by Morgan Rice
As the crowd began to disperse, people milling about in every direction, Thor noticed Gwendolyn break free from Reese’s grip and run, hysterical, away from the grave.
“Gwen!” Reese called out after her.
But she was inconsolable. She cut through the thick mob and ran down a dirt trail along the cliff’s edge. Thor could not stand to see her like that; he had to try to speak with her.
Thor burst through the crowd himself, Krohn at his heels, weaving this way and that as the crowd grew thick, trying to follow her trail, to catch up with her. Finally, he broke free from the outskirts and spotted her running, far away from the others.
“Gwendolyn!” he screamed out.
She kept running, and Thor chased after her, running double speed, Krohn yelping alongside him. Thor ran faster and faster, until his lungs burned, and finally, he managed to close the gap between them.
He grabbed one of her arms, stopping her.
She wheeled, her eyes red, flooded with tears, her long hair clinging to her cheeks, and threw his hand off.
“Leave me be!” she screamed. “I don’t want to see you! Ever again!”
“Gwendolyn,” Thor pleaded, “I did not kill your father. I had nothing to do with his death. He said so himself. Don’t you realize that? I was trying to save him, not to hurt him.”
She tried to flee, but he held her wrist and did not let her go. He could not let her go—not this time. She struggled against him, but did not try to run anymore. She was too busy, weeping.
“I know you didn’t kill him,” she said. “But that doesn’t make you any better. How dare you come and try to speak with me after you humiliated me in front of all the others? Especially now, of all times.”
“But you don’t understand. I didn’t do anything at that brothel. It was all lies. None of it is true. Someone is trying to slander me.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“So then are you telling me you did not go to that brothel?”
Thor hesitated, unsure what to say.
“I did. I went with all the others.”
“And are you saying you did not enter a room with some strange woman?”
Thor looked down, embarrassed, unsure how to respond.
“I suppose I did, but—”
“No buts,” she interrupted. “You admit it then. You’re disgusting. I want nothing more to do with you.”
Her face transformed from distraught to furious. She stopped her crying, as her expression changed to one of rage. She got very calm, got close to him, and said.
“I never want to see your face. Never again. Do you understand me? I don’t know what I was thinking to spend any time with you at all. My mother was right. You are just a commoner. You are beneath me.”
Her words stung him to his very soul. He felt as if he’d been stabbed.
He let go of her wrist, took several steps back. Perhaps Alton had been right after all. Perhaps he had just been another plaything for her.
He turned without another word and headed away from her, Krohn at his side, and for the first time since he had arrived, he wondered if there were anything left for him here.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gwendolyn stood there, at the edge of the cliff, watching Thor walk away, and feeling more torn apart by anguish than she ever had. First her father; now Thor. It was a day unlike any she had ever had. She could not even describe the unfathomable grief that tore her part at the thought of her father being dead. Dead by some assassin’s hand, taken away from her without even a moment’s notice. It just wasn’t fair. He was the light of her life, and some stranger had taken him away from her for good.
When Gwen had discovered the news, she had wanted to die herself. Last night had been like one long nightmare, and this morning, like the peak of it. As his body went into the earth, she had wanted to leap in with him, and never come out.
When Gwen burst from the crowd, she had even been thinking about jumping over the edge of the cliff herself. Until Thor arrived.
Seeing him, in some strange way, snapped her out of it, had made things better, had taken her mind off her father—although in another way, it had also made things far worse. She was still furious with him, still burned with anger for his making a fool of her in that brothel. She had taken a chance by being with a commoner, and he had proved everyone right about her recklessness. Including her mother. She felt shamed beyond what she could imagine.
And now the gall of him, to show up here, to try to make things right, while he himself admitted that he had been there, with that woman. The thought of it was enough to make her sick.
As she watched Thor hurry off, down the trail, away from the cliff, Krohn beside him, despite herself she felt a sense of longing, of despair; she wondered how things could get any worse. She looked out over the endless expanse, over the dips and valleys of the Kolvian Cliffs, looking westward over the kingdom. She knew that somewhere, farther than she could see, lay the Highlands, and beyond that the McCloud’s kingdom. She wondered if her sister was already over there, with her new husband, if she were enjoying her life. She was lucky to be far from here.
But then again, her sister had never been that close with their father, and she wondered if she would even care if she heard news of his demise. She, Gwen, of all of them, had been the closest to him. Reese and Kendrick had been close, too, and she could see how hard it hit them. Godfrey had hated their father, though now, looking at him, she was surprised to see his upset, too. And then there was Gareth. He still looked as cold and emotionless as ever, even with their father’s death. He had looked preoccupied. As if his eyes were already on the power he so desperately wanted to seize.
The thought of it made her shudder. She remembered her father’s fateful speech, his assigning the rule of the kingdom to her for some far-off day, for a day she was sure she would never see. She remembered her vow to him, her promise that she would rule. And now, here she was, the kingdom plopped into her hand. Would they make her rule? She hoped not. How could she? And yet, she had vowed to her father that she would. What was to become of her?
