Legend of the Lakes

by Clara O'Connor

  This was why she wasn’t in the nursery. She had been moved to sleep closer to his rooms.

  Gideon looked at me stonily, pressing a tender kiss to Féile’s forehead as she wrapped herself about him. I looked back at him, pleading with him silently.

  “Morning, poppet.” His gravelly voice was soft as he cuddled her close.

  I felt like I was adrift, the gossamer thread from last night pulled taut. The tension was high and so close to snapping.

  He ran a finger down her soft cheek, just as he had that morning after she was born. A wave of emotion washed through me, threatening to pull me down.

  “Féile,” he said, waiting until she lifted her little chin to look up at him. “Do you know who this is?”

  She surveyed me solemnly, wide-eyed. How would she, in a castle full of people? I was someone she saw rarely and interacted with not at all. Devastation coursed through me that she mightn’t even know me. My baby, Devyn’s legacy, the gift he had left behind that I had failed to treasure.

  “Dada,” she turned into his neck.

  Dada. She called him Dada.

  The world exploded.

  Gideon turned, huddling her into the wall as furniture burst across the room. I felt like I was coming out of my skin. I was a whirling dervish, a storm breaking, out of control, out of my mind with the pain and anguish that whipped through me.

  He had stolen her from her father and from me.

  “You’re not Devyn.”

  The scream tore from the ragged pieces of my heart, merging and flying about the room as tangible to me as the broken furniture.

  Through the tumult Rion’s face appeared.

  Then Gideon was there, taking my arms, pulling me into him.

  Words – shouting, soothing, calming.

  “Come back, hush, come back.” Gideon held me against his chest, his arms around me like a band. Soft words murmured in my ear, a gentle touch on my hair, on my skin. “Shhh.”

  I went limp in his arms and the storm ceased.

  The furniture lay in pieces around the room. I frowned at the damage. Had I done this?

  “Féile?” I asked in a small voice. Had I hurt her?

  “She’s fine. Rion has her.”

  I pushed away from him. She must have been terrified. I couldn’t focus, the anger still boiled through me.

  “I want my daughter.”

  “Are you insane?” he asked, an eyebrow raising. “You think I’m letting you anywhere near her after that display?”

  “She is not yours. Who are you to tell me that I cannot see my own child? My child. Mine.” Rage flowed freely through me in a surge that I was helpless to control. “You stole everything.”

  I hated him, with every particle of my being.

  “You’re not the Griffin. You’re not her father.”

  Rion had come back into the room, his step faltering at the bitter, angry words I was throwing.

  “So you keep telling me.”

  “You are nothing.”

  “I’m nothing.” He stepped toward me, teeth bared. “Fine, but you, you are less than nothing. You’re not a mother. She doesn’t even know who you are. You are no one to her. And I’ll be damned if I let you anywhere near her. Ever.“

  Rion stepped in now, pulling Gideon’s arm. “Enough! Stop this.”

  Gideon stared down at me, nostrils flaring, my rage met and answered in his.

  Bronwyn was there and she laid a tentative hand on my arm.

  “Cass, darling. You need to stop. Please, Féile is afraid. You need to breathe.” The storm had restarted outside, the windows rattling in the winds that were battering to get in, to answer my call.

  What was I doing?

  Gideon twisted out of Rion’s grip and strode from the room.

  The rage and everything else seeped out of me. Devastation flooded in its wake, inside and out. I lifted a trembling hand to my mouth as I took in what I had done to the room. What I had done to my daughter. What I had said to Gideon. I fell to my knees and sobbed in Bron’s arms, weak from the morning’s events. What had I done?

  “Get me out of here,” I said, depleted of all tears. I needed to get away.

  Bronwyn nodded.

  Within the hour, she had us both on horses heading to Keswick. A couple of days out in the Lakelands would give everyone a little breathing space.

  We clattered slowly out over the cobblestones. Unable to resist, I looked up at Gideon’s room. Was he there? I thought I detected a shadow through the diamond-patterned glass, but I couldn’t be sure. My throat was raw as I swallowed.

