The Raven Lady

by Sharon Lynn Fisher

  In the court of the Elf King, we did not waltz. When the union between the Elf King’s daughter and King Finvara had been first proposed, a new tutor had been brought in, and I had learned to waltz and improved my Irish.

  Now the king and I faced each other. Our masks were in place again, but I could see the crinkling around his eyes and knew that he was smiling. He took my hand in his, and his other hand came to my waist. The buoyant feeling surged as he swung us into the melody, and we began to move around the floor. He led with such experienced grace that my own inexperience made no difference.

  “You dance beautifully,” said the king, his voice muffled behind the mask.

  I raised an eyebrow at the courtly compliment. “It is kind of you to say so, Your Majesty, but I know that I do not.”

  “Truly, you are light on your feet,” he insisted. “Did you dance in your father’s court?”

  “Not generally, and never like this. Though it was part of my education.”

  “Well I am grateful, as it has afforded me the pleasure of being your partner. But you must tell me if you tire, or if you feel any pain.”

  Other couples had begun to join us on the floor. At one point we glided close to Elinor, whose partner wore a white wig and a brilliantly gold jacket.

  “Your lady’s disguise,” I said, “it’s from an old story, is it not?”

  “My lady?” said the king archly. “If I didn’t know you better, I would suspect you of needling me.”

  I smiled inside the mask.

  “Elinor is disguised as Lady Godiva,” he continued. “According to the English story, the lady was unhappy about how heavily her husband taxed his subjects, and she rode through the streets unclothed to give them relief.”

  “I am confused as to how this would help, sire.”

  He laughed. “You’ve a lively sense of humor, lady.”

  “I am in earnest,” I protested. “In what way could it improve the situation? Unless she intended to make them forget about the taxes altogether.”

  His eyes sparkled with mirth, and his hand tightened on my waist. “Indeed, you may have it!”

  I found myself thinking of warm water—skin gliding over skin—and lost the thread of our conversation.

  Thankfully he continued, “Her husband told her that if she rode through the streets naked, he would remit the tax. Essentially he wanted her to stop pestering him.”

  I shook my head. “A strange story.”

  “Aye. It’s meant to titillate, I think. Much the same as Elinor’s costume.”

  At that moment, we again spun in view of the lady and her partner, who had whispered something close to her ear and caused her to laugh—a sound like tinkling bells.

  The king’s powers of observation did him credit, despite the fact he had not suspected his family’s plot. King though he might be, it did not appear that he would be permitted to determine his own fate any more than I would be.

  And it is so much worse than he imagines.

  The thought settled like a cold weight in my chest, dragging me back down to earth.

  AN ILL WIND

  Koli

  The waltz wound down, and I scanned the courtyard for Doro. While the king and I were dancing, I had noticed him moving about the banquet tables, where he made small adjustments to dishes and decorations, and spoke quietly to the fairy folk who had retired there. At the moment, he was talking with a group of stately firglas. They were dressed in regal finery that belonged to another age, and each wore a bright and bejeweled mask shaped like cat eyes. One of them glanced briefly in our direction.

  It’s begun already. Something sharp twisted in my belly.

  “My lady.”

  The music had stopped, and as the king released me, I turned to find Miss O’Malley waiting nearby. Her cheeks were closer to raspberry than pink now, and she was wringing the fingers of one hand with the other. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted, and she appeared unable to speak. I pushed back my mask, and her features relaxed.

  “Elinor,” said the king from behind me, “this is Princess Koli from Iceland. She is the Elf King’s daughter, and my guest.”

  “Your Highness,” the young woman addressed me in a more determined tone. She stepped forward and curtsied, so surprising me that I glanced back at the king. He too had removed his mask, and he smiled and raised an eyebrow.

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” she continued. “I hope that you will forgive my earlier rudeness.” She wrung her fingers again. “Your disguise is very—” She blinked rapidly, and looked a little lost.

  “Intimidating,” I suggested, taking pity on the poor thing.

  “Indeed,” she breathed gratefully, releasing her fingers. How childlike she was. The king was right—she might be of age, but she was too young to stand beside him. He needed a queen, not a charge.

  “I too must apologize,” I said. “My birds frightened you. Sometimes they act before I can stop them. They offered the king the same treatment the first day I met him.”

  This made her smile. “Did they, cousin?”

  “Aye, they did,” replied the king, moving to stand beside me. “Though we’re old friends now.”

  This familiarity verging on intimacy washed over me like a warm wave.

  “Thank you, lady,” said the girl, curtsying again.

  “Now Elinor,” began the king, “I believe you’ve promised me a dance.”

  He held out his hand, and she took it eagerly. The strains of the waltz began, and as they moved away, the king glanced back. His expression was soft and grateful, and the smile he turned on his glowing partner had first been directed at me.

  There is no duplicity in him, I realized in a moment of purest anguish.

  “Princess?”

  My composure had collapsed, and I felt my furies mustering. I took a full breath before slowly turning. Doro stood with his hand outstretched.

  “Will you dance?”

