There was a dull groan as another man fell.
"For the love of the gods, Tristan, stop this carnage before more men die!"
He lowered the hand he'd held out to her, cupped the other to his mouth, and shouted, drawing the attention of the men fighting above. "The day is won!" he called. "Vincent of Shara is dead!"
One of the men on the balcony shouted some question down to him, and as Tristan gave orders to spare the rest of Vincent's men unless they insisted on fighting on, Bridin crept back into the castle.
She was tired, aching all over, cut and bleeding. But none of that hurt so much as her heart did. For now that the battle was over, she realized that Tristan had indeed won. He'd won his kingdom, the love of his people, and dammit, he'd won her heart. But now, how could she tell him that? If she pledged her love after all these weeks of resisting him, then he'd always wonder, wouldn't he? He'd always wonder whether it was him she loved, or the crown he could place back upon her head.
Oddly enough, that crown no longer seemed to matter so much. Once, retaking her throne, her birthright, had been the only dream of her heart. Her only wish.
Now...
She glanced back through the doorway, glimpsing Tristan once again. Now she knew there was something more, something far more precious to her than any kingdom or any crown. But now that Tristan had his heart's desire—
Doubts crept into her mind. Would he even still want her now? Surely he'd have no need to woo or try to win her. No need to make love to her, or fill her heart with wild imaginings of how it could be with them. No need of her at all. She'd be a detriment to him now.
Maybe it would be better for Tristan if she simply left him alone. Lowering her head, turning away, she started back through the castle, ready to leave it for the very last time, stepping over the dead and wounded along the way.
In the great hall, a soft cry brought her head up, and she spied her mother. Maire burst into tears and ran to her, enfolding her in a strong embrace and kissing her cheeks. "You're all right. Oh, my darling, I was so afraid for you!"
Bridin clung to her mother, numb, afraid to cry because if she began, she thought she might never stop. "I'm sorry, Mother. I failed you."
"What a silly thing to say!"
"I didn't do as you told me. I didn't find the man as the crystal said I should do, and now I've lost your kingdom—"
"Our kingdom, daughter. And what makes you think you have lost it?"
Bridin lowered her head, shaking it slowly, too drained to explain. "Let's just go. To the forest, to—"
"You're wounded!" Maire drew away from Bridin, staring down at her bloodied tunic. "Come, I'll tend you in my chamber."
Poor Mother. Didn't she realize it was no longer her chamber? Or her castle or her kingdom?
But she led her by the hand, and Bridin was too tired to fight her. They went up the stairs, and as they did, she tried to let her mother down gently. "It's Tristan the people want, Mother. I'm so sorry, but the kingdom... it's his now. Surely you can see that?"
Her mother continued to the top of the stairs, pulling her along the hallway to the bedroom where she'd so recently been held prisoner. "Tristan survived the battle as well, then?" Maire asked.
"Yes."
"I'm so glad. I don't mind abdicating, you know. I'd had my fill of leadership long ago. Though I will admit, it was exhilarating leading Tristan's men here, riding at the front of an army on the attack." She sighed, pushing the door open, pulling Bridin to the bed and easing her onto it. "But my time is over, darling. My magic, long gone. This is your time, Bridin. Your turn to—"
"Mother, haven't you heard a word I've said?"
"Of course I have, darling. And now I have something to show you."
Bridin frowned, leaning back on the pillows, sighing in frustration. Her mother pulled a small, convex bit of glass... no, crystal, from within her dress. "I found this, below in the dungeons where you fell. It's a part of the scrying crystal."
Nodding, Bridin closed her eyes.
"Look at it, daughter. And tell me what you see."
"It doesn't matter whose face I see in that broken piece of rock, Mother. I won't go in search of him. I won't marry him. I can't. Not now. I might have lost Tristan, but I will never love any other man. Never!"
She heard her mother's sigh, then felt her weight leaving the bed. "Perhaps you'll look at it later."
"Never," she whispered. She was so tired. So utterly exhausted.
"All right, darling. You rest. I'll tend your wounds and..." Her mother's hand touched her neck and then moved away. "Your pendants?"
Bridin shrugged. "I lost them... in the battle."
She felt a warm hand smoothing her hair. "No matter. I think the need for them has passed." The hand continued stroking, and Bridin felt herself sinking into blissful sleep. "That's it, child. Rest. Rest. My poor baby, to have grown up without a mother's love, and all because of the wicked Vincent. It was he who murdered those kind mortals who adopted you, my darling. Oh, but you must have known it, sensed it."
