Far from the stone-sheet cliffs of the western shore, out where the sea was a plane of cerulean, flat as glass without storm winds to rile it asunder, there floated a ship. Twin masts towered and speared a sapphire sky; sails unfurled in ivory despite the stillness of the air. Its presence was the kind poised to dart, sleekly streamlined. Built for speed, not for power, it appeared to move on its own as it slid forward with ease; too solid to be among the ghost vessels so feared among these lands, it must have had a crew to navigate.

And a small crew it did have.

Upon the forecastle deck, one manned the wheel: a flash of fresh-blood scarlet, a feather unfurling from a wide-brimmed hat. White straps crossed his chest, and at his back hung a musket, echoing a crueler era that trailed away behind them like the ruffled water in their wake.

The second surveyed from the crow’s nest: flame-bright hair swept to a coif, a russet-brown jacket with the sleeves torn off. His lapel pocket, too, was gone, as if it once had borne some insignia that he no longer wanted.

Below them, their magic cradled the hull in an undulating mass: tendrils of light, tight-woven, keeping the ship on steadier a course than any other that traversed the great Farraige de na Grianstad: the Sea of Solstices.

Then, like the minutes in which he scaled down the mast had been cut from existence, the faerie first mate was there beside his captain, who regarded him with time-worn seaglass eyes, not a shard of violence within them.

“They are fast approaching from due east,” the faerie said, and his voice was a song snippet, winding and leaping at every uptick, every lilt central to the lands of the fae. “What are you going to do about it?”

The captain removed his feathered hat to hold it upon his chest, revealing human ears and a circular scar on his temple the width of a quarter dollar. In contrast, he spoke like velvet: smooth and soft. Even without his touch, the ship kept course.

“Let them come. Set the magic still, Tárlach.”

Though fire flared in Tárlach’s green-jewel gaze, he snapped his fingers, and they drifted to a stop, Clarity holding them aloft.

“Finally done running, are you, my friend?” asked the faerie.

“Prod me with as many verbal jabs as you desire. We don’t have time for a sparring match.” He tucked the hat onto his head. On black-booted footsteps, coattails swishing and hands clasped at his back, he padded across the deck to wait by the portside.

Tárlach wore a grin and a glimpse of wolf-like teeth as, he joined his captain in watching the boat well on its way toward them. It was perhaps a fourth of their ship’s size, slim and low to the surface of the water, designed just as much for precision as for speed.

In the breeze that the boat’s own clip created, painted sails rustled -- three ravens, talons locked and turning clockwise, marked her crew as the Minister’s folk.

High on the mast fluttered a green pennant, signifying peace.

They did indeed appear peaceful, for as their boat drew near, Tárlach and the human in the scarlet coat could see that among them, there was no weaponry. This was a search party armed not with bows and guns or hounds and magic, but with maps and spy glasses and globes, not canons. Every last one wore the red-brown suede of government officials -- from the tall faerie male at the bow to the girl observing from the cabin. She was thin as a waif, almost childlike if not for her unflinching stare toward the crew of two.

Near enough to dock the party came, yet they took no action. Tárlach elbowed his captain, once but hard, on the side. When the offending musket vanished, unhooked from its straps and placed beneath the wall, the girl signaled to her group. Four men stood by each other, in adjacent pairs, then with a creak of wood and a squeak of hinges as they heaved levers, they lowered their bridge between the vessels. It thudded into place, and the men stepped aside, their bearing that of guards in disguise.

A fifth official opened the cabin door. Out stalked the green-haired girl, fierce in her intensity and slipping a clipboard under her arm; without so much as a peek into the ocean, she crossed the chasm, one foot before the other like a slinking cat. In single file, the party accompanied her, speaking not a word.

Tárlach sprang to the stairs that sloped downward, more than ready to meet them on the main deck.

Steel in his expression, the captain grabbed his first mate by the forearm.

“Let me lead the discussion,” he said, his tone a warning.

