by Heidi Hanley
You know what I mean.
He studied her a moment longer. You want me to mark you?
Please, Silas.
He hesitated.
If something should happen to me…
“You’re going to be fine,” he whispered. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Just in case,” she insisted.
No. Briana, you’re in a vulnerable state and I won’t take advantage of that and do so somethin’ you might regret.
I won’t regret…
However, I could create your own personal insignia and paint your shield. I can’t think of any reason why anyone should be upset over that.
I want it on my body.
Let’s start with the shield, he said, firmly, reaching for water to mix the ink. If someday you still want the tattoo and it won’t get you killed to have it, I will happily oblige you. He mentally described a design, which she approved, then went to work while she dozed to the relaxing sound of his humming.
“Briana?”
“Hmm,” she murmured, opening her eyes.
“Do you like it?”
She drew in her breath at the beautiful artwork. A glorious oak covered the shield. In the center of the trunk was Nuada, in bas relief, with a small mouse at its base. “It’s beautiful.”
I’m not finished. I want to hang two feathers from Nua’s hilt.
Immediately grasping the significance of two feathers, she smiled. Can you intertwine them, wrap them around each other?
An hour later, two exquisitely drawn feathers entwined in ivy, wrapped around Nua: a raven feather, symbol of magic and healing for any goddess worth her salt, and a swan feather.
Swan? She raised an eyebrow. I’ve always thought that was the symbol of bards, music and poetry. That might give the king pause.
Aye, but also symbolic of travel between worlds. Ambiguous enough, I think.
As they admired his work, Silas rubbed his thumb along the side of the design. You know the symbolism of the feathers. The ivy represents affection… fidelity… and wedded love.
She frowned. That sounds more like an allusion to Brath.
As it should be. This emblem represents both the hope of your soul and the hope of a kingdom.
Sigel woke up while they were admiring Silas’ handiwork. He studied the art, the artist and Briana carefully. She could tell he wanted to find fault with what Silas had done, but it was ambiguous and all he could do was shrug his shoulders.
“She should have had the Taranian herald,” he said, gruffly.
“Many queens have had both the house banner and their own insignia,” Silas pointed out, matter-of-factly.
No more was said; Silas put away his inking tools and went for more water. Briana fell asleep.
Briana woke to find the two men staring at her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Sigel’s voice was nonchalant, but the tightness around his mouth gave him away.
“Tell me.”
Silas replied. “You look flushed. Your skin is hot to the touch. We’re worried your wound is going bad.”
She touched a hand to her forehead. Hot was an understatement. “Damn,” she muttered, peeling off a section of the bandage.
“What are you doing?” Sigel reached out to stop her.
“I just want a peek to see if it looks infected.” She pulled back the makeshift dressing and groaned. The skin was inflamed and ugly. She lay back, thinking. They could take the wrapping off, clean and re-bandage it, but they didn’t have any more supplies, so would only be putting dirty dressings back on. In her weakened condition, she couldn’t even muster any magic to help. The only thing to do was wait for help and take care of it when they got to the mansion and she said this to her companions, who nodded their agreement. In the meantime, they began to bathe her face with a cloth and cold water.
Sigel pulled out her map and handed it to her. While she interpreted that help should be arriving soon, the men made a crude splint, which they attached to her leg to keep it as still as possible during travel.
“We can make a litter,” Sigel said.
Briana cut him off “Not! I am not being hauled behind the horses. I will ride like everyone else.”
“Briana, that would be painful and awkward,” Silas said.
“I don’t care. I’m not being trussed up and dragged along. I’ll manage on a horse.”
“Maker, you are a stubborn woman,” Sigel growled.
Rummaging through their three packs, he was able to find a few hard biscuits and some dried fruit and meat.
“You two have mine. I’m not hungry,” said Briana.
“You need food, Briana, whether you want it or not, to keep up your strength.” Sigel forced the bread into her hand. She choked down a couple of bites before handing it back.
