Ireland's royal
family conducted their day-to-day business from Tara Hall, a centuries-old
neoclassical landmark that sprawled over the south bank of Dublin's
River Liffey. The first decree signed in the King's Chambers after
The Hall's completion had been the Act of Heritance, the law that
made Ireland one of the few monarchies in the world where the throne
passed to the firstborn child, male or female.
Only three
regnant queens had ruled the Emerald Isle in all the years since,
all efficient, effective monarchs. Taillte Rosaleen Boru would be
the fourth. Since early childhood, Talty had endured private lessons
that enabled her to graduate from secondary school far ahead of
her peers. Admission to Ireland's Naval School in Cork followed,
and she'd flourished there.
The Irish Constitution
mandated that the king's heir must be ready to accede the throne
on his or her eighteenth birthday. Talty was already twenty and
doubted she'd ever be ready. She had so much to learn! Still, an
Air Corps Dauphin flew her from the LÉ Alastrina to Tara
Hall's helipad each Saturday morning to meet with her father for
a review of the week's events. His request for a midweek meeting
worried her.
Praying that the
dark blue of her navy uniform hid the wrinkles in her skirt, Talty
smoothed her pinned-up hair and stepped from the private elevator
to Tara Hall's fourth floor. The rapid click of her regulation military
heels echoed down the corridor leading to the King's Chambers.
Though she'd told
no one, Talty hated being Crown Princess. The prospect of spending
her life preparing for her beloved father's death depressed her.
She wouldn't have to worry about that for years, however. Silver
might speckle King Brian's russet hair, but he was only fifty, and
still strong and healthy.
She hurried past
the reception area, where her father's no-nonsense assistant rose
from her desk and opened the carved oak door bearing the royal lion
of the Boru clan. With a nod of thanks, Talty stepped into her father's
chambers.
Like old friends, the dark wood panels and their oil paintings welcomed
her. The plush oriental rug cushioned her feet. Her father stood
before the blazing hearth, a gold pen in one hand, a communiqué
in the other. He set them down and lifted his hand toward her, a
habit so ingrained neither of them noticed anymore.
"Talty! How's
my favorite junior executive naval officer?"
"I'll do,
Dad." She caught his fingers in hers and kissed them, a gesture
of affection offered by members of the royal family to those who
outranked them. Once she'd properly greeted her king, she stood
on her toes and greeted her father, pecking the cheek above his
well-groomed beard and snagging him in a firm hug. His subtle cologne,
an exclusive concoction of citrus and sandalwood, never failed to
comfort her. Neither did the sturdy arm that dropped over her shoulders.
"Lunch will
be here soon," he said. "Uncle Jack is joining us."
"Uncle Jack?
I thought he was in Brussels, at the World Court."
"He was. I
called him home." Brian nodded to the black leather chairs
before the fireplace. "Shall we talk a little before he arrives?"
Their talks were
usually a cozy routine. Today Talty detected tension in her father's
eyes, the same chestnut brown as her own. Since Uncle Jack was coming,
she suspected her curious summons to Tara Hall involved Fargan.
Brian had been on edge in the month since England had staked its
ludicrous claim. Whatever had possessed Geoffrey Wessex to seize
part of Ireland's crown territory and upset the neighborly relations
England and Ireland had enjoyed for centuries?
Talty filled two china cups from a silver teapot. The task complete,
she sat back, locked her ankles together, and waited to hear what
was on her father's mind.
"How's the
Fian training coming along?" he asked, stirring milk into his
tea.
"I spar with
Neil on weekends, and I work with two fellas on the ship when there's
time."
"You'll have
your pin before you know it."
Talty couldn't
wait. Since she'd been a child, she'd longed to wear the Fianna
pin on her collar, to be part of the elite group of two hundred
warriors whose dedication to protecting Ireland hadn't changed since
the days of Finn MacCool and his valiant men. For the last ten years
she'd trained under the tutelage of Brian's younger brother, Prince
Peadar, the leader of the present-day Fianna.
Yet even if she
passed the grueling initiation trial, her status as a Fian warrior
would be nominal, a mere enhancement to her image as Crown Princess.
Brian made that clear when he first allowed her to train with her
male cousins: her royal duties must come first. She wished it weren't
so.
Tea in hand, Brian
sat back in his chair. "You'll be going off to California soon.
Looking forward to it? It's a long way from home."
"Not so far
these days. Mendocino has some of the finest military research programs
in the world. I won't be treated as a princess there, just as another
officer. I can do my job better that way."
