The Time Roads

His eyes narrowed with humor. “As I know it, yes, Your Majesty. However, I find in certain cases the truth depends upon perspective.”

I laughed. Aidrean Ó Deághaidh’s mouth quirked into a smile—a brief flicker of shared amusement. It changed his expression entirely. That intrigued me.

“So tell me,” I went on, “how you would protect me better than my own guards.”

At my insistence, he took the chair opposite me. We leaned toward the fire, heads close together, as he described his own impressions of the political situation. A part of me absorbed everything he said, to be reviewed later when I was alone. Another part took in details of the man himself. How his mouth was fuller than I would have expected for someone with such an angular face. How his voice had started off so cool and official, only to drop to a warmer lilting tone. He wore a pleasing scent, too—another surprise. From Lord Ó Cadhla’s initial description, I had expected Ó Deághaidh to be more the automaton. Instead I found myself intently aware of him as a handsome man, clever and so very competent.

“So you believe the conspiracy to be widespread.”

He paused. “I believe the number of opportunists is greater than expected.”

“There is a difference?”

He spread his hands, palms outward. “Given Éire’s history, I would say no, not ordinarily. But with your father’s sudden death, your inexperience, and the uneasiness on the Continent, there are many more these days who will be tempted to grasp power for themselves, while in other times they would refrain. Your father and grandfather often chose to mete out lesser sentences for those who strayed into treason, especially those duped by others. However, my recommendation to you is that we make no difference between the opportunists and the true conspirators. Call it a message to those who watch your reign.”

I nodded and felt a flutter of hope in my chest. “Do you want the position?”

He tilted his head, observed me for a moment—a long assessing look, as though he were measuring me, not as his queen, but as another human being. “Surely the question is yours to decide,” he said at last. “But since you ask, I say, yes, Your Majesty. Yes, I do.”

* * *

And so we talked and planned and argued about the coronation and how to keep me alive and whole, while giving the people a spectacle they could remember all their lives. For, as Lords Ó Cadhla and Mac Gioll and others in the Queen’s Council reminded me, this ceremony was meant to imbue me with the authority of history and tradition. Aidrean Ó Deághaidh himself simply shook his head, and took their recommendations into account

. He had neatly insinuated himself into the ongoing investigation of the conspiracy. When he found the time, I had no idea. His absences from my side were few.

As for myself, I kept to my private chambers, visited only by my closest advisers and my physicians. The official reports said I needed time to recuperate. I suppose I did. I hated it, nevertheless. Kings and queens do not hide, I thought. They act. Just like my father did. And our ancestors before him.

The physician’s last visit had left me aching and breathless. In between, there were other indignities. Nurses to wash the wounds and apply fresh ointment. Formal inquiries from the Congress about my recovery. Uncharacteristically, Aidrean Ó Deághaidh had vanished a few hours before. He returned just as the Court astrologers departed.

“Where have you been?” I demanded.

He smiled, as though to a fractious child. That only worsened my temper. The astrologers had made long and noisy protests over the new date for my coronation. They had calculated to a fine degree the position and phase of the moon—never mind those of the stars—and wanted another month to assure me of a propitious day. Now I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.

“You are tired, Your Majesty.”

“I know that,” I snapped.

Ó Deághaidh shifted his glance toward the fire. I saw his fleeting grimace.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I … I am impatient. I dislike being caged.” And before he could reply, I hastened to add, “That is hardly an excuse, I know. Merely an explanation.”

He acknowledged the apology and the explanation with a wordless gesture. There were bruises underneath those brown eyes, and a web of lines radiating outward. He must have spent half his nights in ceaseless work on my behalf. I felt a stab of shame.

“I’m sorry, Aidrean.”

A flinch, nothing more, at his given name.

I had forgotten—just for the moment—that we were queen and servant, not two friends. There was no possibility of apologizing. That would only exacerbate my offense.

But truly, I did not mean to offend. I meant only …

Better not to think what I meant.

“Can we manage it?” I asked hurriedly. “The coronation, I mean. In just two weeks.”

He nodded. “Most of the guests have remained in the city. The others could arrive by airship. What about the astrologers?”

“Let them determine the hour. Within reason,” I added.