“I just can’t, Sigel, but I could drink some water.” Silas offered her his cup and she drank her fill. She tried to lay down but shot right back up as a wave of nausea overtook her. Lightheadedness and confusion followed. She should know where they were but somehow couldn’t put things together. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Hang on, a mhuirnin, a little longer.”
Hoof beats announced the arrival of help. She beheld three groomsmen on big black horses, leading three other riderless horses and a litter. Correction, two groomsmen and a woman. They wore matching formal equestrian wear, bright white shirts and red ascot ties, urbane for groomsmen. In Briana’s feverish state, the woman resembled a Persian goddess, with ivory skin, dark, depthless eyes and inky black hair that fell in a single braid down her back to her calves. That must be murder to wash, she thought.
The lead rider dismounted from a black giant of a horse and came toward them. She recognized him from the battlefield, but he still took her breath away. Sir Thomas was at least as tall as Silas and slender, with the longest legs she’d ever seen on a man. Obsidian hair stylishly cut to shoulder-length, feathered back at the temples, with not a hair out of place. He had high, arching, black brows atop charcoal eyes, an aquiline nose and elegant lips, not too full, but not at all thin. Sculpted cheekbones and a flawless fawn complexion complimented his darkness. He was attired from head to toe in black, sophisticated and polished. And sensual. So, like are all the men in Uisneach drop-dead gorgeous?
Silas chuckled and whispered in her ear, “Should I be jealous?”
“Never,” she managed to croak out. The shiny, black medallion the man wore around his neck confirmed his identity. “You’re the crow – I mean, Sir Thomas,” she said, weakly.
“Yes, Lady Briana, I’m the pesky crow that’s been following you around, and I am so pleased to finally meet you in person, though we might have chosen better conditions.”
“Not pesky. Without your help, I’d have been lost or dead several times already.”
“I did what I could, milady, and it was my pleasure to do so. But now, you appear to be in a bit of quandary.”
“You could say that.” Her ability to maintain civilities was growing more limited by the second.
He watched her with concern, as did Silas and Sigel, but she couldn’t find the words to question anyone about it.
Silas took the reins of a gracefully built chestnut horse. “I’ll mount, then the two of you can lift her up –”
“Certainly not,” said Sir Thomas. “The litter is safer.”
“Our future queen prefers to ride,” Sigel said, with a dour expression.
And that was that. Silas, being the most nimble, was chosen to ride behind her. He’d be able to mount without jostling her.
Not bad, thought Briana. There’s something to this queen stuff.
Sigel and Sir Thomas went to each side of Briana. “This is probably going to kill you, but we’ll be as quick and easy as we can,” Sigel said. “Ready?”
She nodded and took a deep breath in preparation. They counted to three and lifted her. She cried out once before things once again went dark.
She was semi-aware th
at they were traveling. She heard someone say Cailleach would meet them at the mansion. Good, Briana thought, she’ll fix this bloody leg.
“You all right, Briana?” Silas asked.
“No, but it’s worth it,” she said, keeping her eyes closed.
“What do you mean?”
“Worth the pain to be in your arms.” His heartbeat against her back was a comforting lullaby in a sea of pain.
*
Silas muttered, “Thanks be to Maker, we’re here.”
Briana opened her eyes. She inhaled sharply as they entered the beautiful and mysterious oak-lined avenue whose ancient trees reached across the lane, creating a passageway of green and brown. This opened to a spectacular view of Winge Mansion, beautifully situated on the southern coast of Uisneach.
“Downton Abbey,” she mumbled.
“What did you say, a mhuirnin?”
“Nothing… tell you later.” She didn’t have the energy to talk but she did marvel at the palatial manor, with its stacked walls of massive white marble stones. At each of the castle’s corners stood black marble towers pinnacled by imposing statues of crows. More black stone was inlaid around the front door and windows. Above the front door was a stone crow, wings spread out imperially. Several people waited in front of the castle, all dressed in black, and like Sir Thomas, supremely beautiful. This is going to be very interesting at some point, she thought.
