by K. M. Shea
Cagney gave him a sour look before she took his arm. “Every year, I swear you lose a little of the bit of intelligence you’ve managed to hold onto,” Cagney grumbled.
Dylan looked at the way Cagney held Dooley’s arm and adjusted her own grasp.
“Cagney, my heart. You wound me!”
“You are not a butterfly, my lord. I suggest you stiffen up.”
“Only if you stand with me, my heart. And you don’t—not nearly enough, anyway,” Dooley said with a dramatized sniff.
Cagney ground her teeth, and Dylan silently laughed, thoroughly diverted by her self-appointed guides.
Although the party didn’t end until the wee hours of the morning, Prince Callan and Lord Dooley were up shortly after dawn, practicing swordsmanship on the balcony of the prince’s room. It was the perfect width and length to hold practice matches, and it afforded them a beautiful view of the ocean. And, in this case, the bronze-skinned and dark-haired beauty that stood on the beach, knee deep in water.
“I’m telling you, Dooley. It’s her,” Callan said, pointing at Miss Dylan’s back with his practice rapier.
“My prince. Cagney would tell you that I am the most poetic, foggy-brained, romantic sop in all of Ringsted, but even I have a hard time believing you can recognize her,” Dooley said, wiping a sheen of sweat from his forehead. “You were half-drowned, and it was the middle of the night.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m positive she was the girl who dragged me onto shore. She isn’t the kind of person you would forget,” Prince Callan said, tilting his head as he watched the young lady splash in the ocean—getting her dress soaked.
“I will give you that,” Dooley grunted. “That ocean flower is…distinctive. She is impressively tall. Perhaps even a touch taller than you.”
Callan didn’t reply. Instead, he watched Miss Dylan as she plunged neck deep into the ocean for a swim.
“Are you certain she is your shipwreck-savior? You don’t even remember being pulled from the ruin of your boat, and I thought it was her singing voice that haunted you. In case you’ve forgotten, Miss Dylan can’t speak,” Dooley said, moving into position at one end of the balcony.
“Maybe not now,” Callan admitted also taking sparring stance. “But that doesn’t mean she didn’t two years ago,” he said.
“If you insist it is she, I shall endeavor to believe you,” Dooley said. They crossed swords.
The young men fell silent as they moved forwards and backwards, parrying, lunging, and landing counterstrikes.
Dooley was the better dueler, but Callan had more stamina, and it showed as Dooley barely lodged the winning blow at Callan’s chest in time to keep Callan from his own winning strike.
“She has an aura of mystery—though I must confess I enjoy her frankness. Cagney’s jaw almost fell off several times last night,” Dooley chuckled before he groaned and stretched his arms above his head. “Can we be done? I wish to return to Cagney’s gentle ministrations.”
Callan snorted. “We can be done fighting, but I’m still anxious to hear your thoughts about Miss Dylan.”
“What more is there to say? I will not argue with you, considering the months you’ve pondered over her and searched for her like a scent hound. You could do worse based on my observations last night. I mean, Cagney likes her. And Cagney only likes merchants,” Dooley said, flopping to the ground and placing his towel over his head.
“That’s just the thing. Miss Dylan seems to be good and honorable—and she is truly delightful—but she’s Jarlath’s ward,” Callan said, cleaning his practice rapier with practiced and efficient motions.
“Ahhhh.”
“Ahhhh, indeed,” Callan frowned, taking a cloth to his sword. “I want her to be innocent and oblivious of Jarlath’s ways. She is…” he trailed off, unable to put the upheaval his heart was going through into words. She was unknown, and his position required discernment. Too much was at stake. “I need better control,” Callan said, his frown sharpening into a scowl.
“Well, she can’t have been his ward when you were shipwrecked. That was near Glenglassera, and Jarlath lives on the opposite side of Ringsted.”
“Correct,” Callan’s frown deepened.
“And that worries you even more?” Dooley guessed.
Callan polished his rapier for a few more moments before he nodded. “She may be a part of his scheme.”
“Have you received any intelligence about whatever scam he’s running?” Dooley asked.
