Queens of the Sea Read online

  ‘What manner of markings are these?’ she asked.

  ‘Greetings to you too, Bluebell,’ he said with amusement. ‘And you, Ash.’

  Ash, who had joined them, embraced Heath then stood back. ‘Forgive us,’ she said. ‘It’s a matter of some urgency. This bogle charm has attached itself to Bluebell.’

  Heath peered at the markings, then said, ‘Gwr-y-Aírd. The Wildwalkers. Not your greatest supporters.’

  The Wildwalkers were nomadic, moving from fell to fell in the fine months, then down into the caves for winter. ‘I’ll never find them,’ Bluebell cursed.

  ‘You will, for their chieftan and her band are here for the assembly. They have camped in the coomb.’ Heath folded Bluebell’s fingers over the haft of the axe. ‘But it can wait until tomorrow, can it not? You should come in and see Rose and – you should come in.’

  ‘I would rather get this done,’ Bluebell said, raising her hand to signal for her horse to be returned to her.

  ‘Bluebell,’ Ash said, grasping her wrist and pulling it down. ‘The horses need rest and so do we.’

  ‘The town is full,’ Heath said. ‘You and Ash can stay with us, but your hearthband will have to camp. The weather will hold.’

  Bluebell glanced back at her men, the few who were left. They deserved better than sleeping under the stars. ‘Can you organise hospitality for them at the local alehouse at least?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Bluebell looked to Ash, who nodded once. ‘We will go inside then and see our sister.’

  Heath gave orders and instructions to his attendants, then the three of them headed to the house, with Hyld loping at their heels.

  Rose practically leapt on them the moment the door opened on the warm interior of the roundhouse. Ash was in her arms, and then a second later she was pressing her softly rounded body against Bluebell’s gristly armoured one. She bent to offer greetings to Hyld as well, and the dog revelled in her pats and confirmations that she was indeed a ‘good girl’. All of Bluebell’s dogs had liked Rose, which Bluebell took as a confirmation of her sister’s worth.

  ‘How long will you stay? Do you have bags to bring in? Where are the rest of your band?’ Rose asked, not pausing to hear answers. ‘Oh, it is so good to see my sisters.’

  ‘Rose,’ Heath said, standing back a few paces from the flurry of embraces. ‘Where are … the children?’

  ‘Children?’ Bluebell asked. She had met Rose’s mute boy Linden before, but she could not have squeezed out another bastard in the time since Bluebell had last seen her, could she?

  ‘I told them to wait until …’ Rose turned to Bluebell. ‘Rowan is here.’

  A small note of alarm rang in Bluebell’s guts. ‘What? Does Wengest know?’

  Rose shook her head. ‘She ran away, she –’

  ‘I ran away because I did not want to marry.’

  Bluebell turned to see that Rowan had emerged from the bower, Linden next to her, grasping her hand tightly. Linden wore a permanently terrified expression whenever Bluebell was around, something Bluebell found far more tiresome than the fact that he was a perfectly intelligent child who chose not to speak. Though she also found that tiresome.

  ‘Well, little chicken. What am I supposed to say?’ Bluebell spread her hands. ‘Of all the places to go …’

  Ash approached and took Linden by the hand. ‘Come along, Linden. I’ll take you outside.’

  ‘No,’ said Rowan. ‘Bluebell and I will go somewhere to talk about this. It is between her and me.’

  Bluebell had to admit she was impressed by the steel in the girl’s voice. A lesser young woman might whine or make excuses or avoid her.

  Rose and Heath exchanged glances. Linden clung to Ash’s hand so hard his knuckles turned white.

  ‘Very well,’ Bluebell said.

  ‘Be careful who sees you,’ Heath blurted as Rowan reached for the door.

  ‘We won’t leave the compound,’ Rowan assured him.

  Outside, Rowan led Bluebell to the wooden scaffold that held up the huge bronze dish of the watch fire. ‘I climbed up here at dawn yesterday,’ Rowan said, pulling herself up on the first beam. ‘You can see forever.’

  Bluebell followed her, hand over hand up the tall ladder. The breeze stiffened. They were soon at the top, on the platform where the watchman stood during war. The dish was covered, but Bluebell knew that under the oiled skin was enough fuel for a blaze that would be seen for miles around.

