by Sarina Dorie
Sparks of ingenuity swirled around him, soaking into his exposed skin. He inhaled the fragrance of fiddle and the flavor of singing.
He glanced at Ivy to make sure she hadn’t noticed. She stared at the musicians in awe.
“We can leave whenever you get tired,” he said. “I know you get up early for kitchen work.”
She nodded but was silent as she stared at the musicians fiddling near a bonfire. Rows of dancers clapped and stomped their feet in time to the music as they took turns twirling each other around in a reel.
A slow smile stretched across her face. “It’s wonderful.”
The wonder in her eyes reminded him of Alma and the first time he had brought her to a cèilidh. His heart momentarily lurched, and he wasn’t certain whether he felt regret or pining—or gratitude that he could bring someone joy.
He steered them toward a wagon supplying refreshments. “Do you want anything to drink? I’ll bet the ale and spiced wine is the best you’ve ever had.”
“Oh, no. I’m fine. I don’t drink.” She shook her head.
“They’ll have spiced cider. You might like that, and it will keep your hands warm.” Errol purchased two drinks for them.
He liked ale, but he chose the cider for them both. He had a shift later that evening after the party, and he made it a habit not to drink before patrol duty. Nor did he want to become a drunkard who might make Ivy uncomfortable in the meantime.
Anders slapped him on the back a moment later, nearly causing Errol to spill his cider on Ivy.
“You came! It’s been forever since I’ve seen you at one of these.” Anders grinned cheerfully. “And who do we have here? Is this the comely young maiden you were speaking with Helga about?”
“Yes. No. I mean—” Errol squirmed. He didn’t want Anders to say anything that would embarrass Ivy. “Helga tends to misrepresent facts to make me the butt of her jokes. Please disregard anything she said in jest.”
Anders took Ivy’s hand. “So nice to meet you. You’re Ivy, the lass who makes Captain Errol biscuits? I wish someone would make biscuits for me.”
Ivy shook his hand and smiled politely. As soon as Errol managed to get rid of Anders, it was Major West who came over, then a few lieutenants who congratulated Errol for making it out. Everyone insisted on meeting the young lady he had brought.
“This is my . . . charge, Ivy,” he said by way of introductions.
He supposed that was more appropriate than calling her his friend. Some might misconstrue a man befriending a woman as something different. He didn’t want to call her his acquaintance, as that sounded too formal and distant. To say he was her benefactor sounded like something pretentious an aristocrat of the Silver Court might say about a human artist.
Groups of people stared at them openly, and strangers continually walked by as Errol made introductions. He thought he saw a man’s mouth form the words “slave from the Raven Court” as the onlooker waggled his eyebrows at his friends suggestively. Errol hoped no one said anything to Ivy to make her uncomfortable.
Once Errol managed to extricate Ivy and himself from a conversation with soldiers, it was kitchen maids who came up to them. Two young ladies squealed as they ran up to Ivy.
A familiar face that Errol might have seen in the kitchen said, “You came! Good for you!”
“Who is this?” one of them asked, looking Errol up and down as though he were a tasty morsel she wanted to chew on.
“This is Captain Errol.” A little smile tugged at Ivy’s lips.
“Oooooh, yes. Captain Errol.” The young lady’s eyes went wide.
“Has he shown you his wings?” Another young lady giggled.
Errol blushed, suspecting she was actually asking whether Ivy had seen him naked. It was rare he could go to a cèilidh without some young woman asking him about the size of his wings.
Ivy shook her head at her friend. “No! Stop!”
Errol found them a bale of hay to sit on just far off enough from the bonfires that they would be out of the brightest light where they would be spotted. Then again, with Errol’s silver hair and Ivy’s magenta locks, it was difficult to hide.
He sat beside her and sipped at his drink.
When Lieutenant Darragh O’Sullivan wandered over with his wife, who carried their infant, Errol offered the Witchkin woman his seat. He introduced Ivy. She only had eyes for the baby, cooing at the little girl and asking about her.
