Part III continued
"The Dreadful Wale"
Chapter 29
His Grace Prince Finbar O'Brien of Wynnedown, the Queen of Morley's own son and heir, had arrived on a pleasure barge with a small army aboard, his gaudy golden ship flanked by two austere warships for protection.
The Churner, an iron-black whaling ship, was the fourth ship and though it flew Morley flags, I did not believe it was originally part of the Prince's entourage. The men and women aboard were poor whale hunters, dressed in tattered, sea-stained clothing with hardened faces. They were civilians whereas the Prince and his ships were under the Queen of Morley.
Dougal spotted his wife at the rail of the Churner––a little blonde woman in an apron––and waved to her, but their happy reunion would have to wait. The Royal Protector had ordered all the ships to fall back beyond shouting distance.
Corvo insisted we would have our meeting, here, on the Dreadful Wale.
At first, the Prince could only laugh. "Forgive me, Lord Protector, but won't Her Majesty be more comfortable on my ship?"
Patronizing arrogance bled into his question as he eyed Meagan's ship like it was beneath him.
"Her Majesty's safety is all I care about." There was a cold edge to my father's voice. "I don't know the men on your ship, Prince Finbar."
I realized Corvo feared being outnumbered if the unthinkable happened. My Royal Protector was a great swordsman––some even claimed he was on par with the ancient Sword-Singers of Serkonos––but there was no disguising the fact that, without his Mark, his ability to protect me was markedly diminished.
"As you wish, Lord Protector," the Prince said, "but I should like to build a reception worthy of the Empress of the Isles! Allow my servants to bring aboard a few things."
"A few things?" I repeated, intrigued.
"To illustrate Morley's continued allegiance to the Crown. As a representative of the Queen, I can assure you, Morley has no desire to be fair weather friends. We are with you, Empress, through thick and thin."
Touched by the sentiment, I smiled at the Prince. He was a handsome man with dark purple eyes and bronzy red hair.
And he bloody well knows it, I thought. The Prince radiated charm, a sultry confidence that turned the eye.
"I don't see the harm," I said, glancing at Corvo in deference. I would leave the final decision up to him. I watched Corvo grind his jaw in reluctance, but he, too, yielded, nodding at the Prince.
So it was––with great pomp and circumstance––the Crown Prince of Morley readied our meeting aboard the Dreadful Wale by directing a great train of servants to and fro as they carried by hand––across a treacherous gangplank––all that we would need and more.
It didn't take long.
The servants worked with tireless efficiency as if the Prince often carried his palace as he willed, springing luxuries from the dirt. Within minutes, Foster's main deck hosted a majestic space as if one of the rooms in the Tower had literally been picked up and foisted upon the Dreadful Wale.
It was a great deal of furniture.
Three sumptuous sofas, so velvety red they reminded me of the Golden Cat. Two priceless blue-gold Tyvian carpets. And one ridiculously ostentatious throne chair with a high back. They positioned the furniture around a large table, which the servants then piled high with letters and correspondence, golden candelabras, and heaping silver plates of food and drink.
All of it surrounded one massive map in the middle.
A War Room, I mused, the map reminding me of one similar in my Tower wherein my generals and I would often congregate in times of crisis.
Not until the last servant had poured the wine and returned to the pleasure barge did Prince Finbar gesture broadly, offering me a seat at, of course, the curious throne chair. The entire ensemble looked painfully out of place against the worn, salt-stained planks of the Dreadful Wale.
And yet… it felt right.
This was my world. The trappings of royalty. I had lost my throne––its physical manifestation in the Tower––but my inner throne was still mine.
I was Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin the First, Empress of the Isles. I stepped onto the carpet. It sank softly beneath my feet.
"You didn't have to," I told the Prince, suddenly feeling quite sheepish. I was terribly underdressed. The clothes I'd borrowed from Meagan were far less refined than my own still drying in the cabin below.
Not to mention my hair looks a fright. The Prince might be the height of politeness, but even he had trouble keeping his purple-eyed gaze from drifting upwards to my unruly locks. I hadn't had time to bathe properly.
Even more aggravating, the Prince's own hair seemed impervious to wind. His hair was neatly oil-slicked, fashionably arranged in a noticeably different style than his tragically deceased body double.