  Rowan sat, her feet dangling off the edge, and Bluebell sat with her. Rowan was right. The view was spectacular. Dramatic fells, the weak sun on the distant sea, the broad green arrows of forests. She took a moment to enjoy the view, then said, ‘You should have come to Snowy and me.’

  ‘You would have sent me back. You would have made me marry Wulfgar.’

  ‘Wulfgar is a good match.’

  ‘I’m in love with his sister.’

  Bluebell groaned. ‘Why must you and your mother fall in love so fucking inconveniently?’

  ‘You can’t choose who you love.’

  ‘You can’t choose what family you are born to either, and it happens that you have been born into great privilege. You will have to earn it at some point.’

  ‘I will. I do not mind serving my people … the tribes, Netelchester, Ælmesse … but don’t make me marry a man whose sister I have lain with.’

  ‘You should have come to us,’ Bluebell repeated. ‘If Wengest finds you are here, it may threaten peace in Thyrsland.’

  ‘He won’t find me. If he goes looking for me, he’ll go direct to you at Blicstowe. He doesn’t even know where Mama lives. Besides … I thought she might be more understanding than you.’

  ‘I know you better than her,’ Bluebell said gruffly. ‘She’s all but a stranger to you.’

  ‘Nobody knows me well,’ Rowan countered. ‘Perhaps Snowy did for a while. But I have never been firmly anchored, although many have claimed me as their own. Sought to anchor themselves to me.’

  Bluebell considered this. It was true, and Bluebell herself had been one of those who had tried to position Rowan for her own ends. She reminded herself that the girl was young. ‘You’re right,’ she said, eyes going to the horizon. ‘You’re too young to marry Wulfgar. Too young to marry Annis too, so don’t ask. Though I’m almost tempted to say yes to piss off the trimartyrs.’

  Rowan’s body visibly relaxed. ‘Really?’

  ‘Return to Wengest and I will come to see him in a few weeks so we can make other plans.’

  ‘I can’t return. Not yet.’

  Bluebell frowned. ‘Rowan, the longer you stay the more likely Wengest is to find you here. You do understand the peace between Ælmesse and Netelchester relies on you and Rose never seeing each other?’

  ‘Bluebell, three nights ago Connacht’s ghost came to me, marked me.’ She indicated the tattoo on her cheek.

  Bluebell peered at Rowan’s face. The pattern on her cheek had changed by some magical means that Bluebell would never understand nor feel comfortable with. ‘Connacht of the West?’ She heard the note of impressed awe in her voice and suppressed it. Connacht had a mighty reputation, but his relationship with Ælmesse had been tense. ‘He never liked me.’

  ‘I am sure you are used to the first folk disliking you, Aunt Bluebell,’ Rowan said with a mischievous smile. ‘But if Connacht has spoken to me from the grave, perhaps I’m important to the tribes. Perhaps I can unite them.’

  Heath was a good war leader, had served alongside Bluebell in the Ælmessean army. Ærfolc weapons and strategies were weak. He had brought them methods for smelting fine steel and shield-formation battle tactics. After he’d successfully repelled raiders at Moonhorn villages along the coast, Druimach became one of the few places never besieged. They did not dare. But there were those that needed more than a war leader; they needed somebody who could lead their spirits.

  ‘The tribes should unite simply because they’ll all be burned alive if they don’t
,’ Bluebell huffed. ‘But I know once united, the tribes are more likely to turn to Renward for protection.’ Renward was in allegiance with Bluebell. She allowed herself a moment of imagining one strong allied army of the west of Thyrsland, from southern tip to northern border. ‘How often have you seen him?’

  ‘Once. Briefly. I have been back to the sacred grove again but it has remained silent …’

  ‘The trouble with ghosts,’ Bluebell muttered. ‘Live people are unreliable enough. Dead ones worse.’

  ‘I feel called to this task,’ Rowan said. ‘I want to stay.’

  ‘You can have until midwinter,’ Bluebell said impulsively. ‘When I am home in a few days, I will send word to Wengest that you are with me, and that I will bring you back after midwinter. That should put him off the scent.’

  Rowan’s smile lit up her face. In that grin, Bluebell could still see the little girl she had been a few years past. ‘Thank you.’