“I’ve never seen a red-haired baby before!” Ivy squealed. “She’s so cute!”
Errol excused himself to get more drinks. He considered getting them sweet pastries, but he doubted anything he purchased would be as delicious as Ivy’s cooking. Eventually he settled on two meat pies. He precariously carried the food and drinks back, to find Ivy holding the baby. She chatted amiably with Agnes O’Sullivan.
He overheard her say, “No, he isn’t my beau.” The baby gurgled, masking her words. He didn’t catch more until he got closer. “Captain Errol said he used to attend the cèilidhs with his sister. I imagine it must be hard for him to have no one else to go with now. It was the least I could do.”
He hadn’t wanted her to be alone on Yule, yet it sounded as though she was the one who had taken pity on him and gone so that he wouldn’t be solitary on a holiday. His chest grew warm at her kindness.
Errol arrived with the food a few seconds later. Agnes took the baby back, and her husband excused them to go join other friends.
“I love babies,” Ivy said to Errol. “I used to—well, that was a different life. I’m here now.”
There was such longing in her eyes as she stared after Agnes and her baby he suspected she had once lost someone close to her. He couldn’t tell whether it had been her own child or a sibling. Not for the first time, he wondered about her family and the kin she’d been stolen from. She’d said they were all dead.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty.” Her smile was shy. “How old are you?”
“Not yet seventy.”
She laughed and shook her head. “You don’t look like you’re in your sixties.”
Someone slapped him on the shoulder from behind. He turned to find Helga grinning.
“No, he just acts like a grumpy old man.” She winked at Ivy as she said it.
In his surprise to see his friend, all Errol could think to say was, “I thought you were staying home with your husband.”
“Did I say that?” She grinned. “I thought I said I had plans with my husband. I didn’t say I was staying home.”
She jerked a thumb at a small group gathered near one of the fires that was situated conveniently close to a wagon selling ale. “We’re going to play a few rounds of twyllo. You can join us for cards if you’d like.” Her eyes danced as she glanced at Ivy. “Or you might enjoy dancing with the other couples.”
Errol was quite aware she was saying that to be vexing.
“When will there be caroling?” Ivy asked. “That’s Captain Errol’s favorite.”
Helga quirked an eyebrow upward. “Is it now?”
In the near distance, milling around and looking lost, an old man stopped and watched them. Errol wouldn’t have given him another glance if the stranger hadn’t been caked with so much magic that he couldn’t see through it. That in itself was odd, but his choice in clothes was even more peculiar. He wore the attire of a stable hand, but his coat and shoes were far too nice. They could have been stolen, but there was the excessive amount of glamour hiding his face.
Errol supposed the man could have been a spy or assassin from another court. Yet if that had been the case, he would have done better to infiltrate the castle and pretend to be a servant.
Unless this stranger was here for him.
Errol instinctively stepped in front of Ivy. He reached for a sword that wasn’t at his belt.
Helga nudged Errol. “I asked you what time you were staying until?”
Errol didn’t
want to alarm Ivy or alert the man that he knew something was off about him. He flashed the hand signal for “danger” with the signal for a question.
Helga casually turned.
“Odin’s beard!” she muttered.
“What is it?” Ivy stood.
Helga grimaced. “Nothing, love. Just more work for the royal guard when I thought I was going to have some down time.” Her gaze locked on Errol. “You do know who that is, don’t you?”
“No.” He could see through many glamours, but this was applied well, and Errol wasn’t close enough to penetrate the layers.
“Who is it?” Ivy asked.
Errol tried to examine the man from the corner of his eye.
Helga smirked. “Look at his hair, and see if you can figure it out.”
Errol examined the man’s hair. That was the area with the least amount of glamour concealing his true self. It was long and gray. No, not gray.
Silver. Like his.
