow in my chest. My loyalty to my betrothed was an extension of my loyalty to the Elf King—I did not yet know whether I trusted or even liked him.

  But in the end, it didn’t matter.

  I took a deep breath, gripping the windowsill. “I will conquer this.”

  I heard a soft metallic click and glanced down at the mechanical raven resting next to my hand. The windup mechanism must have held onto a tiny reserve of energy, because the bird’s head had made a slight adjustment.

  Raising my eyebrows and looking into the lifeless eye sockets, I asserted, “I will.”

  Finvara

  My family’s carriage arrived in the early afternoon. The firglas had been watching for them, so the servants and I were ready and waiting to receive them in the great hall. All was tidy and bright, and a light, cold luncheon had been laid out on one end of the long banquet table. The party of travelers would be small—my father, eldest brother, and sister-in-law—and the lesser hall would have been more intimate. But the adjacent conservatory remained a fairy wilderness despite Doro’s valiant efforts at restoring order. The steward himself had suggested we avoid it at least until the ball, when any remaining fairies would easily blend in with the guests. There was also a part of me that wanted to remind my father how far I had jumped in rank—presiding at the head of table in the great hall was one sure way of doing it.

  Still, I fidgeted like a schoolboy as the sounds of nickering horses and jingling tack reached us from the bailey.

  “The Earl of Mayo,” called Doro from the great double doors, and my father entered the hall dressed in his formal military jacket, dark green with gold braid. He stopped to wait for the rest of his party, eyes moving over Doro. My steward was, as always, impeccably dressed, and had even donned a modern jacket and trousers for the occasion. But there was no masking his otherworldliness.

  “Lady Mayo,” said Doro, and my sister-in-law Margaret swept into the room, smiling with pleasure to see me. She too stopped just inside the entrance to wait, as her husband—my brother Owen—was announced, followed by a young woman I had never seen before.

  “Miss Elinor O’Malley.” A relative, apparently.

  The formalities over, the party approached the head of the table, and I walked over to meet them.

  “My lord,” I said, reaching out and shaking hands with my father.

  “Son.” The earl was stern-faced as ever. The fact that his expression never changed made him impossible to read. It was easiest just to assume he was displeased. If you were mistaken, it came as a pleasant surprise.

  Margaret stepped forward, enveloped in a cloud of dark-blue fabric, and leaned in for a kiss on each cheek. The earl’s eyes never left me, and I was grateful for the distraction of the rest of the family.

  “How good it is to see you, Duncan,” said Margaret.

  My father cleared his throat. With her back to him, the earl failed to see that she rolled her eyes and winked at me. “Your Majesty,” she corrected.

  “You too, sister,” I replied, and meant it. Margaret had always been kind to me.

  “And Owen,” I added, reaching out a hand to my brother.

  He nodded, a smile twisting up one corner of his lips—he would be finding all this a bit much. I couldn’t blame him. “How are you, Duncan?” he asked, grasping my hand.

  My father’s frown deepened.

  “Very well,” I said. “It’s good to see familiar faces.”

  Conscious that we were neglecting the spare O’Malley, I looked at her and smiled. “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss O’Malley.”

  Her smile broadened as color rose to her round cheeks, and she curtsied. “I am honored, Your Majesty.”

  “You may not remember,” began Margaret, “but Elinor is a cousin of yours. It will have been some years since you’ve seen her. She has been living at Castlebar as my companion, and we have become thick as thieves.”

  I inspected the young lady again. She was fresh and lovely as an Irish country lass should be. She possessed a quantity of bouncy golden curls, the physics of which were a mystery to me as they seemed to never stop moving.

  “You don’t mind that we’ve brought her without leave, do you, Your Majesty?” asked Margaret sweetly. “She’s a dear little thing and I confess I can hardly stand to part with her.”

  “Of course not,” I replied. “The more the merrier.”

  Again the pretty thing blushed, and I turned my attention back to Margaret to give her an opportunity to recover. “Have you arrived with an appetite?”

