The Time Roads

“I gain a hostage or two. Yes, I see.”

Aidrean opened his mouth as if to respond, then shook his head. “Meanwhile, I shall continue my investigation. Unless you prefer to leave the matter entirely with the Queen’s Constabulary.”

That was a delicate matter.

“Lord Ó Duinn,” I said. “Commander Ábraham. You will both confer with Commander Ó Deághaidh today. Include Lord Ó Cadhla or whomever else you deem necessary to the investigation. Is there anything else you would share with us?” I said to Aidrean.

“Not at the present time, Your Majesty.”

Our glances met. I sensed that he had edited certain details from his report. Either he did not trust my ministers, or he did not trust me.

* * *

“What is it?” I demanded.

The bells had struck midnight. It was only in the past hour that I had successfully dismissed my physician, promising to follow his instructions for rest and solitude. I had lied.

“I cannot tell yet,” Aidrean replied. “I need another week, or more, to discover the truth.”

“Meanwhile?”

The question of the Anglians hovered between us.

“You should do as your conscience suggests,” he said.

A useless reply, except I knew Aidrean Ó Deághaidh and I knew our history together. He would not insist. He would only hint and suggest, leaving the final decision to me.

Because I was the queen. Because I held my honor dear.

* * *

The following day, I sent word through my secretary to the Anglian delegation—a message most politely phrased and written on the finest vellum—saying that matters of state would not allow me to grant them the attention they deserved. We would certainly discuss the matter within the next month, I added. Until then, they should appoint a single representative to remain at Cill Cannig to speak for their cause.

“A hostage,” Aidrean Ó Deághaidh said. He used the same word I had, the day before.

“A representative,” I replied. “One of their own choosing.”

We had met again over breakfast. Discretion be damned, I thought. News of yesterday’s attack had overrun Court and beyond. The papers in Osraighe carried accounts from several witnesses. The less reputable newssheets also displayed lurid photographs of bodies among the wreckage. Soon enough the reports would spread to the Continent.

Nine pilots and their crew murdered. A dozen more in grave condition. The stink of blood and burning gasoline forever imprinted on my memory.

And yet, the blood of Thomas Austen does not trouble you.

“I will not arrest them without proof,” I continued. “But I cannot ignore their threat.”

He tilted his hand to one side. “Agreed. I would only mention that an indefinite invitation is little better than an indefinite arrest.”

I smiled, somewhat wearily. “Your absence from Court has made you blunt. Not that Lord Ó Cadhla and Lord Ó Breislin are gentle with me.”

“We are blunt because we love you.”

My breath stilled within me. I knew what he meant, but it had been many years since anyone had used the word love in my presence.

“Tell me the latest news,” I said.

The faint lines etched across his face deepened. “Several details have emerged since we last spoke. Or rather, details that contradict details several times over, all of them from reliable witnesses…” He stopped and chafed one hand inside the other—a sure signal of his troubled mind. “It’s a matter of time. Of time fractures.”

Oh, oh, and now the cold did flow through my body. Time fractures. I hated the day I first heard mention of them. Time fractures had lured Breandan Ó Cuilinn into a fate unknown. They had murdered a dozen or more students from Awveline University, then restored them to life once the fractures healed. Aidrean Ó Deághaidh had spent nearly two years trapped in madness because of them.