"From what
I hear, you do your job well now. Alastrina's captain told your
Uncle Peadar that you more than contribute to the efficient running
of our flagship."
Smiling at the
mention of Peadar's name, Talty raised her tea to her lips and sipped.
"Ah, but would he say that if I weren't your daughter?"
"Peadar thinks
so. So tell your old father. Is there any special fella you'll be
leaving behind when you go off to California?"
"Just you,
Daddy," she said in a little-girl voice.
Brian's eyes narrowed,
though he grinned. The click of the door handle cut short his response.
A spry, spindly white-haired man stepped into the room.
Talty set down
her cup and jumped from her chair. "Howya, Uncle Jack!"
"Why, Talty!
It's fine to see you, Lady Princess. I was delighted when your father
said you'd be joining us."
Jack Dacey caught her hand and kissed it. His pale blue eyes twinkled
with affection. The ready smile that people said was the result
of his marriage to Brian's aunt, the feisty Princess Nuala, blossomed
on his face. As Ard Brehon, Prince Jack embodied the highest legal
authority in the kingdom. He'd been a kind and steady mentor to
both Brian and Talty, a nurturer of ideas whose counsel they treasured.
Once Jack was seated
with tea before him, he pulled an old briar pipe from his pocket
and rubbed it between his hands. For years Talty had watched her
granduncle perform the ritual. The pipe had belonged to Jack's father
and grandfather. Though Jack himself had never smoked it, he claimed
he only had to hold it to hear the sage advice of his wise old forbears.
As Jack fiddled
with the pipe, Brian fidgeted in his seat.
Talty folded her
arms. "All right, fellas. What did you bring me home in the
middle of the week to discuss?"
"Some developments
with the Fargan matter," Brian said.
Jack selected a
strawberry scone and set it on a plate. "We've learned that
before the court imposed its ban, Geoffrey Wessex leased a ship
to conduct seismic testing in the area."
This was news to
Talty. "So he means to drill for oil around Fargan?"
Her father shook
his head. "No one can drill for oil there. I commissioned three
different geological surveys. Each stated the Fargan Trough is more
than six miles deep. No oil platform can get down that far. If Geoffrey
tries to drill for oil, he'll not only fail, he'll foul the ocean
and kill the fish."
"The fish
are safe enough for now," Jack said. "No one can fish
in that area until the World Court completes its review and schedules
public hearings. It could go on for years."
"But if we
can resolve the Fargan matter now," Brian said, "the World
Court will throw out the case. Our fishing fleet can work those
waters again." His fidgeting increased. He attempted to smile,
but his lips and eyebrows twiddled in ambiguous contortions that
finally settled into his "this is a hard one" frown.
Talty braced herself.
Here it comes.
Her father leaned
forward and looked her in the eye. "In exchange for a few oil
wells in the Irish Sea, Geoffrey will waive his claim to Fargan.
He's also offering several shipping lanes and access to England's
oil refining facilities." Brian lowered his head for a moment,
apparently to study his knuckles. "The catch is, he wants to
seal the agreement with a marriage treaty." Again, he peered
straight at her. "Between you and King Thomas."
"What? Thomas
Wessex? You're joking!" Talty's heart thumped. She clawed at
the arms of her chair. Her head turned in disbelief from Brian to
Jack and back again. Would he do this to her, her own father? Had
he been asking about her plans and dreams only to dash them?
Brian seemed oblivious
to her distress. "You know poor Thomas isn't well." He
glanced at Jack as if seeking support, but Jack seemed content to
let Brian handle the matter.
Talty swallowed
hard. She'd never met Thomas Wessex, but she'd heard the pitiful
stories. "Yes. Some degenerative disease he developed in childhood."
"His family
claims it's a neural disorder," Jack said, his eyes on the
jam pot, "though they won't say what, exactly. Their legal
advisers insist he's competent enough to function as head of state
with Geoffrey acting as Regent. But Geoffrey tells us Thomas won't
live much longer."
Brian's mouth tightened
into a hard line. His white-knuckled fingers gripped his knees.
"This may sound callous, Tal, but if you knew it would only
be for a short time, could you marry Thomas?"
Still gaping at
both men, Talty clasped her hands to still her trembling fingers.
"You're really serious! You want me to marry Thomas Wessex?
As in husband and wife?"
"He'd never
touch you, darlin'," said Jack. "That would be part of
the deal. The marriage would be a token thing, though the benefits
would be great for both our countries."
Brian shifted in
his chair and spoke with a buoyancy that was obviously feigned.