  Less than an hour ago I had wanted this. Now I wanted to tell him I was tired—I wanted to return to my chamber and make sense of what was happening to me.

  Instead, I reached for his hand. He pulled me into his arms and we began our circuit of the dancefloor.

  So cold, I observed. While heat radiated from the king. I could feel it anytime he was close. But Doro—if I closed my eyes, I would wonder what had let in the draft.

  “Are you enjoying the ball, lady?” he asked.

  “Well enough, my lord,” I replied amiably.

  “Your deportment has been exquisite,” he said in a quieter voice. “Even the burst of violence that accompanied the O’Malley chit’s rude remarks worked to your advantage in the end. I believe the king is actually fond of you.”

  My stomach churned as we spun. “I believe he is.”

  “I am concerned about the girl, though,” he continued. “She is very like the ancient Finvara’s favorite wife. The king’s family has thrust her at him, and the fool has no idea.”

  The fool. Anger flared again.

  “He has an idea now,” I said crisply.

  He studied me, and the eyes behind his mask narrowed as he smiled. “You told him.”

  I nodded. “You’re right, he didn’t know.”

  Doro laughed, and it made me feel very differently than the king’s laughter had. “What did he say?”

  “He was not pleased. He resents their interference, and he feels she is too young.”

  Doro’s eyes were bright. Hungry. “You must encourage his thinking in that vein.”

  “Of course.” Doro would fear the girl. If the king married Miss O’Malley, Doro would be bound to her, and all his plans would be finished.

  His plans, and mine too. Freyja help me, can I go through with this? I felt a sudden pinprick between my shoulder blades, where my father’s mark was inked, and
I flinched.

  “We cannot be too careful,” he continued. “The lady’s beauty will be hard for him to resist, being what he is, and the lady is far too keen for my liking. But that I have in hand.”

  Uneasiness caused me to grip his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

  He smiled. “I shall simply frighten her away.”

  The thought of the last frightful thing he’d done only increased the uneasy feeling.

  “It may not keep her away indefinitely,” he continued, “though it won’t need to. The king has already committed multiple offenses. He gave an order to expel most of his subjects from the castle. He organized this family fete in place of the equinox celebration that his subjects expected. The firglas chieftain already questions the legitimacy of his new king. Even before Duncan O’Malley arrived, they were grumbling about suddenly finding themselves under Irish rule.”

  “So the thing is nearly done!” I replied, shocked. How had he managed it so quickly?

  “Thanks in large part to you, lady.”

  Finvara

  Elinor kept up a steady stream of conversation—almost entirely on her own—which freed me to keep an eye on my steward and the princess.

  She is easy with him, I thought. Though it was hard to be sure with their masks. It would not be surprising if they had grown close—he had treated a grave injury and nursed her back to health. She was an intriguing woman. Perhaps not charming in the traditional sense, but she was observant—clearly more so than I—and her wits were sharp. She was endearingly plainspoken, and just this evening I had discovered her capacity for humor. She could more than hold her own in a scrape too, which was not a quality found commonly amongst gentlewomen.

  At the times when our bodies had been close, I was sure that I had felt the pull of sensuality in her—a river I suspected ran quite deep, despite her often reserved exterior. I wondered whether Doro had felt it, too, and shuddered at the thought.

  It struck me that all these qualities taken together made up the sort of woman I would one day hope to make my queen. The irony of it almost made me laugh aloud—the Elf King’s daughter, the woman that I had spurned!

  As the dance continued, I thought of Lady Meath’s letter, and darker thoughts crept in. Might Doro be a danger to me? Her letter described an ambitious man. Would such a man be content passing through eternity as a servant, especially if he was indeed a druid, and a powerful wielder of magic? Was he even now living a double life? It would certainly explain why I didn’t know where he was more than half the time.

  Doro was giving the princess his full attention, and it occurred to me to examine whether these suspicions had more to do with her. Was I jealous? I had told her she was my only friend here, and so she was. Was I unwilling to share her? My predecessor and ancestor was notoriously jealous. And there had certainly been times when I had myself behaved competitively when it came to women.

  All I could say for certain was the pair of them had my lines tangled, which was a condition I generally guarded against.

  The waltz was ending. After bowing to Elinor and handing her to the next eager partner, I scanned the courtyard for the princess. Doro was escorting her back toward the castle. She leaned on his arm, limping slightly. I allowed myself one moment to regret it wasn’t me accompanying her to the tower.

  Determined to cease wrestling these thoughts so that I might engage with my relations and attempt to make myself agreeable to my other guests, I headed for the banquet tables.

  My opening salvo consisted of eliciting Lord Galway’s opinion on the quality of fowl sport in this county, followed by his lady’s preferences with regard to the various bakers, butchers, and grocers. Then I moved on to Lord and Lady Roscommon.