The hair, the eyes, the personality… Void and stars, I had but one conclusion: I had ne'er before met the real Prince. While the facial resemblance was striking, his body double had been blue-eyed and considerably more pompous and irritating, pestering me with marriage proposals on a near weekly basis. I should like to have an explanation for the deception, I thought, but I would hold my tongue for now.
We had urgent business.
The USS Jessamine Kaldwin.
Intermittent gusts of wind blew over the main deck, ruffling the giant map spread over the table. The servants had weighed down the corners with heavy figurines, each sculpted in the shape of an apple. The Morleys were proud of their apple farms; they stretched back generations. It was said the first King of Morley had an apple for a heart and when he died, a great tree sprung from his grave––the Great Tree of Wynnedown––which still stands to this day, gnarled and unearthly tall in the center of their capital. It was a lovely bedtime story Callista had read me long ago, in the broken tower.
I took a seat and the rest followed.
Prince Finbar took up an entire sofa, spreading his arms wide over the wavy, gold-trimmed backrest. He looked at me with a lazy smile on his face, enjoying the great spectacle he had brought forth. Mister Alistair Fletcher, the master architect, hesitantly sat down on a different sofa with his daughter, Philly. They huddled close together, holding hands as they stared at everything around them with a mixture of anxiety and discomfort.
The last sofa was occupied by Princess Katya of Dabokva, lost in her fur-lined robes. The Prince apparently already knew her and had welcomed her with a chaste kiss on the cheek, for Tyvia and Morley were old allies. While her title of Princess was merely a cultural remnant, with no true power, she was married to a councilmen of the Presidium, an ear away from the High Judges who ruled Tyvia.
The Prince, however, was a royal with true power.
As the only son and heir of the Queen of Morley, he would one day rule the Isle of Morley––in my name. That is, when I take back what is mine, I thought.
The rest remained standing. The Royal Protector stood beside my makeshift throne, his hand casually resting on the pommel of his sword. He was like a shadow, dark and quiet. Dougal, my Morley giant, towered behind the Princess while Meagan stood even further back, leaning against the rail with her arms crossed, looking particularly sour to find her ship taken over by the Prince's extravagant belongings.
"I suppose we should let Mister Fletcher go first," the Prince ventured, reaching for a glass of Tyvian Red. "He's in a terrible state of worry, ever since he came to me, begging for asylum." He smiled at Philly over the rim of his glass. "Him and his lovely daughter."
Philly blushed, her shy brown eyes glued to the carpet. Mister Fletcher nervously twisted his cap, nodding over and over.
"Asylum?" I asked. "Mister Flet––"
"Highness, I swear I did what I co-cou-could," the master architect stammered, his brow beaded with sweat. "It was aw-awful what they did. I told the cuh-cuh commander I'll have no part of it. No part."
"Wine, Majesty?" the Prince offered, smiling pleasantly at me. I jabbed him an irritated look.
He poured me a glass nonetheless.
"Commander who?" I demanded, turning to the master architect, but he was too afraid to answer, his eyes wide and fear-specked. His daughter Philly squeezed his hand and faced me, a brave look on her face.
She was trying to be strong, for her father's sake. "Forgive my father, please, Your Highness. He stammers terribly when he's nervous."
"It's all right, Philly. Just start at the beginning."
She took a deep breath. "We were aboard the Jessamine when the coup happened. It was a bloodbath. Brother against brother. Half the crew were loyal to the Grand Admiral––to you––and the other half to Delilah." She shuddered, looking sick. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but your men were all taken by surprise. They… they had no chance."
"Dead," Mister Fletcher cried. "All dead."
Outwardly, I maintained control, though inside I wept and raged. My proud men. Slaughtered for me. Philly did not look away, her eyes sorrowful and horror-stricken. To have witnessed such a thing… More than one hundred men of the Navy's finest had manned the Jessamine. Undoubtedly, the fighting had been vicious and bloody.
Mister Fletcher squeezed his daughter's hand, whispering something I couldn't hear. Philly hurriedly added, "Right, but not Sir Edward Slattery. We believe that because of his rank, he was taken prisoner instead. He could still be alive."
