“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.”
“And so they will be here as well?”
“It depends on their route, but we will plan for them passing through.”
On a croquet court at Autumnwood Manor, Liaze handed Luc her mallet and smiled as she took the message vial from Jean.
“ ’Twas another Springwood bird, m’lady,” said the falconer.
“Two birds in less than a sevenday? What, I wonder, is my little sister up to now?” Liaze opened the container and unrolled the tissue.
She read the missive and fell to her knees wailing.
Luc knelt beside her and took her in his arms.
In the Summerwood, Alain, grim-faced and gripping a falcon-borne message, walked into the chamber where sat Camille and Borel and Michelle.
Alain’s voice choked as he said, “I have some dreadful news.” Falcons winged back unto Springwood Manor bearing messages, and Steward Vidal announced to the Springwood staff that all kindred and their retinues were on their way.
15
Chanson
To larboard and starboard great crags reared up from the sea, sheer stone rising out of the depths and reaching toward the dark sky. Waves crashed against rock and pitched up and fell and rebounded, the water heaving and roiling, the pattern unpredictable as billows crossed and crisscrossed among the monoliths, reinforcing here, canceling there, the sea a boiling fury.
And amid this chaos plunged the Eagle, the bow rising up and over a wave to hurtle down into the trough beyond. Rain hammered and lightning stroked and thunder shattered the shrieking air.
“Steady on, Gervaise, steady on,” called the captain above the boom and howl.
“Aye, aye, My Lord Captain,” cried the helmsman.
Celeste turned to Chevell and asked, “Captain, what if one of those bolts from above strikes a mast?”
“Most likely it’ll splinter it,” replied Chevell.
“Then I will pray that the lightning stays far away, or if not, that it altogether avoids the Sea Eagle.” The wind down upon the deck buffeted the crew, and it swirled this way and that, but aloft at the topsails it blew more or less steadily across the larboard stern and toward the starboard bow, the wind pennants atop the masts flowing that way.
“Princess, remember, keep your eye on the streamers,” called Gervaise, pointing above, “for that shows the air what be driving the Eagle and not this muddle down adeck.”
“Oui, Gervaise,” Celeste called back, “I remember.” On they plowed through the raging waters, the ship rolling leftward here and rightward there and at times running eerily calm. And the rain descended in furious sheets, the churning wind driving it into face and back and flank. In spite of her slicker, Celeste became thoroughly soaked, chill water blowing into her hood and running down neck and shoulders and arms and breasts and stomach and onward.
Hewitt came running with capped mugs of hot tea, and all adeck savored the warmth.
And still the Sea Eagle plunged on. A candlemark and then another went by, and the day grew even dimmer, and still the storm raged, lightning cracking and thunder crashing and hammering rain pelting down.
Roel leaned over to Celeste and said, “Rather like a ride on a wild horse, eh?”
Celeste barked a laugh. “Given a choice between the two, I’d take the horse.”
“Aw, this is nothin’,” called Gervaise. “Why, once we were-”
“The wind is shifting deasil, Captain,” said Celeste, her eye on the pennants above, the streamers now swinging out toward the starboard. “It’s coming abeam.”
“Oui, I see it,” answered Chevell. “It means we’ll have to change course.”
“Go out the starboard way?”
“Oui.”
And still the day dimmed as evening approached.
The Sea Eagle plunged toward the turn, and Chevell called, “Ready, Gervaise?”
“Ready, My Lord Captain.”
“Just past this isle, Helmsman.”
“Oui, Captain.”
And as the Eagle slid beyond the crag, there came drifting on the air the sound of singing-women’s voices-and Chevell managed to say, “The Sirenes.” But nought else passed his lips, as on halting steps he jerked toward the port wale.
Roel turned toward Celeste, an agonized look on his face, but then he, too, stumbled toward the larboard rail, as did Gervaise, and Anton, and Florien, and even Hewitt, the boy last of all.
Celeste leapt forward and took the helm and spun the wheel to starboard-“Come, my lady, it’s just you and me now”-and slowly the Eagle swung rightward, toward the outbound leg of the passage through the Iles de Chanson. As the ship came onto the planned course, Celeste straightened the wheel, and onward the Eagle plunged, bearing her cargo of the entranced as well as a lone woman.
And still rain hammered down, and still lightning stroked and thunder roared, yet somehow the singing penetrated the din. How it could do so, Celeste did not know, yet do so it did. There did not seem to be any words to the song, just marvelous voices soaring. To Celeste’s ear it was beautiful, but nothing more than that; yet to the men it was spellbinding.