"I've been studying some new technology, darlin'. Plans are
in the works to build drill ships that can reach deeper into the
ocean than ever before. I'm thinking of investing in one. They're
building them to be careful of the environment these days. If that's
so, our fishermen and oilmen can work in the same areas. I think
we can afford to give away a few oil wells if we know we can produce
others."
Did he really expect
her to share his enthusiasm? Though she came close to telling him
and Jack to take their oil wells and go to the devil sideways, she
mustered all the dignity she possessed and walked to the window.
Arms folded tight, she glared down at the river, fighting to keep
tears at bay and temper at a simmer.
The door opened
again. Talty turned. A harried looking woman dressed in the black
and white uniform of the royal catering staff wheeled a cart into
the room. Setting the cart before the fireplace, she started uncovering
soup tureens and assorted platters.
"Why, Daisy!"
said Jack. "I haven't seen you for months."
Daisy Cleary removed
the tea tray from the table and set out fresh linen napkins, china
and silver. "You're very kind, sir. My old mum's been ill.
It's been hard looking after her, but I got someone now who'll come
in and see to it she don't hurt herself while I'm working."
"That's too
bad," Brian said. "Let us know if you need anything."
Daisy set a bowl
of soup before Brian. Jack didn't want one, and so the woman nodded
and departed. Talty stared after her until she'd left the room.
The break had given her a chance to process her father's proposition.
If the marriage
didn't interfere with her career plans, it might be all right. If
she agreed to marry Thomas knowing he'd be dead soon, what harm
would there be? Shuddering at the ghoulish thought, she ambled to
the cart and helped herself to some parsnip soup. Though she was
far from hungry, ladling out the fragrant concoction helped calm
her.
She set her steaming bowl on the table to cool and reclaimed her
seat. "What do you think of this marriage thing, Uncle Jack?"
"I've looked
over the proposed treaties. I think we can work it out."
"Treaties?
Do you need more than one?"
Having finished
his scone, Jack selected a croissant and buttered it. "We need
three. The first has England relinquishing its claim to Fargan.
The second details the terms of the marriage itself. Which oil wells
will be part of your dowry, things like that."
Talty plucked a
cinnamon scone from the cart and broke it open. "I'm expensive,
I think."
"You're more
precious than any oil wells, girl." Brian spooned a chunk of
parsnip into his mouth. He took his time chewing.
Talty waited. Neither
man spoke, though they cast uneasy glances at each other.
"All right,
fellas. Let's have the third."
Jack bit into his
croissant, a calculated move that rendered him unable to speak.
Despite her growing dread, Talty admired the old fox. He'd left
her father on his own.
Brian set his spoon
down and sighed. "I don't like it, but Geoffrey insisted on
it. The third treaty stipulates the removal of your title as Crown
Princess. Since you'd be Queen of England, he won't risk giving
Ireland any advantage over England if by some misfortune you should
become Queen of Ireland at the same time." He looked away,
into the fire. "If we agree to all of this, I'd have to declare
Liam my heir."
No! She
wanted to throw the scone at him. All her life she'd trained to
take his place. Had it been for nothing? And what would Liam think?
Her sweet bookworm brother wouldn't want to be Crown Prince, she
was sure of that. Yet something tugged at her, something she couldn't
let escape. Crumbs bounced over her navy blue skirt as she tore
the scone to pieces trying to capture the elusive thought.
Brian's hands covered
hers. "We don't have to do it, darlin'. We can refuse."
If her father and
Uncle Jack hadn't caught her off guard, she'd have seen it right
away. If she were no longer Crown Princess, she'd be free of the
tedious responsibilities being heir to the throne demanded.
And what about
Liam? If her father had already thought this through, he must think
Liam wouldn't mind. Her brother wouldn't be the first scholar who'd
sat on Ireland's throne. Yes, it just might be all right.
Talty brushed away
a blur of tears and sucked in a deep breath. "Only until Thomas
dies? Or forever?"
"Even after
Thomas dies," said Jack, "you'd still be a member of the
Wessex family in name. Geoffrey wants no loopholes to challenge
his power. I suspect he means to continue to act as Regent even
after his nephew John takes the throne."
Talty would have
obeyed her father in the end, yet self-interest more than filial
duty prompted her compliance now. Unused to dishonesty, she waged
an inner struggle.
I'm licking
honey from a thornbush.
"When would
this marriage take place?"
"In June."
Brian almost smiled. "When the roses are blooming."
"So in five
months, I'm to be the Queen of England. In name, anyway. Will I
have royal duties there?"
Brian nodded. "Nominal
perhaps, and only until Thomas . . . leaves us."