I swallowed hard, praying it was so. The last time I'd seen the Grand Admiral, he'd given my father and I a grand tour of the Jessamine after the parade. It's where I'd first met Mister Fletcher, later inviting him to the Sunset Regalia.
It seemed like a long time ago.
I gripped the arms of my chair, the polished grain smooth beneath my fingers. "Who now commands the flagship?"
Who betrayed me?
"Commander Kittredge of the Wrenhaven River Patrol," the Prince said, leisurely sipping and swirling his wine. "Delilah elevated him to Grand Admiral."
I glanced at Captain Foster, sharing a dark look. Commander Kittredge had been one of the faces on her blackboard. Too late, I thought miserably. The traitor has already played his part.
Even worse, the Prince's implication hit home; it had been my choice to elevate Sir Edward Slattery to Grand Admiral over other candidates––like Commander Kittredge of the Wrenhaven River Patrol. Did he betray me because I passed him by?
Feeling heartsick, I reached for a glass of wine, but Corvo suddenly snapped forward and pushed my hand away.
Startled, the Prince said, "Is something wrong––oh, that's right! No Royal Taster." He looked around the table. "Well, would anyone like to step up to the task? I'd offer to do it myself, as I have a great fondness for wine"––he laughed––"but I fear that is not good enough for our great Royal Protector."
My father simply said, "Agent Walsh."
Dougal nodded at Corvo. Grim-faced, he moved around the table and took up the wine glass. We all watched in silence as he swung back a mouthful, and when he didn't appear to froth at the mouth or die on the spot, Corvo conceded, allowing Dougal to hand the cup to me.I held it like it was poison, suddenly not thirsty. And yet it was obviously safe.
I stared at the Prince, taking a slow sip. It was delicious; Tyvian Red was unabashedly my favorite. Did he know that? How much had his body double told him about me?
His purple eyes glimmered like amethysts, watching me. "I can assure you, Empress. Poison would not be my first choice." He sounded almost bored.
"Oh? What would be?" I asked, mirroring his bored tone.
He shook his head and smiled, slicking back his hair. "I am many things––but not a coward. If Morley meant to betray you to Delilah, I would not be here now, offering my hospitality and friendship."
"Of course," I said, a cold knot forming in my stomach. I put the wine down, not trusting myself to hold the cup steady. "And I appreciate your… patience. Times are… interesting."
"Too interesting for me," the Prince smiled, wiggling his eyebrows. "I plan to return to Morley post haste. The Fletchers have requested asylum and I mean to grant it. I extend the same courtesy to you, Empress. The Queen of Morley would welcome you with open arms."
I bit the inside of my cheek. I have no doubt. The elderly monarch would love for me to be in her debt.
In recent years, the Isle of Serkonos had risen in power and wealth, driven by incredible gains in silver mining and windmill technology, whereas Morley had stagnated. Poetry, music, and food could only get them so far. Not only that, but the elite of Gristol often retired to the warmer south, taking with them their wealth and invaluable social ties.
No one went north. No one but poor farmers looking for fertile land or poor whalers looking for elusive beasts.
And so the Queen of Morley had courted my favor for years, even sending me Rosemary, a cultural gift. Did the Queen know her gift was poisoned?
Either way, I dared not take the low hanging fruit.
"I appreciate the offer, Prince Finbar," I said, "but my destiny lies south if I am to defeat Delilah."
"But you would be safe," he stressed. His purple eyes flicked upwards to my father. "Is that not your single mind, Lord Protector? To keep the Empress of the Isles out of harm's way?"
I didn't wait for my father to answer. I blurted, "Of course, but––"
"But you are in terrible danger," the Prince said, gesturing towards the Fletchers. "Please, Your Royal Highness. Hear the rest of their story, then decide."
I leaned back in my chair. "Very well."
All heads turned towards them. The Serkonan master twisted his cap and looked at his daughter, heartbreak in his eyes.
"They… it was…" Philly struggled to continue, all color leeching from her face. I realized, then, what she was trying to say. No…
"Did they…?" I started, but found myself equally tongue-tied.
Rape hit too close to home after Lord Cosimo's attempt in my study. And the Blind Sister's prophecy didn't help.