Bridin's eyes opened again and she searched her mother's face. "It was Vincent who killed them?"
"Who else?" she whispered.
And then her mother began singing an ancient Celtic lullaby. One Bridin vaguely remembered from her youth. She felt tears burn her eyes as she realized how very wrong she'd been about Tristan, about so many things, and for such a long time. She counted her regrets as she finally drifted off to sleep.
When she woke, it was night again. She couldn't believe she'd slept for so long. She sat up in the bed, only to find herself undressed, and her mother humming a tune as she poured a steaming pail of water into the large tub someone had dragged into the room.
"Mother? What..."
"Ah, you're awake! Good. Come on, now, into the tub. We haven't got much time as it is."
Bridin frowned hard. "Time? Time for what? Mother, what in the world is going on?"
Her mother beamed at her. "A celebration, of course. The wounded have been tended, the dead buried. My, but the men have been busy. And the women, too, restoring this place to order after such a horrible day."
Bridin groaned. Gods, the last thing she felt like was revelry.
"The people have been freed from months of oppression and hardship, daughter. Surely you wouldn't deny them this celebration. Why, Tristan sent out a troop of hunters for game, and the cooks have been working all the day through. There's to be feasting and music. And of course, the coronation."
"The coronation," she muttered.
"Tristan saved your life, countless times, Bridin. You told me so yourself. You owe him this, if nothing more. Your presence at this event. Now, come along, hurry. How is your side?"
"My..." Blinking, Bridin looked down at her wound, only now remembering to think of it. But there was nothing there save a rapidly fading pink mark. "How did you—"
"Raze, that dear man, he found the pendants clutched in the hands of a dead man. Brought them to me right away. Don't tell me you didn't notice?" Bridin glanced down to see one pendant dangling at her throat. She opened her mouth to ask what had become of its mate, but her mother didn't give her the chance. "Now will you get busy, dear?"
She didn't want to get busy, but it seemed she had little choice. All those villagers who'd heeded her call to arms and stormed the castle at her side would expect her to show them her gratitude. And she couldn't deny that she longed to see Tristan again, to speak to him, to try to figure out whether there was any hope for the two of them, after all they'd been through.
Her mother tended her as if she were a small child again, washing and brushing her hair, singing as she worked. Then she brought out a gown of glittering emerald, and Bridin caught her breath.
"It was mine," Maire told her. "Tristan was kind enough to show me where our belongings were stored when his father's armies took this kingdom from us so long ago. I was amazed they weren't all destroyed, but I suspect that young man had a hand in their preserva
tion."
"You've seen him?" Bridin asked, unable to stop herself.
Her mother smiled. "Of course. We had much to discuss, that young man and I. Now get dressed, and go stand by the window so your hair will dry in the breeze. My goodness, I'm not even dressed yet myself. I'll send for you when it's time."
"But—"
Her mother sailed out of the room like an errant breeze. Bridin shrugged in puzzlement, and took the brush with her to stand by the window.
Some time later, her mother, and Raze, looking splendid in a suit of fine satin, came for her. She felt as if she were in a dream, wearing the beautiful gown, her hair trailing down her back brushed to a golden sheen, as she walked with them through the twisting corridors, but not down the stairs. No. They took her instead to the frontmost balcony, and from within the shadowy hall she could see out there. Tristan stood near the rail, hands gesturing as he spoke to the crowds lining the outer courtyard below. He wore green as well. Glittering green leggings and a tunic with a red stripe bisecting it diagonally across his torso. His sword hung at his side.
Her mother drew her to a stop there in the shadows. She was about to tell her this wasn't right. That she ought to be on the street below, with the others, not here. But then she caught Tristan's words, strongly, loudly spoken, and she fell silent, listening.
"It is a great battle we've won today," he was saying. "Together we've ousted a ruler who abused his power, tormented his people, and wronged so very many of you that I fear no reward can ever make it right. But there is one wrong my brother did that I can correct, and I would do it now."
"The crown," someone shouted from below. "Put on the crown!"
Bridin dragged her eyes from Tristan's broad back, to see the crown of Rush... of Shara... resting on a satin pillow, perched on the rail before him.
