The Time Roads

Today, however, he paused. “Your Majesty…”

I waited. “Yes, Commander?”

Whatever I expected, it was not these next words.

“There has been a murder. At Awveline University.”

“A murder?” My skin went cold.

“Several,” he answered, then added quickly, “No one connected with Court.”

Only then did I remember that several of my ministers and members of Congress had children studying at the university. “Who then?”

“Four students, all of them in studies for advanced degrees, in mathematics or the sciences. The local Garda has found the case to be a difficult one. They tell me they can find no motive for these killings. The city is panicking, and I fear this panic will spread into the surrounding countryside.” He paused and glanced to one side. “The murders were bloody and … peculiar.”

In a flat voice, he recited the particulars. All four victims hacked into bloody pieces, the bodies left exposed. Rumors were already spreading. Some claimed it was the work of a gang. Some whispered about a larger conspiracy. There was talk about dissidents from Anglia or another of the Dependencies, hoping to create confusion, or even agents from abroad. All nonsense, of course, but panic and rumors did not always yield to reason.

“I want you to monitor the investigation,” I said, interrupting him. “Assign an officer from the Queen’s Constabulary to work with the local Garda—someone you trust. Have them send regular reports on their progress. Let the newspapers know as well.”

Aidrean Ó Deághaidh’s glance met mine. For just that moment, the remoteness vanished from his expression. We were friends and allies once more.

Before I could speak, however, a mask dropped over his face. He nodded stiffly and turned away, saying, “Very well, Your Majesty. I will carry out your orders at once.”

He left me startled and not a little irritated. Then I heard a rustling behind me and a hand descended on my shoulder.

“Áine.”

It was Breandan, clad in rumpled clothes from the day before, his mouth tilted in a warm smile. I turned into his embrace, grateful for the warmth of this man.

“There’ve been murders at Awveline University,” I said.

“And so you sent your commander to solve the mystery.”

“Not exactly. He…”

But when I glanced up, I could see that Breandan’s gaze had traveled past me, to an unseen point in the distance. I knew that look. Most likely a sudden insight into his machine had distracted him. I wanted to shake him, yank his attention back from that inward world to the present. But I did not. My first impression, from all those years ago, was the true one. A man like Breandan Ó Cuilinn could have only one obsession in his life. Everything else was a temporary diversion.

And you are much the same way. He is your favorite. No, not even that. A dalliance.

That is not true, I insisted. He is my friend.

You cannot afford to have friends.

Words recalled from a long-ago lecture from my father, the king. I had confronted him about his new favorite, an acclaimed poetess invited to Cill Cannig because of her work, and who had stayed because my father desired her company. I had been angry with him for months.

I miss him.

With a twitch, I shrugged away from Breandan’s arms. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t sleep well. And I have a great deal of work. Commander Ó Deághaidh’s report awaits me.”

“Yes,” Breandan said softly. “I believe I understand.”

Our love changed after that. Or perhaps, I saw things more clearly. Oh and sure, he kissed me just as tenderly. And sure, I invited him to my bed as often as before. But our first heedless passion had ebbed. Breandan spent longer hours in his laboratory; I buried myself in my work.

My ministers approved of the change. None of them had openly objected—the tradition of kings and queens taking lovers was older than Éire itself—but now I caught Lord Ó Cadhla nodding in agreement during our Council sessions, and Lord Ó Breislin no longer had the air of someone barely tolerating my opinion. Lord Ultach, it was true, had a perpetually dreamy manner. He took opium, and the habit had grown worse since my father’s death. Soon I would have to replace him.

As for Commander Ó Deághaidh … He remained the proper officer of the Queen’s Constabulary, but his manner eased enough that our interviews were no longer so painfully stiff.

So the summer passed. Reports from the Constabulary about the murders in Awveline City were neither good nor bad: the murders had ceased, but the Garda in Awveline City suspended their inquiries for lack of evidence. Frankonia’s king died, and now the electors were locked in a room until they voted in his successor. Another heir in the Turkish States had been assassinated. But negotiations with the Dietsch Empire were proving worthwhile, and it was possible we could create a new alliance to balance against the Prussian menace.