Philly wouldn't look at me.
The Prince poured himself more wine and relaxed against the sofa. He took up the spotlight and said, rather conversationally, "The Commander took poor Philly hostage, threatening to kill her if Mister Fletcher didn't cooperate. They wanted him alive to help repair the Jessamine. Apparently, the flagship took considerable damage during the pirate attack."
"Good," Captain Foster muttered, glowering in the back.
The Prince raised his wine cup towards me as though offering a toast, a handsome grin on his face. "An interesting tactic using vagabonds and whalers, Your Majesty."
"I have the Captain to thank for that," I said, nodding towards Meagan. Again, she met my gaze, but this time the Captain's eyes were dark with secrets. I still had no idea how she organized the pirate attack––and I suddenly realized that perhaps I didn't want to know.
"So how did you two get away?" I asked the Fletchers.
"Sabotage," Mister Fletcher said, his eyes bright. "No one quite knows the Jessamine like I do. I designed her. Every piece of her is a part of me."
He looked away, tears welling in his eyes.
Philly squeezed her father's hand. She took a deep breath and said, "We stole the Jessamine's skiff. Their only skiff. With the engines sabotaged, they were unable to follow us. We sailed downriver and found others like us, others trying to escape the coup."
Dougal spoke up, "That's how you came upon the Churner?"
"Yes, kind sir," Philly said, nodding shyly. "Then during the night, we spotted the Prince's ships. We knew Morley was our best hope!"
"That's when they told me their sad story," the Prince said. "I knew at once I had to try and find you, Empress. Mister Fletcher insisted you were only a day's travel from Dunwall––that there was still time to warn you. Mister Fletcher believes Commander Kittredge knows you're heading south, to Karnaca, and specifically on the Dreadful Wale. Your ship was noticed."
I gaped at him, frozen in shock.
Philly spoke up, her voice high-pitched, tinged with fear, "My father has given you a head start, Your Majesty. Two or three days. That's how long he thinks you have until the Jessamine is operational again."
"They're coming," the master architect mumbled, rocking back and forth. "They're c-coming."
I glanced up at my father in dread. I was speechless.
But Corvo's rat eyes looked distant. Distracted.
"That is why I suggest you leave the Dreadful Wale as soon as possible, Your Majesty," the Prince said, raising a finger as he held his glass, gesturing like we were at a dinner party, discussing the latest gossip. "I can bring you north. I would be more than happy to. My warships will protect you on our journey, and with the Jessamine heading south and us moving north––yes, well… You can see why I believe we'll be in Wynnedown before you even know it."
I straightened in my chair, suddenly uncomfortable. "It's not a matter of choice, Prince Finbar. To sail north is to concede defeat."
"But Morley can help you. We have good men––"
"All the armies in the world can't help me. Delilah is no ordinary usurper."
The Prince gave me a shuttered look, his purple eyes glimmering. "Is it true she's a witch?"
"Yes." I twisted in my seat and touched my father's arm. "The Royal Protector put a sword through her heart, but she did not die. She is protected by black magic."
The Prince put down his wine, for once looking deeply unsettled. "I see."
He glanced out over the water, towards the Churner.
"Whalers are a superstitious lot," he said, in a quieter tone. "My men tell me they are spreading rumors that Dunwall Tower has been overrun by women dressed in black vines and poisonous flowers. Even now, they say, dark rituals are being performed over the dead, and Overseers are nowhere to be found."
"I believe High Overseer Khulan survived," I said with more confidence than I felt. "He will fight Delilah's evil pestilence."
"Still, Dunwall has fallen…"
By the Void, to hear it spoken out loud…
"And with Dunwall," the Prince went on, "Delilah now has Coldridge Prison to lock up her enemies too valuable to kill outright. I fear that is where Sir Edward Slattery is likely residing. The point is, Your Majesty, it pains me to see you like this, with so few allies and resources. Why not come with me and––"
"Thank you, Prince Finbar, but––"
The Prince stood, a gracious smile on his face. "Please, just think it over, Empress. My offer still stands. In the meantime, I am willing to delay for a few hours, but…" He shrugged, spreading his hands in apology. "I will be sailing north by sundown, with or without you. For now, enjoy this banquet"––he shot Dougal an amused look (my newly appointed Royal Taster it seemed)––"and the letters, papers, maps… All of it is yours, Your Majesty. It represents just a taste of what Morley has to offer."