  I passed hours in this manner, or so it seemed, making sure to speak to every dignitary in his or her turn. My own subjects proved, as ever, the most challenging. The easiest to hold actual conversation with was the chieftain of the firglas, Yarl, who spent most of his time on his estate—which was located in a region of Faery that had not, at least so far, merged with Ireland. He and his wife were aloof, however. Most of his people seemed to possess that quality, and as of yet I’d failed in my attempts to soften them. Princess Koli had apparently managed to form a connection with Treig. It occurred to me there were a number of similarities between the princess and the firglas, and I wondered if perhaps they shared ancestors.

  The smaller fairy folk were hopeless pranksters, with the conversation skills of little children—except they made even less sense. They spoke a very old form of Irish, and they connected words in baffling ways. I had to content myself with observing their capers and tossing them sweetmeats and trinkets, which they were ecstatic over. I thanked my stars again for Doro—despite the doubts weighing on me—as he had ensured we were well stocked with both.

  During a leaden conversation about the art of knife-sharpening with a trio of half-pint fellows who’d drunk too much ale, I noticed the princess had not in fact retired—she was secreted in the shadow of a rose arbor near the conservatory, resting on a stone bench. The sight of her lifted my spirits, and as soon as I could politely excuse myself, I sought a tankard myself—as well as a glass of punch, which I intended to deliver to her personally as a reward to myself for my valiant social toils.

  I was still awaiting a servant who’d gone to fetch a tray of clean cups when a scream rent the convivial atmosphere.

  Koli

  I preferred the seclusion of my bower to marching across the dance floor in every way but one—I had to forgo the company of the king. As my eyes followed him performing his tedious host duties, my mind kept returning to the things he’d told me in the conservatory, and to the heat our banter had seemed to generate in the waltz that followed. Had he felt it too?

  I would banish such thoughts, only to find myself, moments later, imagining how it would be had we actually wed. Would I be by his side, acquainting myself with his subjects? Would I find the sustained chatter more bearable in his company?

  Would affection have grown between us? More than affection? Would we have become man and wife in more than name? The waltz had suggested that possibility.

  This last thought set off a not-subtle fluttering in the very lowest part of my belly. But the pleasant feeling was cut off by a searing pain between my shoulder blades, and I gasped.

  I closed my eyes and cleared my mind, breathing shallowly until the pain began to subside.

  I haven’t forgotten, Father. I just had no idea it would be so hard.

  I was about to rise and return to my chamber when Miss O’Malley and her friend—the king’s sister-in-law, dressed as a shepherdess—passed by without noticing me and entered the conservatory. Once inside, what had been a whispered conversation continued in normal voices, and thanks to the thinness of the glass-paned walls, I could hear all of it.

  And tedious it was. They admired the roses and the twinkling lights. They discussed the guests’ various disguises. They rattled on about the music and dancing. No unmarried gentleman or lady was spared a critique of their person, their manner, or their skill on the dance floor.

  I was again rising to retire, when the ladies began to speak of something that did interest me.

  “What do you think of Duncan, Nora?” asked the king’s sister.

  Duncan, I knew, was Finvara’s given name—the name he had used until very recently.

  The girl giggled. “Oh, Margaret, he’s very dashing and handsome, isn’t he?”

  “And so I told you he was,” replied the other lady in a lilting, teasing tone.

  “And chivalrous,” continued Miss O’Malley, “the way he jumped between me and those frightful birds!”

  I locked my fingers together in my lap.

  “That goblin woman! The hateful thing. I wish he had not been forced to take her. To think they would have her marry him.” Margaret made a clucking nois
e. “You needn’t worry though. I can’t think why he asked her to the ball—pity perhaps, his heart has always been more soft than sensible—but I’m sure she’s kept locked in the tower most of the time.”

  She’s an ugly, scarecrow of a thing, is she not? I closed my eyes, anger kindling inside me. My furies lined up on the bench on either side of me, their harsh voices uttering protests I could not.

  “Shush,” I hissed, and they fell silent, cocking their sleek heads from side to side as if they were listening as intently as I.

  “Nay, don’t speak so, Margaret,” replied Miss O’Malley in a sobered voice. “I don’t believe he thinks of her that way. She apologized to me and spoke very kindly. I do feel sorry for her, though, so far from home. And of course she’s not pretty, though in her own country she may be considered a great beauty.”

  My anger dampened. Miss O’Malley might be childish, but her heart was not hard.

  “Well, my dear,” replied Margaret, a slight stiffness in her tone, “don’t worry yourself over her. Your kindness does you credit, to be sure. The king and your lovely self will be perfectly—”

  Margaret’s speech was cut short when one of the two ladies let out a piercing scream.

  I sprang from the bench, hurrying to the conservatory and throwing open the door. Margaret was staggering backward, eyes wide with terror, but Elinor—something was dragging her into the lily pool. I saw what looked like octopus tentacles—except they were smooth and black, like the steam hoses that had animated the barrow-wight—coiled tightly around the girl’s ankles. The hoses ran into the pool, which was far deeper than it appeared—and in the middle of the pool I saw the sodden head of a woman half-emerged from the water, her stringy hair tangled with water weeds and shells, the whites of her wide eyes glowing in the moonlight. I might not know Irish fairies, but I knew a water hag when I saw one.