Briana was eased out of Silas’ sheltering arms to Sigel’s, who carried her inside. From within her foggy shroud, she noticed the immense, opulent foyer resembling a giant chessboard. An enormous chandelier suspended from the skylight illuminated the space with brilliant light from thousands of tiny candles and almond-shaped pendants.
Along the walls were sculpted tree trunks rising up into a series of wall sconces shaped like nests, upon which crow candles perched. Glass sculptures of crows sat on pillars and tables and one huge figure, wings outstretched, stood in the center of the hall. Light flashed off the crystal, reflecting all around the room. Opposite the front entryway, a sweeping black marble staircase led to the second floor. Sigel carried her up, following the graceful lead of a classically stylish woman with onyx hair swept up in a chignon at the back of her head, wearing a floor-length gown of black and red silk covered by a day jacket. Dara trotted along faithfully behind them. Briana was taken down a long corridor and laid gently on a soft bed.
The stylish woman moved forward. “Hello, Lady Briana,” she said, her tone a comforting blend of confidence and grace. “I’m Lady Isabella Winge, Sir Thomas’ wife. I wish we could offer you a finer welcome, but I believe the more important thing is to clean you up and try to make you comfortable. Cailleach will be here very soon to mend your leg. One of our young ladies is going to bathe you and change your clothing. Your friends will refresh themselves as well, and then they can come back up. Silas, please take the dog with you?” Her kind, but firm tone eliminated any argument, so Briana gave herself up to the relief of being safe and cared for.
Silas nodded. “Don’t worry about Dara, Briana. I’ll tend to him.” Rest easy, a stór. He watched her face for a moment longer, then, calling the hound to his side, left the room.
Lady Winge efficiently issued orders to a young woman with long black hair tied back in a feathered band, who was gathering towels and water from a kettle hung next to a warm and heartening fire. Briana gave herself up to the blessed relief of oblivion, assured they’d take care of her, praying Cailleach could repair her injuries.
She stood in front of a throne in the middle of a great hall, alone and afraid, surrounded by cold, gray stone. A noise echoed behind her. Whirling, Nua raised in defense, she observed one of the Gray Military soldiers coming at her, his own sword poised for attack. No time to respond. He cut down through her like a knife through butter, dropping the two halves of her cleanly to the floor. Searing pain coursed through her split body, but she didn’t die. Sigel burst into the room, and after swiftly running his blade through the evil swordsman, came to Briana. Looking down at her, he seemed unsure what to do. Finally, picking up one-half of her, he set her on the throne and put the jeweled Taranian crown on her head. Silas came into the room in a druid’s cloak, wearing a crown of oak leaves. Sigel handed her other half to Silas. With that half of her face, she looked at Silas and begged, “I just want to be whole. Make me whole.”
Eavesdropping wasn’t a habit of Briana’s, but from this otherworldly abode, she couldn’t help it. As from afar, she heard Sigel talking to Cailleach.
“I have concerns about her and the bard.”
“Then do something. Separate them.”
“I would, but for two things. One, I need him, at least until we join the rest of the army. And two, he is the Royal Bard, and her story is as much his responsibility to tell as Brath’s.”
“There will be a different story to tell if they go astray. Sir Thomas will provide men to accompany you if you need them, or he would go himself. Your call, lord marshall, but remember that our primary objective is to get her to the king, free him from the curse and see them married and her pregnant. It really is that simple. If it makes you feel any better, the possibility of her falling in love with Brath is not so far-fetched.”
“I hope you’re right, Cailleach.”
