Aurelie rocked back against the window, struck by a new thought. Unlike animals, few people perceived the Fae's true forms under the illusions and invisibility they could wear like a suit of clothes. That's
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why lutins loved parties. From the cover of a crowd, they'd spill drinks on new coats, rip expensive lace, and unravel seams at the most inopportune moments. But Aurelie hadn't spotted a single one at Captain Inglis's supper or in the street on the way. If lutins weren't common here, and gargouilles were so rare their names could be used in sport, the Fae must not care for Skoe's climate or landscape. Or something. She'd ask Garin. If she could find him.
Like a hound tied to a tree, Aurelie's thoughts kept circling around his disappearance. Why had he worn that costume? Where had he gone last night? And why had he left without greeting her? Though their countries disagreed, she didn't like to think that her old friend might now consider her an enemy. They needed to talk. She frowned as she wiped her flute clean and put it away, wishing she had Netta's gift for gossip. The day they arrived, her friend would have heard all the talk of the town and known how to interpret it.
"More invitations, Princess Aurelie." Elise breezed into the room. She carried a tray laden with crockery, a couple of the hard rolls and dried fish that Skoerans called breakfast, and a stack of colored envelopes. Hard on her heels followed the two Skoeran modistes with bolts of fabric and stacks of pattern cards. Aurelie wished she could remember their names. By now, it would be awkward to admit she'd forgotten. She'd ask Elise later.
"Good morning, Your Highness," they chorused.
"And to you," Aurelie returned the greeting. "Do we have time for dressmaking this morning, Elise? I thought to attend the first diplomatic meeting."
"Oh, the count left already, Your Highness." The maid poured a
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cup of the bitter morning beverage Dorisen folk consumed by the pot. She added a generous dose of honey and handed the steaming cup to Aurelie. "He said that First Inglis would be calling on you shortly." A sly glance measured the Skoeran women's reactions. They looked suitably impressed, and the maid continued. "He's offered to show you the city, and I'm to accompany you." This last with a bounce of excitement.
"Oh." Aurelie tried to summon a matching enthusiasm. "First Inglis seemed very well connected," was the most positive thing she could say.
"For a lubber," the shorter dressmaker muttered, then smiled in apology. "Did you know he hailed from Jocondagne, Your Highness?"
Aurelie shook her head.
"He and his mother arrived here a few years ago. She married right off, into one of Dorisen's oldest families," the woman said. "A bit high-handed, some say, old Inglis appointing his new wife captain before she'd worked through the lower ranks, but the woman's not lost a hull yet."
"Her husband adopted the lad and taught the pair of them to sail like Skoerans. Except for her hair and those light eyes, you wouldn't know they were born off-island." The taller woman unrolled a bolt of fabric and held a length to Aurelie's face. "Not peach," she concluded, and tried another. "Perhaps the green?"
"Very nice," the other modiste said. "What do you think of this style, Your Highness?"
While the shorter Skoeran took notes, Aurelie expressed her opinion of the various pattern cards, fabrics, and trimmings. Elise
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sorted the envelopes. "Formal supper, informal supper, musicale, a fireworks display this evening, step-race. What's a step-race?"
"You might send regrets for that one, Your Flighness," the note-taker ventured.
"Why's that?"
"Step-races last for ages. Unless someone loses his footing and falls, there's nothing much to watch."
Her countrywoman nodded agreement. "Like fishing tournaments. Hours of boredom, unless you're competing."
"How about iceboat racing?" Aurelie asked.
Both women brightened. "Now that" --one rapped her knuckles on the table--"is a sport worth watching. Do you have a favorite, Your Highness?"
"Never heard of it before last night," Aurelie admitted.
"No?" The Skoerans drew shocked breaths.
"It's a northern pastime, originally," the tall one said, as if this defect in Aurelie's education must be remedied at once. "From up in the Sleeve, a long channel between two islands. It freezes over by mid-fall, so Sleeve traders use freight sleds to transport goods over the ice. One man hoisted sails on his sleds, and the innovation led to sport."
