The Time Roads

“Why so long?”

“To prove myself. To everyone. To you.”

We were both breathing fast in excitement. Afterward, I could not tell who turned first toward the other. All I remember is that our lips met in a fleeting kiss. Pressed again and did not part for an impossibly long interval. Only when we paused to breathe, I realized I did not wish to stop. Belatedly I remembered we were not alone. I did not care. My hand snaked around his neck and I pulled him into another kiss that lingered on. Time and time uninterrupted, and none of it satisfied me.

At last, he pulled back. His face was flushed, his eyes so dark, they appeared black.

“I have taken too many liberties.”

His voice was husking and low.

“Not nearly enough,” I said.

* * *

Even in my bed, in the midst of kissing me, he could not refrain from speaking about his research. “There must be a way,” he said, as he ran his fingertips along my hip. His hands were cool and raised a trail of goose bumps; the rest of him was like a winter’s fire.

“A way for what?” I asked when he did not continue.

“To send a person ahead in time, like a courier to the future.”

I noticed that he was tracing a pattern on my skin. A mathematical formula, a schematic for a new octopus, a pathway through time for his imaginary courier. Laughter fluttered in my belly. When he kissed me again, I had no doubt his attention was focused entirely upon me, and the laughter changed to a new and sharper sensation.

“What is wrong?” he whispered.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Tell me about these couriers.”

His breath tickled my cheek. “They would be like runners in the old empire. But traveling through time instead of ordinary roads.”

“The time fractures? But what if they close?”

He paused. I could sense his attention withdraw to some secret citadel within. I waited.

“It depends on the nature of the fracture,” he said at last. “If my theories are correct, they might be stranded in the future, or past, in the wherever and whenever of their destination. But others suggest that time fractures indicate parallel histories. It’s possible my couriers would be stranded in a different now.”

As he spoke, he rose and absentmindedly pulled on his clothing. He paused only to kiss me, then he was gliding through the doors. I sighed. Obsession. And yet, we were much alike. Already it occurred to me that I should discuss these possibilities with my ministers. Not as a weapon, but surely a way to maintain our predominance, as Lord Ó Bruicléigh so delicately phrased it.

As I exited my private chambers, I stopped.

Aidrean Ó Deághaidh stood in the parlor outside. The hour was late, and the room lay in shadows. But I hardly needed sunlight or lamplight to read his expression, wh

ich was cold and remote, like the trees of winter.

* * *

In my memories of those days—memories blurred and splintered by later events—it seemed I did nothing but lie in bed with Breandan Ó Cuilinn, the two of us absorbed in carnal pleasure as we talked about mathematics and the properties of time. In truth, I spent the chief of my hours as I always had, doing the work of a queen, while Breandan pored over countless treatises and monographs ordered from universities throughout the civilized world, from Sweden to Iran to the Mayan Empire. When he came to me, saying that certain theories pointed toward signs of time fractures at high altitudes, I hired engineers to construct a special balloon with heavyweight baskets for Breandan’s equipment. As the months passed, Breandan studied balloons as he studied everything else. Soon others began to call him the expert.

They said he was my favorite, which was true.

I told myself he was a friend as well.

“Your Majesty.”

Aidrean Ó Deághaidh had arrived for our daily conference. Since the day I encountered him outside my private chambers, we had confined ourselves purely to the business of Court and Éire. There were no more private conferences, no sudden access of intimacy, on either part. We were as two strangers.

Aidrean Ó Deághaidh silently handed over his neatly typed report. Just as silently, I accepted it.

On every other day, he would repeat the same formula—that he hoped the report was satisfactory, but if I had any questions, I had but to ask.