The faerie’s jagged grin widened. “Why should you? Because you get nervous when you’re not in charge?”

“No.” He allowed Tárlach to pull free. “Because you are a royal pain in the backside.”

There was no more chance for an argument to spiral. The Minister’s search party crested the top of the deck; as though she owned the ship herself, the girl marched straight to the captain, stopping inches from him. She whipped the clipboard out with a snap and flipped through the pages.

A single look from her to the captain commanded silence. It seemed she was concocting a storm, for the air crackled with a tension jarring against clear skies. She cleared her throat and wrinkled her nose, which though subtle, would be forever burned into their minds. Disgust could not be better depicted through prose or paint or performance danced across the stage through humanity’s most animated plays.

At last, she said, “I, Fedelmid, Assistant to his Eminence the Supreme Minister of the Faerie Realm, bear orders to find you. Tárlach, Soiléireacht Grandmaster, Savior of Traitors.”

Tárlach risked a step forward, nothing else.

“And...” Her eyes slid to the human. “Johnathan Avery, Bringer of Terrors and Traitor to Agencies of Death.”

Again, Johnathan Avery’s hat was clasped to his chest, feather bobbing in the breeze. He met Fedelmid’s intensity with an expression of cool stone.

“We seek your assistance in matters concerning the freedom and prosperity upon which our society is built. Are you willing to aid us?”

“With all due respect,” Johnathan replied, “we cannot agree to aid until we know what these matters are.”

Fedelmid arched a brow and exchanged silent communication with her party of five faerie men -- all in more eyebrow arches, tapping feet, and sidelong glances at the two, as if conversing by telepathy.

“Understood,” she said. “What do you know of the Taking thirteen years ago?”

Johnathan shifted uncomfortably; Tárlach took an interest in a whorled cloud.

Fedelmid’s temper sparked. “Are you familiar with it or not? What did you see? Did one of your allies see it, traitor-savior? Did one of your carnage-hungry people, Avery?”

“My people are no more ‘carnage-hungry’ than any other nation during war. If you’d be so kind as to hold your tongue --”

Tárlach cut in, his palm firm upon Johnathan’s back. “We were sailing this very ocean. As much as the Minister would like an excuse to jail us, we have no more knowledge than you. And, to save you the trouble of asking, no, we weren’t responsible.”

Fedelmid seethed, a poisonous snake ready to strike.

Johnathan let his own anger settle.

“Nor do we know who was responsible,” Tárlach continued. “But you are in luck, for we have a theory.”

“We do?” muttered Johnathan.

“If this theory is one you are fabricating on the spot, then your punishment will be... unpleasant. And you both shall be subject to it.”

“Worry not, Lady of Governance,” said Tárlach, as even he didn’t dare to use her name. “Have you considered that perhaps the culprit... disagreed with your motives?”

“Do you not think that is the first possibility we considered?” Fedelmid snapped.

“Ah, but who would be so brazen as to defy his Eminence? To deny a system by which the citizens of our fine Realm decide their fate, rather than a monarch deciding it for them?”

Fedelmid shoved her clipboard into the hand of the nearest party member.

To Tárlach, she demanded, “Where are you going with this?”

Though Johnathan would also have liked an answer, he kept quiet.

“Well, Lady, think about it.”

She scoffed and out a guess. “Those still loyal to the monarchy. If any remained.”

“Well, no push for democracy is ever met with universal love. Is it, Johnathan?”

For a searing fraction of a second, Johnathan wanted to punch Tárlach with all the might he could muster. But there was no need to give his companion the satisfaction of riling him up. Besides, Fedelmid would lunge at the chance to punish him for harming one of her own, criminal or not. Thus, he ignored the taunt.

Fedelmid’s focus renewed, strong as ever.

“Do you realize what species the Taken is?”

“Human,” they said, together.

“Yes. And do you realize where the culprit must have fled?”

“How do you know that they fled to Earth?” Johnathan countered -- he already followed what Fedelmid must be saying.