Like someone from the Silver Court.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Party Crasher
“Oh, fie!” Errol said. He knew who it was.
It wasn’t just the lack of glamour on the new arrival’s hair but the insipid way he smiled at everything around him that gave his identity away.
Errol had told Prince Elric-Atherius about the cèilidh. The prince had threatened to punish him if he didn’t attend. Yet Errol would be in trouble with the rest of the royal family if he was caught using muse magic. Errol didn’t know whether the prince was there to catch him and out him—or to ensure he used his muse skills correctly so he didn’t hurt anyone. Errol wanted to believe the prince was above being angry over a petty disagreement, but he couldn’t be certain.
No matter what the prince’s true intentions, Errol wished he had stayed away—to avoid an escaped prince who was bound to get in trouble one way or another.
Ivy took his arm. “Is it someone from the Raven Court?”
He could see the terror lurking just below the surface of her face, ready to break free at any moment. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “No, you’re safe from the Raven Court. We would know if it was one of them.” He wanted to believe that anyway. “It’s just someone from . . . work.”
Errol thought it safest not to reveal it was the prince. “I believe he’s here to see me. Excuse me a moment.” Errol left Ivy in Helga’s care.
Prince Elric-Atherius wandered toward the wagon selling ale.
Errol placed a hand on the prince’s elbow to stop him from going farther. “Your Highness,” Errol whispered. “What are you doing here?”
“Captain Errol! You saw through my disguise? How did you know? What gave me away?”
There was a time Errol had once explained the prince’s mistakes, but now he could see he’d given him too many pointers. He still didn’t know what to make of Prince Elric-Atherius being here.
“Where are your guards?” Errol demanded.
“Outside my room in the castle.” The smirk on the old man’s lips looked so much like his youthful self that Errol didn’t know how anyone didn’t realize who he was.
“Does anyone know you’re here?” Errol asked.
Prince Elric-Atherius puffed himself up, looking taller. “No. I escaped without anyone noticing me.”
Errol leaned closer. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“I thought it was good practice.”
“Practice for what?”
Prince Elric-Atherius shrugged. “I might want to sneak out of the castle to see someone in town someday. You were the one who suggested I should meet my son and wife elsewhere.”
Errol raked a hand through his hair, frustrated the prince had chosen now of all times to practice. “You need to go back.”
Prince Elric-Atherius sidestepped him. “Not yet. I want to have something to drink first.”
Errol remained glued to the prince’s side as he went to the ale wagon to order.
“What does the average common man like to drink?” Prince Elric-Atherius asked the proprietor pouring mugs for patrons.
The prince’s speech was far too refined, and he stood out in this crowd of the working class. Not to mention he was patronizing without even trying.
The seller’s forehead crinkled as he repeated the prince’s words. “The average common man?”
“What’s your most popular drink? That’s what he means,” Errol said before the prince drew more attention to himself with his eccentricities.
Prince Elric-Atherius reached into his coin purse. “I’ll have two mugs of your most popular drink.”
Errol looked to Helga beseechingly where she waited with Ivy. The other captain shook her head and shrugged. He took it she didn’t typically know what to do when a prince decided to ditch the palace and guards. He certainly didn’t.
When Errol turned back, he saw Prince Elric-Atherius trying to pay the seller with gold.
The seller crossed his arms, glaring at the prince. “I won’t take none of that false gold here.”
“It isn’t false. It’s real. You can even keep the remainder.”
Errol glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. “Put that away,” he whispered. “That’s the best way to draw attention to yourself and get robbed.”
More vexed with the prince than ever, Errol paid for the drinks.
“Oh bother!” Prince Elric-Atherius said. “I didn’t mean for you to have to pay for that. I meant for it to be a treat for you.”
“It isn’t a problem,” Errol said through clenched teeth. “Now, have your drink, and we’ll return to the castle.”
“Shall you introduce me to your lady friend over there?” The prince started off toward Ivy.