Aurelie tried to picture it. "So iceboats are more like skates than ships?"
"Aye. Masted and rigged like ships, but with frames instead of hulls, and iron runners."
"My sweetheart took me once," the shorter woman said. "Oohl We flew."
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"Dangerous, the speeds they reach," the other said. "There's no good way to stop an iceboat except by dumping wind."
"Aye, but spills make the races exciting."
Elise pouted at the fanned invitations. "No one invited the princess to one of those."
The tall Skoeran chuckled. "The season hasn't started yet. Not i old enough for the race routes to freeze over. Besides, the trading fleets are still gathering in from summer routes. The iceboat patrons won't finalize their crews until they know who's staying in port for the winter."
"Really?" Aurelie put down her cup and nibbled on a roll. "1 saw a crew at the supper last night. Red jerseys, gold caps, with a red, er, dragon." She wouldn't say the iceboat's true name out loud.
The two women traded silent glances. Intrigued, Aurelie floated a tidbit of gossip like a lure. "Captain Inglis is their patron, I believe."
"If anyone can tame that beast, it's Inglis," the tall woman said.
"She'll need her luck." The short one flicked her fingers in a warding gesture. "Cargouille killed half her crew last race."
Elise echoed Aurelie's horror. "The dragon ate them?"
"In a manner of speaking," the woman said. "Wind shifted, and she smashed into a cliff along the final stretch of the course."
The other Skoeran noticed Aurelie's distress but misinterpreted the cause. "I'm sure Jacinthe Inglis won't have any trouble. Her son's a competent officer."
"Hui?" Aurelie almost snorted out loud. She wasn't worried about him.
"So First Inglis will pilot his mother's iceboat?" Elise asked.
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The other two women turned expectantly to Aurelie.
"I don't know," she said. "He didn't seem too pleased last night."
"Ah." Once again, nods were exchanged, while Aurelie wondered about the implications. Mother and son didn't agree about iceboats, but did that hint at a bigger rift between them? If Aurelie toured Dorisen with First Inglis, would it cause problems for the negotiations?
No, Count Sicard had accepted the First's invitation on her behalf; it must be all right. Even if all she wanted to do was march into Gargouille's crew quarters and yank Garin out of that red jersey. No friend, whether speaking to her or not, deserved to crew on a cursed vessel. Hadn't he heard about the iceboat's reputation? How could she warn him? Where was he?
Hui Inglis answered her question. "Gargouille's crew? In the barracks behind dry dock, most likely." The Skoeran gave Aurelie a speculative look. "You follow iceboat racing, Your Highness?"
"It sounds exciting." Aurelie pushed her hair out of her eyes and tried not to pant too obviously. The First's idea of a city tour involved climbing more steps than she could count. Until the Skoeran dressmakers had completed walking costumes in the local mode, Aure-lie's unfashionably long skirts excused some of her slowness. She'd also hit upon the idea of asking her guide about the nearest point of interest whenever she or Elise needed to catch their breath. The maid's freckled face was scarlet with exertion, and Aurelie could feel a matching heat in her own cheeks. She welcomed the cool, moist sea air against her face. And this was autumn! How did the Skoerans manage all these steps in the heat of summer?
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"We can visit her," Inglis said.
Aurelie yanked back her wandering thoughts. "Who?"
"Gargouilk." His booted foot tapped impatiently. For today's expedition, Hui Inglis had shed his dress blacks for a yellow coat and scarlet neckerchief, over brown trousers and glossy boots. "Any boat racing under our name needs to be solid. My mother thinks we can salvage the old frame, but I'd like to inspect it myself."
"If you like." Aurelie tried not to sound too eager. After a scant few hours in the First's company, she'd learned that he liked making the decisions. Perhaps it made him a good officer; she wasn't qualified to say.
Elise coughed discreetly. When they turned, the maid fingered her collar. "Spider, monsieur."
"What?" He looked down and blanched.