“No. My best agents are still stranded outside of Ringsted thanks to these blasted storms. I should have called some of them in before winter, but I wanted to learn more about Erlauf and Loire’s new princesses.”
“That will teach you for being nosey,” Dooley said, picking his towel off his face to show a good natured, sunny grin. After a few moments, his smile dimmed. “Although I feel your pain. Some of White Sands’ best men are stranded outside of Ringsted, too. Cagney and my parents are struggling to find a way to communicate with them. But can’t any of your spies and agents here in Ringsted find information on Jarlath’s activities? You know he’s up to something—he has to be connected with the bandits somehow.”
“But to what end? And how did he get such a ring of thievery in place? He can’t have known the storms would worsen and cut us off,” Callan said, putting his practice rapier in its stand just inside the room.
“What I’m curious to know is how did he find enough men to play the part of brigand? Our Ringsted sailors are struggling, but I’m certain only a few of them have taken up thievery to supplement their income,” Dooley said.
“With so many unanswered questions, I find it hard to believe Miss Dylan’s arrival is a coincidence,” Callan said, leaning against the doorframe.
“That’s what’s bothering you,” Dooley declared. “You are worried Dylan is his ally in all of this.”
“She is his ward.”
“You said that already. I take it you assume that means she’s not trustworthy,” Dooley said.
Callan shrugged.
“Then give her a chance. Observe her and judge for yourself. I don’t think that girl has it in her. She doesn’t mask herself as you do. She’s more like me; she is neither a part of nor a victim of court antics and games,” Dooley said. “I suspect she is not with Jarlath by choice.”
Callan’s watched the mysterious girl as her mountain-men guards fished her out of the ocean. “I can’t make a decision based on my gut. I’m a prince. If she’s under Jarlath, I cannot risk that she will spy on his behalf. I must make myself simply observe her—for the sake of my country.”
“Whatever makes you happy. As I mentioned before, Cagney likes her, so I am inclined to allow her into our company,” Dooley grunted.
As if she was being summoned, Cagney threw open the door of the prince’s sitting room.
“Lord Dooley!” she said, her voice shrill when she spotted the big lord splayed out on the stone balcony like a drunkard. “You have a breakfast meeting at the next bell! You cannot attend it looking like a sweaty pig!”
“Oh, that’s too bad. I guess you’ll have to go in my place, jewel of my soul,” Dooley said, blinking his mournful eyes.
Cagney’s eyes narrowed with rage.
“Both of you are coming to Mother’s dinner tonight, yes?” Callan asked.
“Your Highness, I apologize for my poor manners. Yes, we will be in attendance,” Cagney said. She moved to curtsey, but Callan waved her off.
“Do you want us to keep an eye on your budding ocean flower?” Dooley asked as he peeled himself off the cool balcony.
“If you wouldn’t mind. I look forward to seeing you then,” Callan said.
“As do we, Your Highness. Thank you. Now, if you would excuse us,” Cagney said.
“Of course. Enjoy your breakfast meeting,” Callan said.
Cagney gave Dooley an acidic look before striding from the room.
Dooley winced. “I had best go after her. If I don�
�t hurry, she’ll have me clothed in something halfway decent.”
“Good luck,” Callan said.
“Thank you, I shall need it. Until tonight?”
“Until tonight.”
Dylan’s dress and shoes made squishing sounds as she walked down the palace hall, still damp from her morning swim. She would have stayed out longer, but Lump—the “talker” of her two guards—ordered her “Inside” in a deep and forbidding voice.
Plus, Dylan’s stomach was rumbling, and if she wanted to visit the kitchens, she needed to be dressed in a dry gown.
Dylan squooshed her way down the hallway, pausing just outside of Jarlath’s room to stare at his door with a heavy heart.
The selkies weren’t moving up the coast—probably because of all the human activity at the Summer Palace. It was only natural. They had no reason to think she would be in the Summer Palace, and they would never risk accidentally revealing themselves with so many humans around. She would have to retrieve her pelt and face Jarlath and the sea witch alone. But she still didn’t understand how Jarlath was benefiting from the partnership with the sea witch.