"Not just yet," Tristan said, and she heard the laughter in his voice. "As I said, there is a grave wrong that needs to be righted. While you all cry for me to wear that crown, there is another person you're forgetting." He paused, turning his head, scanning the crowd below. "You know by now that the charges my brother lodged against your princess, Bridin of Rush, were false. But not all of you know how she returned here, and surrendered herself to him in order to save you, the people she loves. She risked her life for you... for all of you. And she was nearly killed because of it. And none of you know that a few hours ago, I lay with my head on the block, my brother hefting the ax above me... and again she risked her own life, this time to save mine."
He turned then and looked toward her, his eyes intense, glittering, black. He held out a hand. Bridin stood motionless, still, unable to move. Her mother leaned forward, holding something up in front of her face. That blasted broken piece of crystal again.
"Look, daughter," she whispered. "Just look."
Bridin did look. And she saw the reflection of Tristan's face glittering at her from the stone. She blinked, and stared at her mother. "You... you mean. . ."
Her mother only nodded, and then nudged her forward until she had no choice but to step out onto the balcony beside Tristan.
He smiled gently, but nervously, at her, then turned again, staring out at the crowd. "So I accept this crown you're so eager to lay upon my head. I accept it..."—he reached forward, picking up the glittering crown from its pillow—"... and I bestow it, gladly, upon its rightful owner. Bridin, princess of this kingdom now and forevermore to be known as Rush." He placed the crown on her head.
The crowd gasped in shock. And Bridin understood that shock too well. To see them like this, two sworn enemies who'd battled all their lives over this kingdom, one simply giving it over to the other.
Tristan drew his sword, dropping to one knee to lay it at her feet. He bowed his head. "I am your man of good faith, lady. My sword is yours to command."
"Tristan, you can't..."
The crowd remained silent, stunned, waiting and watching expectantly to see what she would do. Whether she would accept.
Tristan glanced up at her and his heart shone from his eyes. "I love you, Bridin," he whispered, for her ears alone. "And if this is the only way to prove that to you, then I can. And I will. And I have." He lifted his hands to clasp both of hers, staring up into her eyes. "There's no need for you to go out in search of this man your mother says you must marry in order to regain your throne. I refuse to believe you ever truly wanted to do that, Bridin, so now you don't have to. I give it to you. Because the thought of you with another would kill me, and because it is yours, by right, by birth, and from my heart. If I have to live without you, Bridin, so be it. But please..." His voice broke. He cleared his throat and forced himself to go on. "Please, don't listen to her. And don't doubt my love for you any longer."
He bent his head again, and that's when she saw the necklace—her pendant's twin—dangling around his neck. Her mother... she'd given it to Tristan. She glanced back at Maire. Maire nodded at her to go on.
Bridin turned to face her people, blinking away tears. "I can only accept this crown on one condition," she said, loud as she could, though her voice choked with emotion. "It no longer suits me to be just your princess. I want to be your queen. And to do that, by our own law, I must marry. I must marry the man who is to be your king. And I know now, thanks to my own mother's magic, who that man is."
There was a murmur, growing louder from the spectators. Tristan lifted his head, staring up at her with a hint of alarm in his eyes, waiting.
"In all my life," she said softly, gazing down into his eyes, "there has been only one man I have ever loved. With all my heart and soul. And I will marry none other than the man my mother chose for me, long ago. If he will have me."
Slowly Tristan rose, facing her.
"Will you, Tristan?"
"It's... it's me?" His eyes were so wide, so beautiful.
"It's always been you, Tristan. And always will. How could I marry any other when I love you with every breath in me, my darling? If you refuse me, I swear, I'll die alone, because there can never be any man who can touch me the way you do."
He smiled then, and reached out to run one palm gently over the side of her face. "I can't believe... Gods, I thought I'd lost you."
"Never, Tristan." She blinked away tears, but they rolled unchecked down her face all the same. "So tell me, do I dare hope... you'll be my husband? My king?"
"I'll be more than that. So much more," he whispered. Then he swept her into his arms, and bent his head, and kissed her mouth with a passion that should have burned the entire kingdom to the ground. The roar of the crowd then was deafening. But it was nothing compared to the thunder in her heart.
Tristan held her close then, cradling her head to the steady beat of his heart as if he couldn't bring himself to let her go. And he turned, with her tucked there against him, to face the people again as they shouted and cheered.
Bridin snuggled close to him, unwilling to be away from him even for a moment. And she wouldn't have to, she vowed. Not ever again.
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