  The guards’ faces were overly neutral as we passed by. The townsfolk’s faces were less so. There was fear, signs of a recent storm visible in tumbled-over carts, cracked shutters, smashed slates in the streets. Had I done this? I would laugh if it was remotely funny. I hadn’t been able to summon anything like this kind of power in all my training with Callum.

  Where was Callum? He hadn’t been at the ball. He was always by my side, but I hadn’t seen him since I had woken up.

  I waited until we were clear of Carlisle and on the open road before pulling alongside Bronwyn. Her dark hair was tied back, and a hood was pulled forward to protect her from the winter chill. I had pushed mine back as soon as we exited the town gates. I felt overheated.

  “Where’s Callum?” I asked as she turned her head in enquiry.

  “He’s gone to Oxford. He went a week ago. They had tried everything, and when they ran out of ideas, Callum went to see if he could dig up anything in the great libraries there.”

  “I don’t have the Mallacht?”

  I had presumed that was what afflicted me, that like so many others with magic in their blood it had finally caught up with me.

  “No, you don’t have the same symptoms. We’re not sure what’s wrong with you. You haven’t been well for a while, don’t you remember?”

  I thought back to my last memories before waking up the other night in Gideon’s arms. He had come to say goodbye. There had been others before him who had whispered words of love and regret. Mostly regret. I hadn’t really given anyone a chance to love me. I shook it off. Before that, I had been tired, so tired. In the months over the summer, I had struggled to find the energy to do anything. No, energy wasn’t right, more that I hadn’t had the will to go on. It had felt so hard to move, to talk, to engage with anything. Not worth the effort to push on anymore.

  I could barely recognise that now.

  “I remember, I think.” I smiled wryly at her. She looked well. “How are you?”

  “How am I?” she burst out incredulously but not unkindly. “I’m well.”

  “You and Rion…” They had been engaged two years ago, but I had no memory of them getting married. “What happened?”

  She cocked her head, a smile tugging at her lips in disbelief, but she managed not to ask me again if I didn’t remember. I did remember the last two years. I sort of remembered everything, it’s just that I hadn’t really paid attention to anything outside of working on the ley line, Callum, and training, trying to get better, stronger in wielding the elements. If somebody had told me anything about Rion and Bronwyn, then it wasn’t that I didn’t recall, it was just that I likely hadn’t been listening.

  “I’m Llewelyn’s heir,” she said, as if that explained everything.

  I lifted my shoulders. I didn’t know what that meant.

  “Llewelyn had always hoped that there would be another generation to carry his name but…”

  “Devyn’s death,” I finished for her. Was she afraid of saying something that might upset me? Why would…? Oh, yeah.

  “Yes, with Devyn gone, my older sister and I are the last of the Glyndŵr blood. My sister is heir to Kernow, so Llewelyn asked me.”

  She gave a small shrug, her brow furrowing at the fact that this was news to me. She sighed.

  “I am heir to Gwynedd now,” she said. “Marrying Rion before would have strengthened the ties between Kernow and Mercia.
Now it would weaken Cymru, leaving Gwynedd without an heir as I would have had to move here to Mercia.”

  Not a good time to leave any part of Briton vulnerable. Kernow in particular was susceptible as it shared an extensive border with the empire. Mercia was an important ally but Cymru was their nearest neighbour, it’s strength was their greatest protection. It made sense that Kernow would do whatever it could to shore up Gwynedd’s politically. As it was, the Britons stood little chance of holding back the imperial forces once they made their move, given their depleted magic resources and with so many who had abilities ill and dying. The legions’ technology might not be as reliable out here as it was in the city, but it worked, and they had the numbers and aggression. The borderlands were the main deterrent to them pushing north, the corrupted ley lines that ran through the country separating the southeast from the rest of the island acting as an effective barrier, the magic in there wild and unpredictable as ever.