“They could have taken a child from any nation in any world, and yet, they chose Earth. Why? Because Earth, historically, has been far easier than other worlds for us to access. It is almost certain that they will have fled there.”

Tárlach was now following, too, asking, “And you are so convinced that the culprit fled at all because...?”

“Because we have looked everywhere! The Reformed Hunt is at our beck and call. Their hounds are the best of the best and have found no scent.”

“Then it seems they’ve fled, indeed,” said Tárlach, the very slightest snide note in his response and the smallest smirk on his face.

Johnathan could stand skirting around the point no longer. “I don’t doubt that you have better help than a pair of criminals, Lady. What, exactly, are you asking us to do here?”

“The Minister wants you to stay in contact with us... and with our other aid.”

“And who might that be?”

“The Coalition of Unorthodox Research Teams.”

Tárlach let slip a sound that was part cough and part snicker.

Johnathan winced, began to pace, and combed his fingers through his scruff of ash-brown hair. “No. For the love of all that is good and decent, no. Tárlach, please, don’t you make us do this; i’s madness.”

Fedelmid practically hissed at them. “Just why not!?”

“Because!” Johnathan made an abrupt stop, wide-eyed from both frustration and dread. “COURT spends so much energy touting their hatred of war that I’m convinced the polar opposite is true.”

“Your emotion is clouding your judgement. Unless you cooperate, there will be consequences, as I have already stated.”

Now, patience whittled thin, Johnathan could not help himself. “What else, besides war, would you call their picking off your kind in the shadows?”

Fedelmid’s reply was ice and rock and frost. “Our kind do not belong on Earth.”

“You care so little about their demise?”

“You care less for the demise of the people whom your country and your own leaders and you yourself have murdered.”

Even Tárlach was stunned by that. He blinked, as if he could not believe what Fedelmid had just said, while Johnathan let his arms slump at his sides, defeated.

“Enough,” he whispered. “I’ve had enough. Tárlach, handle this. Please.”

It was then that some connection flickered into view, like a long-forgotten object buried in the ocean floor and revealed when sand washed away, glinting blue-tinted in a glimmer of sunlight. Tárlach stepped in front of Johnathan, shielding him from Fedelmid’s spoken knives to the gut.

With his hat hanging from his fingertips, Johnathan retreated to the captain’s quarters; there he stayed until the Minister’s search party had left, and tranquil weather had given way to clouds swollen with rain, then finally, until day deepened into night.

❦❦❦

Inside, there was only the creak of wood as, outside, waves buffeted the ship, rocking it to and fro, while Tárlach’s magic held it upright. A storm had broken after all. It had come from nowhere to crack open the sky, unleashing winds that screamed across the heaving waters, and a downpour to rival those of legend.

Johnathan watched it rage while he reclined in a cushioned chair as new as it had been the day they’d stolen this vessel. He’d tossed his coat onto the bed in the corner, made a cup of tea -- the kind that came in a block for dissolving -- and settled down to think about literally anything other than war.

But when the subject had begun to fade, the door squeaked and closed. Tárlach, again, did not walk. He never walked. Instead, he was in one place at one moment, then another place at the next. As such, he appeared beside Johnathan, who startled, and the cup became its own miniature uneasy sea. Tea sloshed and sprinkled onto Johnathan’s lap.

“Thank you for that.” He snatched a cloth that he kept in his shirt pocket for instances like this and set upon dabbing the droplets away.

His sarcasm was not shared.

Johnathan’s movements slowed; his eyes traveled up Tárlach’s pilfered trousers, up his tunic, up to a face that held no glee and no pride. He had lifted the glamour from his hair, revealing evergreen locks instead of ginger.

“What?” Johnathan asked. “Why are you just stood there?”

Tárlach sat silent on the bed. Sitting on it rumpled blankets folded in a manner so particular, it’d caused many a spat -- the faerie ranted that Johnathan was too neat, and the human grumbled about floating along in a pigsty.