I stared at him, mildly shocked that he would stand up before I had officially ended the meeting. He was breaking royal etiquette. Was he that arrogant?
Or scared, I thought, glancing at the Fletchers.
They stood and bowed, eager to return to the Prince's to sail north. With the Duke's involvement in Delilah's coup, Serkonos was not safe for them anymore.
Captain Foster approached the pair, talking quietly in a corner. Meanwhile, Princess Katya remained seated, though she looked tired enough to want to lie down. She'd been gravely silent during the entire exchange, her gaze worried and thoughtful. I knew all she cared about was finding Sokolov and returning to Tyvia with her newborn. With her advanced pregnancy, I feared she would have her baby aboard the Dreadful Wale.
With the meeting thus dispersed, Dougal came around and picked up one of the letters on the table. "Intelligence reports?"
The Prince nodded, tucking his hand inside his resplendent purple suit. "Of various kinds. Gang surveillance. Ship routes. Whale sightings." He glanced at Corvo. "I'm sure your own spies––"
I interrupted, "Did you say whale sightings?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. Let me show you."
I rose, joining him at the table's edge. I half-expected Corvo to jump between us, but when I glanced back at him, my father still looked distracted. His rat eyes were utterly fixated on the Ocean's waves. What in the Void…
"Here, Your Majesty," the Prince said, snatching my attention by taking my hand and placing my fingers over a span of waters to the southeast, about half-way between the Isles of Gristol and Serkonos. "Everyone knows the whales typically prefer the colder waters of the north, but lately they've been spotted migrating south for some strange reason."
"Yes, strange," I said, tensing slightly as the Prince turned into me, shifting his body closer.
His purple eyes were sultry as he spoke softly, nearer to my face than he'd ever been before. "I wish to apologize for my body double, Your Majesty."
"Oh?"
"I heard he was… insistent. All those marriage proposals." He attempted an embarrassed laugh, but he sounded more annoyed than anything. "I can assure you, that was my mother's doing."
"Was it?" I asked dryly.
"Yes, well, she has machinations like any ambitious woman. She desperately wants to see me wed, preferably to you, but I fear I'd make a terrible husband. Absolutely terrible." His voice dropped to a whisper as he glanced over his shoulder at Corvo––but I had a feeling my father wasn't even looking. "In truth, I am a restless man with little on my mind but good wine, sparkling seas, and beautiful, round women."
I coughed. "Round women?"
Across the table, Dougal spit out his wine, overhearing us. He'd been picking at the silver plates of food, testing the Prince's banquet.
But the Prince paid Dougal no mind; he seemed only concerned about Corvo. He's intimidated by him, I realized. Corvo had that effect.
Lucky for the Prince, my father was distracted.
"Mmhm." The Prince continued with his whispering, smiling conspiratorially at me. "I am only twenty-eight and already I have more bastards than Sokolov."
"Do you have a point, Prince Finbar?"
"I'm just being honest." He smiled handsomely. "We both know what it's like––the royal courts of the world. We have spent our entire lives being harassed by toadies: people who kiss us on one cheek, but slap the other. Or worse. Back-stabbers. Traitors. I know this thing with Delilah is frightful, but it's not surprising. No, not surprising at all. When you have power, everyone else wants it, too."
I couldn't disagree with him there.
He shook his head, laughing softly. "And so I've asked myself: Is it worth it? I'd rather enjoy the simpler things in life, far away from the brutal politics of the royal court. That's why I employed a body double. He dealt with all the ugliness. The political maneuverings. The jealous vipers. With that in mind, I have a humble request, Your Majesty."
"What?" I asked flatly.
"When you write to the Queen, tell her you accept my marriage proposal, but we must delay the nuptials given the current crisis. Not a commitment––we will both know the truth. Just a pretty lie to get her off my back."
"Are you serious?" I didn't know whether to feel outraged or amused or just plain dumbfounded.
"Yes. It will stop the Queen's incessant badgering. All I want is to be left alone, to sail the Ocean, drowning myself in good wine and good women. Won't you help me?"