Again, Talty shuddered.
"I'll agree to your treaties, Dad. If it's all right with Liam."
"Liam will
agree," Brian said, "and you'll help him."
"Of course I will,
and you'll have a son for an heir." She'd meant it in a lighthearted
way, and so Brian's anger surprised her.
He slapped the
arm of his chair. "Is that what you think I'm doing this for?
Listen, young lady. Liam is a good boy, but he'd rather learn about
kings of old than be a king himself. He'll be a mediocre king, though
he'd be a brilliant adviser, which is what I thought he'd be to
you one day." Brian jumped from his chair, punched the top
of it, and began pacing. "No, you're the stuff thrones are
made of, girl. I don't like this third treaty one bit, but unless
Jack can find a way around it, we'll have to agree to it."
Talty sat stunned.
Though she'd seen the volatile Boru temper often—and had displayed
it herself on occasion—her father's sudden fury shocked her.
"I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean it that way. I was only trying
to lighten things up."
The sparks vanished
as quickly as they'd appeared. Brian slowly shook his head. "I'm
sorry too, Tal. I'm a mediocre king myself, I'm afraid. Just promise
me you'll look after your brother."
"I always
have. I always will."
Jack smacked his
pipe against the palm of his hand. "Then you're all right with
this marriage treaty, Talty?"
She decided she
was. "Yes, Uncle. What do we do next?"
Her father sat
and found his spoon. "Finish lunch. Then we'll call the English
ambassador."
Trusting as she
had all her life in her father's gentle, reassuring tone, Talty
believed it would all work out.
The village of Howth sits at the
northern cusp of the crescent that forms Dublin Bay. Upscale shops
and restaurants line the main street. Fishing trawlers bob in the
water beside a private yacht club. Splendid homes adorn the small
peninsula, from the waterfront to the top of Howth Head, a lofty
bluff that overlooks the Irish Sea. Foremost among these grand abodes
is Garrymuir, a majestic estate that had been in the Boru family
for generations. Prince Peadar, King Brian's only sibling, lived
there now with his wife and two sons.
A special wing of Garrymuir housed
an airy gymnasium dedicated to training Ireland's next generation
of Fianna. Neil Boru, Peadar's elder son, expected to join their
elite ranks soon. While he waited for Talty to change, Neil stood
beneath the skylights twirling his bata in practiced circles, swinging
the lethal hardwood staff at imaginary enemies.
For years he and Talty had trained to become Fian warriors. Neil's
father had paired the cousins as partners years before, after Neil
had emerged as the only boy in the training class unafraid to trounce
Talty.
Talty's midweek call had surprised
him. Since her assignment to the Alastrina, Neil had only seen her
on his weekend leaves from the Air Corps. Still, he'd had no trouble
obtaining permission from his commanding officer to rearrange his
flight-training schedule so he could take her to Garrymuir. Being
the king's nephew had its privileges.
"Ready, Neil?" Talty
marched in from the lockers dressed in padded workout clothes, as
he was. She hefted a six-foot bata from a rack on the wall.
A pretty enough girl, he thought,
though thin to the point of being wiry. Her ivory skin and auburn
hair proclaimed her Boru heritage. Neil's own blue-black hair and
azure eyes were constant reminders, at least to him, that he only
bore his royal surname through the kindness of the man who'd married
his mother shortly before Neil's birth.
He stepped toward Talty. "I'm
ready. You're not."
"What do you mean?"
Neil loved her tiny pout, the
last vestige of the little girl who'd grown up with him and become
one of his closest friends. "I mean this." He tugged her
hair, a ritual he'd performed since their first training class,
after a fellow Fian student had tried to defend himself against
Talty by grabbing her chestnut locks and yanking too hard.
Pulling something from her pocket,
she shook her head and ensnared her dark red tresses in a ponytail.
"All right. Let's go."
She banged her bata three times
on the floor, the signal to start. Neil approached her as he always
did: with caution. His father's voice whispered in his ear: A
pretty little girl can kill you just as dead as a big, ugly man.
Talty never began a training bout
the same way twice. Today she started pacing. Neil concentrated,
tried to sense her battle spirit—and just managed to parry
a lightning-fast shot to his chest. She jabbed her bata at his head.
He had a split second to decide whether to ward a strike that might
be a feint, or wait and parry the real attack.
Thwack! The blow might
have broken his thigh if he hadn't deflected it. He darted behind
her. She whirled to protect her back.
Sudden fury blazed in her chestnut
eyes. Neil decided he'd better find out what was going on before
he got hurt.