Wind swirled around Briana like the tornado in the Wizard of Oz. She was tumbling and twirling around in an endless downward spiral. Fighting men appeared, their swords cutting and jabbing as she did her best to move out of the way. Cailleach floated by, her face a rippling mask of water. Her mother, crying in the garden, blew past her, beyond her reach. The horrid green face of the Wicked Witch of the East leered at her, cackling, coming closer. She turned from green to blue, until it was no longer the witch of Oz, but Lord Shamwa of Uisneach. He repeated over and over, “I’ll get you, milady, and the gray lad, too!” Dara jumped in front of her, teeth bared, but Shamwa struck a blow, cracking the wolfhound on the head. Dara fell dead in front of her. She cried out repeatedly until she felt strong arms wrap around her, those of a mountain lion. And then the mountain lion turned into the man she loved. “Silas,” she whispered into the darkness. The steady, reassuring beat of a heart filled the blackness with love. Quiet. Peaceful. Healing. Then a rush of cold air jolted her out of the sheltering cocoon. Metallic clouds grabbed at her as she and Silas were ripped apart. She stared helplessly, racked with tears and sobs as he rode away into a storm on a chestnut stallion. “Mother,” she cried, “help me, please, help me.”
Chapter Nineteen
Hinterlands
The room was lit by a crackling fire in a black marble fireplace. A lovely young woman with long dark hair sat beside her bed doing needlework by the light of a single, stubby candle. Disoriented, Briana surveyed her surroundings. Unfamiliar, but luxurious in both its size and décor, royally furnished with heavy blankets, brocade curtains, brilliant tapestries, wool rugs, a round wooden table and two hand-carved chairs. Upon the table sat a small basket of greenery,and a pewter pitcher and goblet. Across from the fireplace was a walk-out balcony with ornate doors, currently closed against the chill morning air.
Beside her bed stood Nua and the shield with her new insignia, but she couldn’t find Dara. Frantic, she jerked up on one elbow.
“Easy, milady. You’re safe,” said the girl, setting aside her embroidery to touch Briana’s arm. “You’re safe.”
“Who are you? Where’s my dog?”
“I’m Claire, your lady’s maid,” she said in a voice like warm cinnamon cookies and hot cocoa. “The hound is out in the hall with your guard.”
“My what?” It was coming back: the battle, the injury and the trip to Winge Mansion. Briana lay back down, letting her breath out. “What time is it? How long have I slept?”
“It’s the wee hours, milady; three days after your arrival here.”
Briana came back up on one arm and tried to sit up, but dizziness forced her back down. “Three days? Are you serious?”
“You
must lie still, Lady Briana. Cailleach has been working on your leg and said you shouldn’t move too much. I’m to fetch her when you’re awake, so let me…”
The door to her room opened and a familiar head poked inside. “She awake?” Silas asked, softly.
“I am,” Briana replied, yawning. “No need to whisper. Come in, Silas.”
The bard stepped into the room. Dara loped in behind him and planted a sloppy lick on her face. “Just for a moment. Then I’ll find Cailleach.”
He came to her bedside. Briana noted Claire’s vigilance beside him. “I’ve been asleep three days?” She asked him, as though needing to confirm it with someone else.
“Aye. You’ve been very ill, milady. Cailleach’s stitched up your leg as best she could and used magic to hasten the healing. It’s comin’ along, but you’ve a ways to go yet before jumpin’ out of bed.”
Milady?
We must be proper here, Briana. In fact, I shouldn’t even be in your room.
Briana frowned, not liking the sound of this one bit.
“I’m relieved to see you awake, Lady Briana. I’ll go fetch Cailleach.” He winked and turned to leave.
Briana watched him go in silence, sensing things were about to be radically different between them.
“You’ve been well looked after, milady,” Claire said. “Either the bard or the lord marshall have stood guard since the day you arrived.”
“They’re guarding me? From what?”
“As the queen, you must be protected at all times.”
“I’m not the queen yet.”
Claire shrugged, as though that were inconsequential.
Briana sighed and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Cailleach stood at her bedside.
“So you’ve come back to us, hmmm?”
“Good morning, Cailleach. I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
Claire slipped into the room with a tray and set it on the table beside the witch, who poured a steaming cup of something that smelled like beef broth, then added a small amount of white powder to it. “Drink up. It’s healing nicely, your leg.”