  “How considerate of you,” replied Margaret, her eyes moving over the plates of cold meat and cheese. “I am famished.”

  My father grunted. “Aye, let’s eat.”

  MASKS

  Koli

  The carriage crept like a great moon snail along the steeply climbing road to Knock Ma’s gatehouse. The drawbridge was just wide enough for it to pass. When it finally reached the bailey, I watched with a mix of curiosity and dread as the occupants emerged. Why I should dread them was a mystery—I would likely never meet them.

  They are his people.

  I turned from the window, vexed with my own mind. But a moment later I was back, wondering how the ladies—there appeared to be two of them—would manage the stairway from the bailey to the keep in those ridiculous dresses. I supposed that Irishwomen must be schooled in such things, because they ascended to the entrance without mishap.

  Turning away again, I limped back to the bed. I was fidgety from too much confinement, yet my injury had left me weak. Doro had decreed I should only attend tomorrow evening’s festivities if I continued to rest until then, so when the maid came with my next meal, I asked for another of the sleeping draughts.

  I had more appetite than I had since the injury, and my full belly and Doro’s soothing herbs soon made the idea of rest appealing again.

  Feeling sunlight on my face, I woke to discover that I had slept through the day and also through the night. The maid had already come with my breakfast, leaving the tray on the bed beside me.

  I drank the cold coffee and ate a boiled egg before rising. My leg was stronger.

  There came a sudden bang and I started, my head jerking toward the noise. I crossed to the window. I could see nothing through the trees, but I heard someone shout, followed by a long peal of feminine laughter. A hunting party. The king was entertaining his relations.

  The unexpected pang of self-pity caused me to seek some other way to occupy my time, and I noticed something draped over one of the chairs by the fireplace.

  I saw a note resting atop what looked like a pile of black feathers. “Enjoy the masquerade, lady,” it read.

  Doro. This was my costume for the ball. I would soon be getting out of this room.

  I lifted the gown. It was a complicated assemblage of feathers and crepe—a raven disguise. How clever of him. There was also a feather cloak, divided into two sections to look like wings, and a beaked leather mask.

  I wondered what disguise the king would wear. Would I even have an opportunity to speak with him? He would be busy playing host and entertaining his kin. I had some reservations about the
evening—I had always disliked crowds. But I was curious about the guests, and my mask would make it easier to observe others without them noticing.

  As the day wore on, I grew impatient. Nothing inside this chamber held my interest anymore. Finally I moved to the courtyard-facing window to watch the ball preparations. I couldn’t lean out because of the bars, so I dragged a stool over and stood on top of it to get the proper angle.

  Servants marched over the ground like ants carrying breadcrumbs. Occasionally I got a glimpse of my betrothed moving among them, directing their efforts, but he never glanced up at the tower. By sunset, the courtyard had been transformed—there were burning braziers, globes of colored light, flowers everywhere, and tables draped with white cloths. I could see the tiny floating lights flickering through the roof of the conservatory.

  My own preparations for the ball would require the assistance of both Sorcha and the chambermaid, and they arrived at nightfall to assist me. The number of garments involved was astonishing—even worse than the gown I had worn the day I arrived at Knock Ma. Layers of petticoats, corset, bustle, stockings, not to mention the elaborate costume itself.

  By the time the ladies finished, we were all a little breathless. I studied myself in the full-length mirror—and studied the servants while they observed me with thinly veiled horror. There was little chance I would go unnoticed, but at least my identity would remain concealed.

  I made my way carefully down from the tower. My leg ached, but it was tolerable, and I had bound it for additional support.

  Treig was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and she smiled at me as I descended. “Very impressive, my lady.”

  “I agree,” I said, “though the credit is not mine to take.”

  “Doro is a man of many talents.”

  I watched her through the mask’s eyeholes, wondering whether there was more to her statement than the obvious—yet her expression had not changed.