“I’m sorry,” Tárlach said. His apology lingered in the muffled roar of the storm.

Johnathan, after sipping tea to soothe his nerves, replied, “It’s over and done.”

“It isn’t. You can’t steal a ship and run away this time around. What Fedelmid said, and yes, I’m using her name; don’t stop me --”

“This isn’t necessary.”

“What Fedelmid said,” he repeated, stronger, “was horrible. You and I both trust that you wouldn’t ever belittle a life.”

“I don’t need a heart-to-heart.”

A hint of Tárlach’s signature smirk ghosted across his lips. “Too bad. She was trying to get under your skin, you know.”

Johnathan leaned forward, placed his cup on his desk, and leaned back. “It worked.”

“Don’t you start believing her. My Gods, you are miserable when you get down on your luck. I mean, you’ll go into a room carrying this fog with you, and all the light is sucked right out. Like a vampire.”

“Did you come in here to talk, or insult me?”

“Maybe I’m trying to smooth things over in my own special way.”

“Then stop.” He breathed out a sigh and listened to the wind screech. “Bloody Christ. I knew that whole Taking situation would bite them in the rear someday.”

“I am with you there.” Tárlach, with no consideration for Johnathan’s blankets, rolled onto his side as he nestled a pillow between his head and his arm. “I saw Takings hundreds of years ago -- three, four hundred. Tended to happen when the Unseelie were in power. The morbid bastards. Now, the Seelie... I respected us.”

Johnathan, too exhausted to protest the destruction of his bed, nodded agreement.

“But, you see,” Tárlach said, “while the monarchy was a disaster, I didn’t trust this democracy to be stable, either. I still don’t. Do you?”

“Not particularly. Although, it’s been thirty years.”

“Which isn’t much compared to your two centuries, I know. A lot can happen in such a short period, though. Look at humans, for example. Your lives are so brief, and your nation conquered half the globe.”

Johnathan swiped a newspaper from his desk, rolled it, and held it tight. It was an empty threat, of course, as he’d tried at some point to attack Tárlach -- and been knocked onto his behind by the glowing strands called Soiléireacht.

Nonetheless, Tárlach relented. “All I am saying is that I’ve noticed things out here on the Farraige. Things that do not bode well.”

He lowered his makeshift weapon, and in doing so, cast off the remnants of his annoyance with his faerie crewmate. “They don’t. Do you remember that ship with the black flag, maybe eighty years past?”

“I couldn’t forget it. That night was so damn dark, and the way our lights hit the flag honestly gave me the chills... and as fast as we went, she was just a tiny bit faster. We could never catch up.”

“There’s also the ‘uninhabited’ island you insisted was cursed to keep trespassing sailors like us out. Someone is going to immense lengths to hide, aren’t they?”

“Mhm. Could well be the culprit of the Taking. Could also be some sort of rebels.”

The thoughts made Johnathan shiver. “They could be the same. And if they are... I’m not sure I want to be involved.”

“Because you have seen enough of that? Rebellion?”

“I’ve seen enough of them crushed, but no -- that’s not what I meant. We may all be wrong. Maybe... this was done in a fit of bitterness, or fear, or poor judgment. Yes, it was hardly more than a decade ago, and yet...”

“And yet, regret doesn’t always come after the fact. Chances are, this person, or these people, have already paid for their crime,” Tárlach finished. “You don’t want to jump headfirst into a situation that isn’t your business to begin with.”

“Precisely. That, and you’re aware of how I feel about COURT.”

“I am with you there, too. COURT are cowards. Why the Minister is collaborating with them, I will never understand.”

Johnathan stifled a yawn and swallowed the remaining dregs of tea. “I don’t want to know what he would do to someone for taking a changeling.”

“Me, neither.”

After that, Tárlach and Johnathan spoke no more -- enemies long, long ago, now adrift together in the dark as storms played tug with their only link to survival.