  Bluebell deliberately made her voice gruff. ‘Just don’t fall in love with anyone and fuck up all my plans. See if you can keep your heart locked and your legs crossed. If you need advice on that, ask anybody other than your mother.’

  ‘I’m not afraid of you when you’re grumpy,’ Rowan teased.

  ‘You should be.’

  Rowan laughed it off.

  When Bluebell said she was meeting her hearthband at the alehouse and Ash hurried to accompany her, Rose had leapt to her feet and said, ‘I am coming too.’ She knew Ash was part of Bluebell’s retinue, but to see her sisters go off without her when she was already so excluded from their lives had made her sting with jealousy. Bluebell had patted her twice on the back. ‘If you like, sister,’ she’d said.

  Linden, understanding that Rose intended to leave him, began to shift from foot to foot, and Rowan – bless her – had stepped in to play a game with him.

  Then Rose was free.

  Alehouses in Druimach were different to the ones in Blicstowe. For one thing, they didn’t call them alehouses, but rather a cyafallar, which meant something akin to ‘meeting floor’. For another, they contained little furniture. Rather, guests sat on woven rugs on the hard-packed dirt floor, jostling for position close to the hearth, or stood leaning on a long rail bolted to the wall. Rose sat with Ash on a rich red rug, sipping mead from a wooden cup and waiting for Bluebell to finish talking with her hearthband. The tall, strapping Thyrslanders drew attention; some admiring, some hostile. Bluebell herself, pale hair brushed loose and long limbs encased in gleaming mail, caught the eye of everyone who entered the cyafallar. Rose felt a twinge of jealousy: every citizen of Druimach knew she was from the same family, but she did not command the same respect and awe. Most of her life she’d been more beautiful than Bluebell, who was plain to start with and plainer still after she’d had her best friend break her nose; now as Rose grew older she could see power was more coveted than beauty, and everyone she loved seemed to have it but her.

  She hadn’t quite made her peace with these thoughts before Bluebell came to sit with them, setting down her cup and folding her long legs in front of her. ‘Damned uncomfortable places, these Ærfolc alehouses,’ she said.

  ‘How are the rest of the hearthband?’ Ash asked, and Rose noticed her eyes lingered on Sighere.

  ‘Morale is low. We need to get home.’ Bluebell glanced around the room. ‘For many reasons. This part of Thyrsland isn’t friendly.’

  ‘To you,’ Rose admonished gently. ‘They like me.’

  Bluebell shrugged as though she didn’t care. She probably didn’t. ‘Your Rowan will fix all that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The girl is from two great bloodlines. She could unite the tribes and bring them into treaty with Ælmesse. A united Thyrsland, south to north.’

  ‘That’s a lot for her young shoulders,’ Rose said, maternal instinct squeezing her heart.

  ‘She wasn’t born to sit around and sew,’ Bluebell said. ‘Despite what Wengest’s chinless wife insists.’

  ‘She can sit around and sew with Marjory a little longer yet,’ Rose said lightly. ‘It’s safer.’

  Bluebell shook her head. ‘She’s not going back to Folcenham, at least not yet. I want to give her a chance to get to know her people.’

  ‘She’s staying?’ Rose was at once delighted and terrified. ‘When was this decided? Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I’m telling you now,’ Bluebell said.

  Ash, ever the diplomat, intervened. ‘Rose is only being protective, Bluebell. It’s natural for her to worry.’

  ‘What is there to worry about?’

  ‘Rowan’s safety,’ Rose said hotly. ‘And Linden’s. What if Wengest finds out where she is and comes to find her, and finds him instead? Am I to lose both of them?’

  Bluebell held out her hands in a calm-down gesture. ‘I’ll take care of Wengest. Rowan can get to know her people, and maybe learn some military strategy from Heath. And you can have her in your house from the time you wake up until the time you go to sleep. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Rose said, sighing. ‘How I long for ordinary problems sometimes. Don’t you?’

  ‘No, never,’ Bluebell said.

  ‘Sometimes,’ Ash conceded.

  Rose did not press the idea, and talk turned elsewhere; but she felt very strongly the burden of public life. She had neither the might of an army to command like Bluebell, nor the control of ancient undermagic like Ash. All of the obligation of life as a highborn woman, with none of the power to bend her own fate.