First order of business, I must search for my pelt. Then, I must discover his secrets. Nothing like the present. She found his door unlocked, so she threw it open.
Jarlath, having recovered from the festival, was up. He was fussing with his black waistcoat in front of a mirror. “Where have you—ew. You smell like a fish,” Jarlath said, wrinkling his nose. “Send your dress to be cleaned—we’ve been invited to tonight’s royal dinner and ball—the first of the season. You can’t go looking like a fisherman’s daughter.”
Dylan was not much impressed with Jarlath’s proclamation. She ignored him and peered around his room, taking inventory of possible hiding places.
Jarlath scowled at his reflection. “The green coat looks better,” he decided, removing his waistcoat and grabbing a different jacket. Based on the clothes strewn across his bed, he had been at this for some time.
When Dylan eyed his almost empty armoire, Jarlath realized she was still there. “I told you ’bout the invitation. Now scat! Go scrub yourself down until you don’t reek of sea water,” Jarlath said.
I’ll have to come back when he’s gone. Dylan found it disappointing that the ruddy-faced lord no longer had a massive headache when she kicked his door shut.
She meandered across the hall to her own rooms. She was about to duck inside when Lump cleared his throat.
Dylan turned to look at her guards.
Bump exhaled a grunt and flipped a dagger in the air with the grace and confidence.
“Oisin says he’ll find a maid to bring you warm water,” Lump said in deep, baritone voice. “I’ll stay here. After you’re clean, gimme your dress. I’ll send it out to be cleaned.”
He’s very different—they’re very different—from Jarlath and the rest of his men, Dylan thought. She nodded to show she understood before slipping into her room. But they are still Jarlath’s toads. I do not smell. But…I will not put my pelt in danger over such a trifle. Tonight, I will wear my yellow gown. Again.
Chapter 7
Parties and Portraits
When the time for the party came, Dylan’s saffron dress was still a little damp, but she put it on anyway—even she knew enough not to wear her red gown two nights in a row. Jarlath stayed in his room all afternoon, and he made Dylan go with him to find his friends. Thwarted again.
“Tonight will be tricky for you, little fish. You need to stay with me for a bit, but if I start talking with a gal, you best take yourself elsewhere. Wouldn’t do any good for them to think I’m with you,” Jarlath instructed as they walked the perimeter of the brightly lit ballroom.
Dylan ignored him, disappointed to see that the ball was pretty much a repeat of the marina opening. The attendees wore fancier clothing, the music was slower, and the dancing gliding, polished movements. Nothing seemed different—except the grand location, and Dylan felt there probably wouldn’t be any fireworks given the indoor setting.
“Lord Jarlath, I didn’t know you were here. I didn’t see you at the marina opening last night,” an older man said.
“I was sick,” Jarlath said.
“Ah, how unfortunate. But I do recall your companion. She’s very…eye-catching,” the man said, studying Dylan from head to toe.
“She’s exotic alright,” Jarlath said with a grin.
“Father, did you see Lady Darra? Her dress is hideous—oh, hello, Jarlath,” a petite young lady with orange-red hair said. “I haven’t seen you around in a while.” She glanced at Dylan.
Dylan took the opportunity to remove her hand from Jarlath’s arm.
“Ah, Lady Kellah, I was about to introduce my ward to your father,” Jarlath said. Behind his back he flapped his hand, motioning Dylan to leave.
What if he talks to his sardine friend and red-faced friend? They might be in on his plan with the sea witch. His company is as welcome as a sea slug’s, but I still haven’t figured out how he’s profiting from this! Dylan stood her ground with no enthusiasm.
“Oh?” Lady Kellah said, her voice dubious.
“Indeed. I am caring for her while—” Jarlath said before launching into an elaborate lie about Dylan’s arrival into his life.
Dylan tapped her foot and watched Jarlath try to flirt with Lady Kellah. Jarlath was eager to get rid of her—he tried to discreetly kick at her, but Dylan just backed away a few paces.
When Jarlath waxed poetic for five minutes about Lady Kellah’s beauty, Dylan feared she might soon expire out of boredom.