Aurelie thought Loic would have enjoyed the way Hui Inglis jumped around, slapping himself. When they were younger, the Fae had often dropped insects down his friends' backs. A lutin's trick, they'd complained. Couldn't dracs do better?
"Is it off? Did I get it?" Hui said.
"Yes, monsieur," Elise said.
Aurelie pretended she hadn't noticed that the haughty First was afraid of a spider smaller than the ones who lived in the guesthouse baths.
"Those striped ones spread disease, you know."
"Ah," Aurelie said. She hadn't noticed any stripes.
He straightened his neckerchief. "I-dock's this way." He charged down the closest flight of stairs.
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Elise sighed. "Don't your feet hurt, Your Highness?"
"One more stop, Elise," Aurelie promised. Her feet were fine, her calves and thighs less happy about all the climbing. "After we see the infamous iceboat, perhaps First Inglis will feed us."
"Fish again," the maid said glumly.
Dry dock wasn't a dock at all, as Aurelie had expected. Instead, Inglis led them to a large stone warehouse, from which came the knocking of hammer blows and a man's fine baritone belting out a bawdy song. Their escort slid open the wide, barnlike doors. The strong smells of paint, glue, and sawdust poured out.
Inside, a good twenty people, including the singer, labored over a wooden frame. Up in a loft that spanned half the building's length, more workers crouched over an expanse of red canvas. No scarlet jerseys and gold face paint today; many of the men had stripped to the waist, and the women wore practical tunics and leggings. There were trestle tables covered with gear, barrels and tools, strings of colored signal flags, long iron runners stacked together. No Garin. Like fog, disappointment filled Aurelie's chest.
"Sorry, mam'selles. This area is closed." A man met them, hands extended in a polite shooing motion until he recognized their escort. He snapped to attention. "First Inglis," he said loudly. "Welcome."
The hammer beats paused, then picked up, faster than before. The singer stopped mid-note. Aurelie was sorry. She liked the rollicking tune, though the words weren't really suitable for polite company.
"We'll show ourselves around," Hui Inglis told the man.
"Aye, First." The man backed away, and Aurelie noticed that his skin was covered with wood shavings, like a pollen-dusted bee.
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Elise sneezed once, then again and again. She fumbled for a handkerchief. "Glue," she muttered. The smell didn't bother Hui Inglis; he strode across the warehouse, easily navigating the maze of timber.
"Why don't you wait outside, Elise? This shouldn't take long," Aurelie said. Especially her part of it, since she hadn't found Garin and she didn't care about iceboat construction.
Inglis, unfortunately, was both interested and knowledgeable. He walked along the frame, calling one worker after another to defend some aspect of its construction.
Aurelie held her own handkerchief to her nose against the strong odors and the dust and picked her way along the wall clearest of paint and glue pots. When she reached the back of the warehouse, she followed the sound of raised voices and the scent of grilled fish. A door stood open in the corner.
"...he doing here?" a woman's taut voice said. "A free hand, I was promised--"
A man's voice answered, the words inaudible.
"Aye, but--"
Another murmur.
The woman's voice sounded somewhat familiar, but Aurelie definitely knew the man's. Though it was deeper than she remembered, she'd heard those same soothing tones before. Of the four of them, Garin was the levelheaded one, tempering Loic's wilder ideas when Aurelie's pride and Netta's faith in her friends would have sent them willy-nilly after the drac. Aurelie's pulse leaped. Her feet carried Iter in a rush through the doorway and into the paved yard beyond.
Wearing a stained apron over ragged tunic and trousers, Garin
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stood beside a stone grill, flipping fish steaks with a long-handled scraper. The change in his companion's expression warned him. He turned, neat as a cat, and saw Aurelie.
Delight, hurt, suspicion--expressions flashed across his face so quickly that Aurelie wasn't sure she had read them correctly. Then, most confusing of all, a kind of blank, dense good humor settled over his face, making it even more foreign than the gold paint had, or the years, turning the boy she remembered into a man. Not as tall or handsome as Hui Inglis, dark-haired and green-eyed, Garin had never stood out in a crowd, until a person noticed how capably he completed any task he set himself. At present, that appeared to be cooking for the iceboat crew.
