Whenever-kobo by Emily Evans Page B

“We’ve aided you and ensured your crown. Release us from our traveler’s vow.” His Irish accent sounded the same but his words had taken on a dated cadence, but again, I followed it easily.
    “As your king, I’d hear your story first.”
    My king? Uh no. But, now was not the time to explain to him about America, the revolution and democracy. I tempered my words and thought to fudge the truth. “You know everything. I needed to delay everyone until Callum made his move. Then we were supposed to return. Time to go.”
    “You and I are not family?” King Mael asked.
    “No, as I said, I’m Hayley McLaren.”
    “McLaren? Scottish? Irish?”
    I opened my mouth to say Scottish descent, but Callum spoke first. “She’s Irish.”
    King Mael nodded. “You knew the tale of my coronation? So you’re from the future? Not the past? They speak of me?”
    King Mael seemed to be taking our crazy arrival with a scientific fascination and he wasn’t slow. Nor was he jumping to help us leave. I wanted my bag of pretzels and a coach class seat home to Trallwyn, Texas. And chocolate. And to see my family.
    The entry door thumped closed. The wind howled a protest at being barred entry to the church. I knew I shouldn’t ask, but I couldn’t stop myself. I nodded toward the yard. “Where are you taking them?”
    King Mael tilted his chin. “We’d not be so low as to kill inside a church. Only the high kings of Ireland may be buried here beneath the church or on the mound of Tara. Our kings’ rest will not be tainted by the likes of those men.”
    Callum put his mouth to my ear. “It’s how my father found DNA to prove our claim. He discovered the crypt.”
    King Mael’s gaze narrowed and Callum straightened.
    I rubbed my chin and fought tiredness. I fought the desire to push for going home and sought the strength to try and prevent death. “Don’t you have dungeons? Show people where traitors end up. Show mercy.”
    King Mael’s forest-green eyes hardened. “Their troops would rally to their rescue. They must die.”
    Everything in me stilled. This felt real and I wanted no part of it. I thought from my Irish trivia that they did more medieval ransoms than killings. I held my hands out, palms up. “You’ll make martyrs. Show the people their neighbors will prosper and benefit, not die.”
    “And will they prosper?”
    “Sure. Secure your borders. Open trade.”
    “That a girl knows of such things.” King Mael shook his head in wonder. “What’s to stop them from turning on me again when I offer mercy?” He said the word mercy with disdain, as if it were a weakness instead of a strength.
    I gestured around the interior and rubbed my arms against the chill. Fragile silk was not made for an Irish winter, at least, not one without central heating. At least the chill kept me awake. I searched for a persuasive suggestion. “Make them swear loyalty in public. Invite all the land to your coronation. Have them kneel in front of all your people. Get ransom money.” I recognized the dated phrasing of my words but went with it because he seemed to understand me.
    “Ransom’s good.” King Mael nodded. “And then when they betray me, their execution will be just in all eyes.”
    I countered, “Or, you could win them over. Make them your allies. Like Lincoln said, ‘The way to get rid of an enemy is to make him your friend,’ or something like that.”
    King Mael snorted. “Win over petty nobles with great riches? How do they benefit from bending to my will?”
    “Offer them what they want.” I tried to think of how enemies banded together and came up with a common enemy . “Tell them of the invaders attacking their borders. Not just the Viking raids, but invaders who will come and stay and rule like the Normans.”
    “Is that what happens?” King Mael asked. “The bastard Normans try and rise again?” The sun reflected off his crown for a moment and the image was so surreal I couldn’t answer. I hadn’t