  Kernow was exposed though, as it sat underneath the ley line on the same side as the Roman territory. But Bronwyn would remain strongly allied with her family in Tintagel. If Gwynedd stood with Kernow, so too would the rest of Cymru. She was a good choice, and I doubted she would mind the broken engagement. She had never displayed that kind of interest in my brother.

  “Do you know what happened to Marcus?” I’d never heard anyone mention him. He had betrayed me, betrayed Devyn. He was behind those walls, but they could not protect him forever.

  Bronwyn ground her teeth before answering.

  “Yes, some. His father is governor now – they overthrew the previous one. Or he faced a trial or something. Dolon and his son were hailed as heroes, saving all those within the walls while the last governor was blamed for the illness and not doing enough to counter it.”

  Calchas and Matthias had finally taken full control of the province. If Acteon had tried to eradicate magic then it seemed like Matthias shared Calchas’s plan to control it. Or at least, he was sufficiently rewarded by his rise to the highest title in the city to allow Calchas to pursue whatever his master plan was.

  “They will be running low on their supply by now though.”

  “Rion said there have been incidents?” I recalled from somewhere.

  “Yes, they tried to land at the Holy Isle again, but we were ready for them. Shadowers also creep across the borders looking for other stores of mistletoe. The Steward of York mops them up and my sister sends troops from Tintagel to cover the eastern border. The oak groves are well guarded, and the mistletoe is only effective when it’s been harvested with the correct ritual. The number of ill here and in Cymru has gone down, so the diminished stores mattered less than it might have.”

  As we drew closer to Keswick the sun was setting, and we found the community had settled down for the night, their lives much more dictated by the sun. They were up before dawn and went to bed soon after sunset, very different from life in the town.

  Nonetheless, a couple of younger druids came out to welcome us and the small cottage that always remained ready for me quickly had a fire lit, and bowls of warming soup with great hunks of bread were provided for us.

  Later, Bronwyn’s breath was slow and even in the bed opposite but she tossed and turned, as unable to sleep as I.

  “Bronwyn,” I called lightly.

  “Mmm.”

  “How did Gideon get his scar?”

  A huff of laughter in the darkness.

  “What’s going on with you?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “What’s with the sudden interest in Gideon?”

  “It’s not sudden. I-I mean, I’m not interested.” I felt flustered. I had merely been curious. “I mean, why wouldn’t I be interested? I’m married to him.”

  I could hear Bronwyn sitting up, soft balls of light popping into life, lighting up her incredulous face.

  “You’ve been married for two years. Why now?”

  I covered my face in my hands, mortified.

  “I don’t know.” My voice was muffled from behind my hands. I knew so little about him – just that he was the son of the Steward of York, loyal to my brother… and a stonking great arse. Lingering annoyance flittered along my skin. Skin that he had kissed and caressed every inch of so carefully, so wondrously, the night I had woken to find him in my bed.

  It had felt like a dream, the colour and warmth suffusing me even now. What if it had been a dream? Maybe he had never been there at all. Perhaps I had imagined it in my delirium. No wonder that he had found my behaviour at the ball strange… but no, he had kissed me and taken me to his bed. It wasn’t all me, was it? Mortified didn’t even begin to cover it. If only I never had to face him again. But that wasn’t possible. He was the only parent my child had ever known.

  And he was a good parent. He had tried to pull me back when I had started to drift away, had pleaded with me to spend more time with my daughter, to be a mother to her.

  His own mother had left when he was young. No wonder he had been so angry at watching history repeat itself. He had tried to get me to be better – that was the last time I remembered interacting with him. That seemed to be his preferred way of dealing with things: if he couldn’t meet it head on he would just avoid it. Or was that not fair? After all, I was the one who had told him I did not ever want to have to lay eyes on him, and he had done his best to ensure I didn’t. Fine, thanks for saving my life.

  “Why do he and his father not speak?” I asked.

  Bronwyn tilted her head as I pursued my curious choice of subject.

  “I think you should talk to him, hear it from him yourself.”

  “Right.” Like that was going to happen. “Have you met Gideon Mortimer? We are talking about the same man?”