"What's up, Tal? Uncle Brian
got you flustered again? Taking it out on me again?"
"Nothing's up!" With
a furious swing, she cracked her bata against his.
He barely countered the assault.
Talty would be a fine addition to the Banfianna, as the female Fianna
were called. She might be lagging behind Neil—her royal duties
had cut into her training time—but she knew her moves and possessed
a strength that belied her slender form.
Thwack! Thwack!
Neil danced back, his bata raised
before him in defense. "All right, Tal, what's wrong? Tell
me before you kill me so I can die happy."
Thwack! "Nothing's
wrong."
Her glistening eyes said otherwise.
Neil flung his bata down, twisted hers from her hands, and slammed
his thigh behind her knees.
She crumpled in outrage to the
shock-absorbent floor. "You big dope!"
Turning so she wouldn't see him
grin, he sauntered to a nearby alcove and drew two bottles of mineral
water from the mini-fridge. "You should learn the Fian motto,
Tal."
"I know it as well as anyone!"
She rolled to her feet and stomped after him. "'Truth in our
Hearts, Strength in our Arms, Dedication to our Promise!'"
He plunked himself down on the
bench against the wall. "All right. Let's start with truth
in your heart." With two quick twists, he removed the bottle
caps and pitched them into a nearby wastebasket. He raised one bottle
in a gesture of truce.
She accepted it and sat beside
him. A swig of water seemed to calm her down. "Thanks, Neily.
You're always looking after me."
"It's my duty to look after
you. I'm your Shivail."
"An honorary title you take
far too seriously. I can look after myself."
"My father's always taught
me to protect you. ‘As long as you live, neither for gold nor
for any other reward in the world abandon one you are pledged to
protect.'"
"You're full of Fian mottoes
today. How about this? ‘A pig's arse, and that's pork.'"
He pretended to be shocked. "That's
not a Fian motto."
She drew the bottle to her smiling
lips and chugged. "Get a life, Neil. You have more to do than
baby-sit me. You're going to be the best pilot the Air Corps ever
had." The pride in her voice pleased him. "And then there's
the girls."
"What girls?" He tried
but failed to keep from grinning.
"Truth in our hearts, Neily.
I've heard how you and our rascally cousin Aidan have the girls
swooning all over Ireland." She poked his shoulder. "Strength
in our arms."
"How about you, Lady Princess,
off on a ship full of randy sailors?"
Her cheeks blazed. That such a
strong young woman could blush so easily had always amused Neil.
"I'm not interested in such things, Neil Boru. Anyway, it wouldn't
matter if I had tons of lovers. I'm to marry Thomas Wessex."
Neil froze, unsure that he'd heard
correctly. "Thomas Wessex? He's the King of England."
"Aren't you a feckin' genius."
She drank until her bottle was empty.
"I don't believe it. You
can't marry Thomas Wessex. He's . . . he's not well."
Her eyes glistened. She swatted
at the threatening tears. "That means nothing in the grand
scheme of world politics."
Unsure what to do, he leaned toward her. "Don't cry, Tal."
"I am not crying!"
"No." A gulp of water
hid another smile. "That would be ridiculous. Can't you refuse?"
Breathing deeply, she quickly
regained her composure. "I could have, but I didn't. I wanted
to do it. If I marry Thomas, I won't be Crown Princess anymore."
"What? How can you not be
Crown Princess anymore?"
Talty explained the treaties,
and how Geoffrey Wessex had insisted she relinquish her title to
her brother Liam. Her declaration that she hated her "king
lessons" and despised sitting about like a delicate doll while
everyone else had all the fun astonished him.
"So I agreed," she said.
"But as I thought about it, I felt like a cow being sold at
the fair. I love my father, but sometimes I wish I were someone
else's daughter."
She was afraid, though she'd never
admit it. Neil set his water down and squeezed her hands. "Your
father would never hurt you, and no one's going to harm you while
I'm around."
With a sigh, she slipped her hands
from his. "This politics stuff is all codology."
"Arranged marriages between
England and Ireland are nothing new. My father was supposed to marry
Claudia Wessex, remember?"
Talty's quicksilver temperament
cast its spell. Like sunshine bursting from behind a dark cloud,
a smile lit her face—and Neil's heart.
"But he didn't." She
pecked his cheek. "The smartest thing your father ever did
was marry your mother and adopt you the day you were born."
Her unwitting reminder that he
wasn't a born Boru overshadowed the compliment. He tugged a wayward
wisp of her hair. "Come on, Tal. Let's get changed for dinner."
