Once upon a Spring morn

Celeste frowned. “Then why not carry some females aboard every ship, Captain?”

“Ha!” barked Chevell. “My lady, having one woman aboard is somewhat of a strain on a crew. Can you imagine what having an entire bevy would do?”

“Pssh,” said Celeste, but made no further comment.

There came a tap on the door, and Hewitt entered bearing a tray with three mugs of tea. “Beggin’ your pardon, Captain, but Cookie said you would be needin’

this.”

“Ah, my thanks, Hewitt. Thank Master Chanler for me.”

“I will, Sieur.” Hewitt scurried away.

As she took up her tea, Celeste said, “Well, then, Captain, tell me the landmarks so that I’ll know when to execute the turn, as well as those if the wind is unfavorable.”

“Well, my lady, you’ll need to be counting islands, first this one and then. .”

In midafternoon, the wind running before the storm shifted to the larboard beam, the crew shifting the sails in response.

“Will we have to tack?” asked Celeste.

“Mayhap, m’lady,” said Lieutenant Armond. “Though

’tis now on our beam, should it come ’round a bit more, aye, tacking we’ll need do, and we’ll approach the cluster by another route.”

“So the captain said,” replied Celeste.

The wind strengthened, the gusts now bearing spatters of rain forerunning the oncoming tempest. Hewitt came darting, bearing an armload of slickers. He peeled off the top one and, glancing at Chevell, he gave it over to Celeste. “My lady.”

“Merci, Hewitt.”

Then the cabin boy doled out the other slickers, Captain Chevell first, Lieutenant Armond second, Roel next, followed by Lieutenant Florien, then Bosun Destin, Helmsman Gervaise, and finally himself. The captain smiled at Hewitt’s rankings, but said nought.

“My Lord Captain,” said Armond, glancing at Celeste, “given the storm, the darkness, and the isles, is it wise to hazard the crossing during a blow?” Chevell barked a laugh. “Wise? Is it wise? Mayhap not, yet it is the only chance we have of catching the raider ere he makes port. And as to the darkness, we should reach the far side of the archipelago just as full night falls.”

Reluctantly, Armond nodded, and they all stood on the fantail and spoke not a word of the risk before them.

On drove the Sea Eagle, the day dim under the stygian overcast, and off to the larboard gray rain and whitecaps came sweeping o’er the deeps. And finally, dead ahead and dimly seen, a great scatter of tall, stony crags, stretching from horizon to horizon, rode up o’er the rim of the world.

“There they be,” gritted Lieutenant Florien.

“They look dreadful,” said Celeste.

“My lady,” said Gervaise, “if need be ye at the helm, steer a clear channel ’tween each and we’ll all be safe.

The Eagle’ll take care o’ the rest.” Now the full fury of the storm struck: icy rain came driving on a wailing wind, and lightning flared among the stone pinnacles, thunder following.

“Destin, the wind be off the larboard beam. Maintain the topsails full. Reef down half and goosewing all others on main, fore, and mizzen. Strike the stays and jibs.

And set the sails for aft-to-larboard winds.”

“But my lord,” said Florien, “that means we’ll be in the isles longer, and if the Sirenes are therein-”

“I know, Lieutenant, yet I’ll not run in full in a storm in dismal light among islands of stone.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Now the bosun piped the orders, and as sails were struck and reefed and winged, and the yardarms were haled about, Gervaise said, “My lady, should ye have to take the helm, remember, keep the wind anywhere in the quarter from stern to larboard beam. Anythin’ else and the sails’ll either be luffin’, or the wind’ll be blowin’

us hind’ards.”

“I remember, Gervaise,” said Celeste.

Roel reached out and took her hand, her fingers icy.

He squeezed her grip, and she smiled at him with a bravery she did not feel.

And in shrieking wind and driving rain, the Sea Eagle clove through heaving seas and toward the massive blocks of stone, the great crags a blur in the storm, lightning stroking down among them, thunder riving the air.

“Stand by, Princess,” said Chevell.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” replied Celeste, her heart hammering against her ribs.

And in that moment the Sea Eagle drove in among the jagged monoliths.

14

Falcons

“Monsieur Vidal! Monsieur Vidal!”

The steward of the Springwood looked up from the parchment to see one of the gardeners hasten through the doorway. Vidal set his quill aside. “Oui, Morell?”

“Sieur, there is a Sprite in the arbor, and she says she has dreadful news for you.”

“A Sprite?”

“Oui, and she is weeping.”

Vidal stood. “Lead the way.”

Moments later, it was Vidal who wept, and he called the staff together to announce the dire news carried by Sprites in swift relay: during a battle with Redcaps and Bogles and Trolls, Princess Celeste and Sieur Roel had drowned.

Battle? asked some; Drowned? asked others, while many burst into tears, though others choked back their grief.

But Vidal had little else to tell them, for the Sprite had known nought about those dire events except that Anton was leading the warband back to the manor, and there were wounded to tend.

Within a candlemark, falcons flew to the manors of the Winterwood and the Autumnwood and the Summerwood, bearing the terrible word.

The first to receive the falcon-borne news was Steward Arnot at Winterwood Manor, for it lay closest to the Springwood. He gathered the staff and made the announcement of Celeste’s and Roel’s deaths. Cries broke out and many wept, for the princess was well loved. The gala they had planned for the return of Prince Borel and Lady Michelle would now be set aside. “These will be sad times, and we must bear up,” said Arnot. “A memorial will be held in Springwood Manor, and not only will Prince Borel and Lady Michelle pass through on their way there, but also passing through will be Princess Liaze and her contingent and Prince Alain and his, and so we will host all.” He turned to the housekeepers.

“Hang the door with black crepe and tie the candelabras with black ribbon.” And then he said to the seamstresses,

“We will need black armbands for all staff and visitors.”

“Steward?” asked a skinny lad.

“Redieu,” acknowledged Arnot.

“Are Prince Borel and his lady still at the Summerwood?”

“Oui, I believe they are yet there. Along with Jules and that part of the warband Lord Borel took with him, they are stopping over on their return from Roulan Vale.”

“And the falcons have flown to each of the forests bearing this dreadful news?”

“Oui, Steward Vidal has sent falcons to all, including one to King Valeray and Queen Saissa.”