“No, you’ve already met,” Errol said. “In any case, do you truly want me to introduce you, using your real name?”
“Of course not. You’ll call me Rick.” Prince Elric-Atherius grinned. “You can say I’m a friend. A butler who works in the castle.”
Errol didn’t think the prince would pass as a butler in that attire.
When they reached Ivy and Helga, he grudgingly made introductions.
“Nice to meet you, Rick.” Helga smirked at Errol. “It looks like you’ve got your evening cut out for you. I’ll just be on my way and rejoin my husband.”
“No! You should stay,” Errol said. He signaled her with his military hand signs that she should take charge.
Helga shook her head as if this were his fault and started off toward the men playing cards. “You know where I’ll be if there’s an emergency.”
This was an emergency. A prince couldn’t be out of the castle unguarded. Technically Errol was a guard, but he was supposed to be off duty for another hour. There were enough guards milling about, and Helga knew about the prince’s real identity if danger arrived in the form of the Raven Court.
Prince Elric-Atherius sat on the hay next to Ivy. “It’s been ages since I’ve been to an outdoor party like this,” the prince said. “A hundred years I’d wager.”
“It’s my first cèilidh.” Ivy sipped at her cider. “I can’t wait to hear the caroling. Captain Errol said it’s his favorite.”
The prince patted the hay beside him. “There’s plenty of room for you, Captain.” Sparks of creativity fell on Prince Elric-Atherius, most of it drifting out of the dancers and musicians.
Errol hoped none of it came from Ivy. He squished himself between Ivy and the prince.
“I think I like this better than most of the parties I’ve been to of late.” The prince stared longingly at the dancers.
A pang of pity wormed through Errol’s annoyance. The prince was an outcast among nobility because he didn’t believe in their philosophies and treatment of Morties and Witchkin. He liked peasants, yet he was just as out of place here among commoners as he was with aristocrats. It was unfortunate he didn’t belong anywhere.
Errol was lucky he’d never had to experience being a
pariah. He’d always had coworkers with whom he fraternized and people who respected him. Errol wasn’t sure what the prince had. He couldn’t even relax into the comfort of family when he had to keep those he loved secret. It had to be a terrible burden.
The musicians started up a lively reel played on the fife, fiddle, and drum. Errol pretended he didn’t see the sparks of ardor drifting from Ivy. She tapped her feet and gazed admiringly at the dancers.
“Would the two of you care to dance?” Prince Elric-Atherius asked. “I can hold your drinks and save your seat.”
Ivy looked to Errol beseechingly.
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” he said, trying to think up a plausible excuse not to leave the prince alone that didn’t reveal the prince’s true identity. “I don’t want to abandon you.”
“Nonsense,” Prince Elric-Atherius said. “You don’t have to stay to babysit me.”
Errol’s smile was strained under the awkwardness of his predicament. “I need to keep an eye on you.”
“And so you shall.” Prince Elric-Atherius inclined his head. “While you dance, you can see me from over yonder.” He nodded to the dancers.
Ivy stood, gazing at the lines starting up for the reel. He hated to disappoint her, but he feared the prince might not be safe all alone.
“If it makes you feel better, Captain Helga is watching me like a hawk.” Prince Elric-Atherius nodded to the table of soldiers.
“I need to get back to the castle. I have a shift that will be starting soon and need to change into uniform,” Errol said.
“Oh.” Ivy sat down again. “That’s fine.” She stared at her mug of cider. “You don’t have to dance with me.”
Errol felt even worse. “No, I do want to dance.” Things had been going so well before the prince arrived.
“Surely you have time for one dance.” Prince Elric-Atherius took Ivy’s mug and then Errol’s. “Enjoy yourselves. I’ll stay right here. I give you my word.”
If the prince were anything like the rest of the Silver Court, he would find a way out of his word just for the sake of it. Yet, Prince Elric-Atherius was different from the rest of them. That was the reason Errol liked him—most days.