“There you are,” came a voice.
Gwen turned to see Reese, standing a few feet away, looking at her with concern.
“I was worried for you.”
“What did you think, I was going to jump?” she snapped back at him, too harsh. She didn’t mean for it to come out that way, but she was reeling, barely able to control herself.
“No, of course not,” Reese said. “I was just worried about you, that’s all.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I am your older sister. I can take care of myself.”
“I never said you couldn’t,” Reese said, defensive. “I just want you know…you’re not the only one who’s suffering. I loved father, too.”
Gwen thought about that. She saw the tears in his eyes and knew that he was right; she was being selfish. Their father’s death was hurting them all.
“I am sorry,” she said softly. “I know you did. And I know he loved you, too. Very much. In fact, I think he saw himself most in you.”
Reese looked up at her with a hopeful, sad look. He looked so lost, her heart broke for him. Who would raise him now? she wondered. He was fourteen, not a boy, but hardly a man. This was the time a boy needed his father the most, needed a man to model after. Since the news of his death, her mother had been nearly catatonic, withdrawn, not present for any of them. Her older sister was gone; Gareth was never present; Godfrey lived in the alehouse; and Kendrick lived on the battlefield. Gwen felt that it fell on her to be Reese’s mother and father.
“You are going to be fine,” she said, gaining courage herself as she said it. “We are all going to be fine.”
“Did I see Thor come this way?” Reese asked.
The thought of it made Gwen’s stomach turn.
“He did,” she answered flatly. “And I sent him on his way.”
“What do you mean?” Recessed asked warily. “I thought
you two were close.”
She grunted.
“Not anymore. Not after what he did.”
“What did he do?” he asked, wide-eyed.
“As if to tell me you don’t know? As if to tell me the whole kingdom does not know what a fool he has made of me?”
“A fool? What are you talking about?” Reese asked, sounding genuinely curious.
She studied him and could see he genuinely did not seem to know, which surprised her. She had imagined that the whole kingdom knew, and was making fun of her behind her back. Maybe it was not as bad as she had imagined; maybe it was not as bad as Alton had said.
“I heard all about his exploits at the brothel. His time with those women,” she said.
Reese’s face dropped.
“And who did you hear this from?”
Gwen paused, suddenly not so sure of herself.
“Why, Alton, of course.”
Reese grinned.
“And you believed it?”
Gwen stared back, feeling a flutter in her chest, beginning to wonder if she had made some sort of awful mistake.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I was there with him that day,” Reese said. “In the brothel. We all were. The entire Legion. After the hunt. He did nothing wrong. It was more tavern than brothel. In fact, I was by his side when the women came out. He had been surprised to discover there were any women there at all. He had, in fact, tried to flee. The men shoved him forward. He did not go forward willingly.”
“But still, he went forward,” Gwen said accusingly.
Reese shook his head adamantly.
“You have been misinformed. Thor did nothing. He reached the landing and passed out. He hit the floor before a woman could lay a hand on him. He did not touch any woman, I assure you. Alton was lying to you. It was Alton that made a fool of you. Your pride remains intact.”
Gwen felt her whole body flush at his words. She felt overwhelmed with relief, but also with shame. She had been wrong about Thor. She thought of her harsh words to him. She had never meant to call him a commoner; she had not known why she’d said that. She sounded so haughty, so arrogant; she was disgusted with herself. How could she have been so cruel?
“What did you say to him exactly?” Reese asked.
Gwen lowered her chin.
“Something stupid. Very, very stupid. Something I did not mean.”
Gwen felt overwhelmed; she reached in and gave Reese a hug, and he hugged her back. She cried over his shoulder.
“I miss our father,” she said.
“I know,” Reese said over her shoulder, his words muffled. “I miss him, too.”
Reese pulled back and looked at her.
“I will talk to Thor. Whatever you said, I will try to smooth it over.”
Gwen slowly shook her head, unsure.
“Some things cannot be taken back,” she said softly.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Gareth walked with his brothers, Kendrick, Godfrey and Reese, and with his sister, Gwen, into the huge castle hall, packed with hundreds of the king’s men, who milled about in an agitated way. The small group of them were ushered through the crowd, as knights from all provinces of the Ring reached out to offer condolences as they went.
“We loved your father, sire,” said a knight to Gareth, a burly man he had never met. “He was a great king.”
Gareth did not know these men—and he did not care to know them. He did not want their sympathy. It was a sympathy he did not share. Now that he had time to reflect on it, to let the reality of it sink in, he was glad his father was dead. His father had never held any love for him, and while the night before Gareth had initially been torn over it, he was beginning to feel differently about the matter. He now felt a great sense of relief—even victorious—that his assassination plot had succeeded. Although he had not actually killed him himself, and although he had not even died in the way he had planned, at least he had set the plan into motion. Without him, none of this would have ever happened.