  Another soft laugh.

  “You do seem to like a challenge in a man,” Bronwyn observed.

  She was comparing my interest in Gideon to how I had felt toward Devyn.

  “It’s not like that.”

  “No?” came a wry tone. “Tell me, what is it like?”

  Okay, so when she had arrived into Gideon’s room this morning I had been dressed in a bedsheet. Maybe it was a little like that.

  I groaned. “He hates me.”

  “Hate is a strong word. I don’t think he hates you. It certainly wasn’t hate last night, now, was it?” Her chuckle was full and dirty.

  My cheeks flamed hot again at the memory of last night and discussing it in any manner with Bronwyn.

  “Devyn was quiet – or not quiet, but he had secrets. He hid things from me.” I shrugged. “So whether it was nature or a habit from keeping himself to himself for all the years he lived in Londinium, I don’t know. I suppose I didn’t know a great deal about him. I don’t really know Gideon either, and I get that that is my fault. At least I think it’s my fault, but he is a little intimidating.”

  Bronwyn was silent for a moment, figuring out which of those revelations she was going to touch, I guessed. I must be freaking her out. I had barely spoken to her, to anyone really, since Féile was born, and now I wanted to cover everything from the brewing war to the men in my life in my first day back in the world. I grimaced.

  “If you ever want to know more about Devyn, I’m here. I have all the stories you’ll ever need. And Rion does too – he loved Devyn. I know you can’t forgive him but he would… you could talk to him about Devyn, too.”

  I nodded, unwilling to trust myself to speak. I didn’t blame Rion for Devyn’s death; there was nothing to forgive. Matthias Dolon had killed Devyn. I had never said that to my brother though. I had told him I blamed him, but it had all been so tangled up in grief that I hadn’t been able to think straight. I never meant him to think—

  What a mess.

  Another person to whom I had barely spoken. He was my brother, but he too was someone I hadn’t bothered to get to know in my new life.

  “As for Gideon, well, he’s sort of his own man. He’s always been a bit of a law unto himself in doing and sayi
ng what he wants, which is, I presume, what got him that sexy scar over his pretty face,” she moued, and a little laugh escaped. “You will really have to ask him how he got it. I don’t actually know, not for sure. There are a lot of rumours: an angry father or brother of some poor seduced girl, a hell hound, a skirmish with Northmen on the Anglian coast. All I know is that he turned up at Rion’s hall, a trained warrior, when he was twenty or so and he had it then.”

  “That would have been a couple of years after Devyn left,” I calculated.

  “Yes, about that,” she concurred. “He picked the right castle to turn up at. Not that he had much choice. All of Cymru despises the Anglians – they’ve fought for years over the border. The Albans might have taken him in, although there is also a rumour that he slept with the king’s sister there. But he chose Carlisle, which had a young king in need of a friend, and whatever else he is, Gideon has been loyal to Rion. Though as far as I’m aware he has never sworn fealty to Mercia, which is highly irregular. I’ve never seen him do something he doesn’t want to do, but he is Rion’s man all the same.”

  He might not have sworn an oath to Rion, but he had married his sister at his command. Even if she was the last woman on earth he would have chosen himself. Nor had it escaped me how many of these rumours included other women. I wondered how many he had been with while I… that wasn’t any of my business. I had practically forgotten he existed. I had certainly treated him as if he didn’t exist. He had married me to save my life, to save Féile’s life.

  I wanted to ask more, more about Gideon, more about Féile, but my head pounded at the thought. I couldn’t. I didn’t deserve it.

  “I’ve been a terrible mother,” I whispered, unable to look at my friend.

  “Yes.”

  Her voice wasn’t judgemental, just honest.

  “Do you think they’ll ever forgive me?”

  I waited for her answer. I couldn’t look at her, as she contemplated my question.

  “Féile is young. Show her love, be patient with her, she’ll come around,” Bronwyn said. “Gideon, I don’t know. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, but then his own past won’t help matters.”