  At first light, Ash woke to the sound of Bluebell trying to speak quietly to Heath and Rowan by the door. She lay there by the smouldering embers and listened for a moment, came to understand that Heath was slipping out with Rowan to introduce her to his closest advisors and make plans to reveal her presence to the tribes at the assembly in a few days. Bluebell was offering her best advice to Rowan, which included ‘look them right in the eyes’, ‘don’t smile at all’, and ‘don’t answer their questions too quickly; silence intimidates’. Ash might have laughed: Bluebell had tried every one of these strategies on her over the years, and they always worked.

  Finally, Rowan and Heath left quietly and Bluebell came to sit by the fire and poke the embers, throwing on some kindling and bringing it back to life. ‘She should take over from him,’ Bluebell said.

  ‘He’s a good war leader. You trained him yourself.’ Ash sat up, pushing her hair from her eyes. ‘And she’s very young.’

  Bluebell shrugged. ‘Heath’s pride will prevent him from making good decisions. You will see.’

  Ash opened her mouth to answer but then the door to the bower opened and Rose emerged, sleepy-faced Linden in tow. ‘Where are they?’ she asked. ‘Not gone already?’

  ‘They will be back before long,’ Bluebell said dismissively.

  Rose sank to her knees next to Bluebell. ‘Will you stay? Until the end of the tribal assembly? It would be good to have you here while Rowan … I am so worried for her.’

  But Bluebell was already shaking her head and saying, ‘Absolutely not,’ and Ash wished that sometimes Bluebell could be a little gentler with Rose.

  Linden had plopped down beside Ash and leaned into her.

  Rose raised her voice. ‘What if one of these disgruntled Ærfolc takes a dislike to her? What if Rathcruick turns up? If you were here I’d –’

  Bluebell raised a hand to stop her talking. ‘I have pressing business with the Wildwalkers and then I must get home. My men have taken a terrible blow. I have widows to visit.’

  Linden looked up at Ash and she could see concern in his eyes. Bluebell could be a terrifying sight to a gentle little boy, Ash imagined, but especially so when berating his mother. ‘Come and show me your maps,’ Ash said, standing and lifting him to his feet.

  Linden jammed his thumb in his mouth and, with one last nervous glance at Bluebell and Rose, headed off towards the bower.

  Ash opened the shutter to
let light and cool air in while Linden rummaged for his box. But instead of giving her the maps to look at, he took out a fresh piece of vellum and set up his inks.

  ‘Are you going to draw for me?’

  He didn’t answer, but kept drawing. Confident lines.

  Ash thought about what Rowan had told her the night before. He finds things. No doubt Yldra had given him the ability to assist her: having a small, able-bodied child to run out for blindweed and nightshade, to easily locate thornhand and dog parsley in the gaps between rocks, would have been a boon for an elderly cripple like her. But it was not simply plants he could locate, according to Rowan. The ghost of Connacht. The very thing Rowan needed the most to find.

  She reached across and slid a finished map out of his lap. These detailed representations of the town, the surrounds … were they all maps that led to something? Something that needed to be found?

  She leafed through them for a little while. Bluebell’s and Rose’s voices grew heated in the next room, and then conciliatory again. Bluebell was many things, but her loyalty to her family – her sisters especially – always won out. Maybe Bluebell would elect to leave Sighere behind to keep a watch on Rowan. If she did, then Ash vowed she would tell Bluebell of their love affair herself, and ask to stay with him.

  Linden bumped her with his elbow and slid the map he’d been drawing into her hands. It wasn’t as detailed as the others were, but that was because it was drawn hastily and its scope was much larger. She recognised the ragged coastline of Thyrsland, the rivers Gemærea and Wuldorea, and all their winding tributaries: things he could never have seen rendered as if he had spread wings above them. He had drawn a tiny roundhouse, precisely where Druimach would be, and a route of little arrows down and down, south and west, and across the sea to the Brenci Isles: uninhabited rocky islands that had been the site of a famously doomed expedition of Ælmessean second sons from fifty years past, who – if the tale-tellers could be believed – had eventually resorted to eating each other.