Aurelie regretted the impulse that had sent her charging into the yard before she had decided what to say, how to act. However she'd imagined their meeting again, it wasn't with the reek of glue in her nose.
Garin saluted her with the scraper and a vague smile. "Hullo, pretty lady. Mind the firewood--meant to stack that this morning." He kicked a pile of small logs out of Aurelie's way.
One rolled in the wrong direction, under her skirts. She hopped, slipped, and grabbed his outstretched arm to right herself. He caught her waist and swung her around as if this were the first step in a dance the two of them had practiced a hundred times.
In childhood, Aurelie had trusted Garin to catch her when she leaped into the river, to boost her into a pine tree's upper branches, to fight at her back when Netta and Loic attacked with willow switches for swords. Though she didn't recognize the expression Garin's face wore, her body knew the arms that held her.
She relaxed. Strong and pliant both, Aurelie balanced on her toes,
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poised for the next step. It seemed her partner felt the same. The hand with the scraper shifted to support her hip. His other hand lifted to slide her tumbling hair from her ear. Garin's body curved over hers, and his lips followed his hand, whispering, "Don't know me."
His breath tickled. Her whole body thrilled as his thumb pressed her parted lips, preventing her from answering. She tasted lemon and fish and warm skin, and then he straightened. Setting both hands on Aurelie's hips, Garin lifted her off her feet and plunked her onto a stool next to the grill. He looked her straight in the eye as if they'd never met and smiled with rude good humor. "Fish 'n' flatbread, pretty lady?"
"Uh..." She licked her dry lips and closed her mouth on mounting anger. How dare Garin act the fool with her? But the heat in her blood chilled as she read a warning, as much in his stiff movements as in the words he'd whispered. Elbow jerking like a jointed doll, Garin wielded the scraper. Aurelie wanted to cry for that brief, fluid moment when they had almost been dancing.
"Your Highnessl" The woman Garin had been speaking with bowed deeply. "We met last night, at Captain Inglis's supper. Helm Burgida, at your service."
With a start, Aurelie recognized the redhead who had crossed Hui Inglis. She looked older in the dark green tunic and leggings, her striking red hair confined to a single plait down her back. But even in the plain light of day, the air seemed to shimmer around her, as if traces of the salon's candlelit opulence lingered in her hair, on her clothes. Or, as if...Aurelie squinted, and froze. The human shape overlay quite a different one.
Helm Burgida was a Fae.
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&nbs
p; Chapter 7 Aurelie
Aurelie's right eye showed her an attractive woman whose face was a bit too angular, her frame too wiry, for true beauty. Aurelie's left eye saw a dragon. Not a gargouille: much smaller, fortunately, than either that giant bronze beast or the more common river drac. Jointed wings, like a bat's, folded along a scaly green body. The head was wedge-shaped, with a long muzzle and a hollow dished out in the broad forehead between the two sorrowful eyes.
Aurelie had observed the same melting expression in calves, in puppies, and once in a day-old fawn. This was a thousand times worse, because the muddy green eyes weren't animal but human. Except the Fae weren't human, and rarely sad or sorry. Aurelie clutched the stool's cane seat, her fingers biting into the weave. Pity surprised her out of a lifetime's caution. "But," she blurted, "how did--aren't you--"
"Helm Burgida?" a derisive voice overrode her question.
Aurelie swallowed her words, grateful for once that Hui Inglis
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didn't mind interrupting other people's conversations. As she realized what she had almost betrayed, sweat prickled along her upper lip. Despite the Fae's woeful air, her claws and teeth promised danger. Why hadn't Garin warned her? Aurelie shot him a questioning look and met the same blank stare.
The First lounged in the doorway, scoffing. "Even if she passed the tests and apprenticeship, who'd hire a woman to steer his ship?"
Aurelie: A Faerie Tale Page 4