Gareth looked around at these knights, at this great crowd, so chaotic, and was shocked to realize that he was responsible for all this. He had single-handedly changed the lives of all of these men, whether they knew it or not.
The group of siblings was ushered through the crowd by several attendants, as they headed for the distant hall, where the king’s council was waiting to meet with them all. Gareth felt a knot in his chest as they marched forward, wondering what lay in store for them. Of course, they had to name a successor. They could not leave the kingdom to go on without one, like a ship without a rudder. Gareth hoped that they would name him. Who else could they name?
Maybe they would use the meeting to name his sister as ruler. He looked at his siblings all around him, their faces set, grim and silent, and wondered if they would fight for the throne. They probably would; they all hated him, and after all, their father had made it clear that he wanted Gwen to rule. This was the one moment in his life that he really needed to fight. If he walked out of this meeting successful, he would walk out as ruler of the kingdom.
Yet he also wondered, with a sinking feeling, if maybe he was walking into a setup. Maybe they were summoning him to accuse him, in front of everyone, to present evidence that he had killed his father; maybe they would drag him off to be executed. His emotions swayed from optimism to anxiety, as he marveled at what drastic outcomes the meeting could have.
Finally they made it through the crowd, who were clearly waiting to hear the rulings of the council, and were ushered through an open arched door, promptly closed behind them by four guards.
Spread out before them was the grand, semi-circular table of the council, behind which sat the advisers to the king—in the same place they had sat for hundreds of years. It was strange to walk in here and not see his father seated on that throne. The huge, carved throne sat empty, for the first time in his life. The councilmembers faced it, as if waiting for a ruler to drop down from the sky and lead them.
The group of them walked down the center of the room, Gareth’s heart thumping, between the two halves of the semi-circular table, and found themselves, as they turned, standing before the dozen councilmembers. They all stared back, grim, and Gareth could not help but wonder if this were an inquisition. Seated with them, in a dainty throne off to the side, flanked by her attendants, was his mother. She watched over the proceedings with a blank face, and looked frozen in shock.
Seated at the center of the table was Aberthol, the oldest of the bunch, a scholar and historian, mentor of kings for three generations, looking positively ancient, etched with wrinkles, wearing his long, regal purple robe which he had probably worn since the days when his father was a boy. Being the eldest, and the wisest, the other council members clearly looked to him to lead the proceedings. He was flanked by Brom, Kolk, Owen, the treasurer, Bradaigh, his adviser on external affairs; Earnan, his tax collector; Duwayne, his adviser on the masses; and Kelvin, the representative of the nobles. It was a formidable group of men, and Gareth examined them all, trying to see if any were preparing to condemn him. None seemed to stare at him directly.
Aberthol cleared his throat as he looked down at a scroll, then looked up silently at the group of siblings.
“Our council wishes to begin by extending our sincerest condolences for the death of your father. He was a great man, and a great king. His presence in this chamber, and in this kingdom, will be sorely missed. I think it’s fair to say that this kingdom will never be the same without him. I had known him since the time he could walk, I counseled his father before him, and he was a dear friend to me. We will do everything in our power to find his assassin.”
Aberthol slowly surveyed them, and Gareth tried not to be paranoid as he saw him looking at him.
“I have known the lot of you since you were born; I am certain that your father is very proud of you. As much as we would like to give you time to mourn, there are pressing matters of ruling this kingdom that must be addres
sed. Which is why we have summoned you here today.”
He cleared his throat.
“The most pressing matter is our inquiry into your father’s assassination. We will gather a commission to investigate the cause and manner of his death, and to bring the killer to justice. Until we do, I think it is safe to say that no member of this kingdom will sit at ease. Including myself.”
Gareth could have sworn he saw his eyes stop at him, and he wondered if he were giving him a message. He looked away, trying not to let his mind go there. Gareth’s mind raced, as he scrambled to come up with a plan to divert attention away from him. He needed to frame a killer, and he needed to do it quickly.
“In the meantime, we sit in a kingdom without a king. It is a restless empire, and this is not a safe place to be. The longer we lack a ruler, the longer others may conspire to seize power, to overthrow the royal court. I needn’t tell you that there are many men that would like to have the throne.”
He sighed.
“The law of the Ring holds that the kingship must pass to the firstborn son of the father. In this case, it pains me to add, the firstborn legitimate son—with no offense meant to you, Kendrick.”
Kendrick bowed his head.
“None taken, sire.”
“That would mean then,” Aberthol said, clearing his throat, “that the kingship must pass to Gareth.”
Gareth felt a thrill at his words. He felt a rush of power beyond what he could describe.
“But my Liege, what of our sister, Gwendolyn?” Kendrick shot back.
“Gwendolyn?” Aberthol asked, surprise in his voice.
“Before our father died,” Kendrick continued, “he told us it was his wish that Gwendolyn should succeed him.”
Gareth’s face burned red, as the entire council turned and stared at Gwendolyn. She looked down to the ground, distraught, maybe even embarrassed. He assumed she was just putting on a show of humility. She probably wanted to rule even more than he.