"Why should I?"
"Because I can see it in your eyes––you have no intention of sailing north with me––and a few weeks hence, when I'm standing alone in front of my dear old mother, explaining how I was brutally massacred in your throne room––"
"Your body double. Not you."
"It won't matter to the Queen. Her precious son could have been murdered," he said, feigning outrage, but in the next instant his eyes softened. "Because of what Delilah did, the Queen will stand by your side, make Morley your ally, but if you give her hope, if you make her believe we are to be wed…" He shook his head, grinning. "She will do far more than that. She will move the Void itself to help you win back your throne."
"And what happens when I don't marry you? What happens when the dust settles and I refuse to honor my word? I would be disgraced."
"Then we start a scandal. We show the world that Prince Finbar is nothing but a drunkard and a cheat. The Empress of the Isles could never marry such a man."
"Why would you willingly tarnish your good name?"
The Prince smirked. "Not in Morley. No offense, Your Majesty, but in my experience, Gristol is full of uptight prudes. In Morley, we are open with our sexuality. My many mistresses are expected of a Prince." He smiled grandly. "And future King."
I crossed my arms, unconvinced. "Are you really this afraid of your own mother? Why not just tell her you don't want to marry me?"
"Marry anyone," he corrected, but in the next breath he gave me a deadpan stare. "And you haven't met my mother. If you did, you'd be running for the hills just like me."
"I have met her," I said, knitting my brow in confusion. When the Prince just continued smiling, I faltered. "Another body double?"
"What can I say? The O'Brien Dynasty is incredibly paranoid." This time, the Prince sounded astonished. "Do you really not have a body double yourself, Your Majesty?"
"There's been no need."
I glanced at Corvo. Before the Royal Protector position had been created, body doubles had been quite common among the ruling families, but because of Corvo's Mark, he'd been more than capable of protecting me––and just me. Occasionally, Lord Corvo employed decoys that looked like me (from a distance), but the young women were not impersonating me for months or years (like Prince Finbar had obviously used his body double for).
My train of thought derailed when I realized Corvo was still looking out over the waves, totally ignoring me. Something was wrong.
"So what do you say?" the Prince asked with an edge of impatience. I was right. He was afraid of the Jessamine. We all were.
There was not much time.
"I can't," I sighed heavily. "If I write to the Queen that I have accepted your marriage proposal, then Wyman will think the worst of me."
What do you care of Wyman's feelings? A dark part of me thought. You have already cast him aside for your mad obsession with the Outsider.
"Wyman who?" The Prince blinked.
I rolled my eyes. "Your distant relative. Wyman Lancaster."
"Right. That fellow," the Prince said, tapping his chin. "A charming young man. You two are…" He lifted his voice in question.
"Yes."
"No matter. I will simply tell Wyman the truth. He'll know it's just a ploy, I promise."
I shook my head. "Prince Finbar, I'm sorry, but I don't see how this helps me. I cherish the Queen's help, but in truth her efforts are a drop in the Ocean. Delilah is immortal. I must find my own way back to the throne." I crossed my arms, giving him my Empress face. "And you must find a way to speak honestly with your mother."
The Prince searched my face, his dark purple eyes heavy with disappointment––and respect. "Well, it was worth a try."
But he smiled, nonetheless. "And I wish you luck. Truly. This business with Delilah is obscene."
He bowed respectfully, kissing my signet ring one last time.
"Thank you, Finbar." Despite it all, he seemed like a good man.
The Prince took another drink from the table, swirling the wine contemplatively. He said, "To our one life. May we live it well."
"One life," I repeated, glancing at Corvo who had suddenly turned towards me, his rat eyes alert and filled with unimaginable joy. "What is it?" I asked, my heart dropping.
"Jessamine," he said. "She's back."
The Prince, Dougal––we all turned like frightened children towards the Ocean, looking out across the waves. But it was only us… I saw the Prince's ships and the Churner… Each swaying against the blue horizon.
I realized, then, what he'd meant. Why he had been so distracted––as if hearing voices.
My mother was back, The Heart echoing in his ears.
Author's Note:
~ I finally gave Wyman a last name. This could be the only time you see it though, haha.