Does he have no sense of responsibility? Why is he not seeking out his comrades? I am much ashamed I was caught by him, Dylan thought, looking out at the crowd in her boredom. On the opposite side of the room, a flash of bright green caught her eye. A tall man who looked like a long strand of seaweed in his lush green waistcoat and trousers stood next to a young lady wearing a subdued, plum-colored gown.
Lord Dooley and Cagney, Dylan thought. She glanced at Jarlath and wallowed in a moment of indecision. I need to hunt out his plans, but this is so boring.
Across the room, Dooley said something, and Cagney cracked him in the face with her lace fan.
That’s it. I can always come back and follow Jarlath around when he’s done embarrassing himself. She walked in the direction of the young lord and his assistant.
When Dylan drew close enough to the pair, she saw that Lord Dooley had gone the extra distance to make his outfit hideous and had procured boots in the same string-bean-green color as his clothes. His eyes lit up when Dylan reached them. “Miss Dylan—I thought you might attend tonight’s fun. How are you?”
I am well. You two? Dylan wrote.
“We are fantastic. I love parties—although Cagney ruined my entrance on this one.” Dooley frowned.
“Being hauled into the party in a cart would not make you look noble, it would make you look like a foolish drunk who can’t keep his own feet under him,” Cagney frowned. “And at this early an hour.”
“That’s Cagney for you,” Dooley said. “She wants to make sure I look like a proper drunk and not a lightweight.”
“I said nothing of the sort,” Cagney snapped.
“But you did, my heart. You see straight into my soul,” Dooley said, taking Cagney’s hands and patting them.
Cagney ripped her hands out of Dooley’s grip and gave him a withering glare before she turned to Dylan. “Is your guardian with you tonight?”
Dylan nodded.
“Would you like to eat with us? Jarlath does not strike me as the most attentive of guardians; he may forget you in the excitement,” Cagney offered.
I HOPE he forgets me, Dylan wrote with disgust.
“So you will break your bread with us?” Dooley asked with a kind smile. One of his brown curls hung in his face, accenting his handsome features.
Do they only serve bread at parties like this? Dylan wrote, thinking she should have grabbed a snack at the kitch
en before coming.
“No,” Dooley laughed. “It’s a full-course, sit-down dinner. I’ll go see someone about having you placed with us. It would be my pleasure to escort the two most beautiful ladies in the room to dinner,” Dooley said, dodging the blow Cagney meant to give him. “I will be but a moment, ladies—though my heart will pine for you, Cag—ow.” Dooley moved too slowly, so Cagney was able to smack his shoulder with her fan.
“Idiot,” Cagney muttered as the tall nobleman moved off. “A cow has more sense.”
He’s funny, Dylan wrote.
“Do not tell him you think so—I beg of you! It will encourage him,” Cagney said, twisting her lace fan.
As you wish. Is there any food out, or do we have to wait until dinner?
Cagney read Dylan’s question before she shook her head. “There are some refreshments already available. This way, I believe.”
Dylan followed Cagney to a table of food. The snacks were not as plentiful as they had been the previous night, but Dylan was happy to have any at all. She had just taken a little plate and put a sampling of a few sausages on it, when someone said her name.
“Miss Dylan, is it? Not even any parents to cite—how pitiable.”
Dylan turned around to face Lady Kellah, the woman Jarlath had greeted—apparently it hadn’t turned out quite how he was hoping—and several other ladies.
Cagney shifted uneasily and looked back and forth between Dylan and Lady Kellah.
Dylan knew she was being baited, but the sausage was more interesting. She took a bite. What is this? Pork? Is there such a thing as chicken sausage?
“She looks pitiable,” one of the other ladies said, flicking a fan open. “Did you buy a peasant girl’s best dress?”
“Lady Darra, that’s unkind,” another said. “I imagine it would be most difficult to find enough cloth to fit such a tall, not to mention muscular frame.”
No, not pork. It tastes funny. Dylan thought. She saw a tray of honey glazed rolls. She picked one up, put it on a plate, and handed it to Cagney.
Cagney blinked but accepted the plate.