The queen’s defense made Branwen’s heart twinge. With everything that had passed between them, her cousin still trusted Branwen without question. They had both done things that couldn’t be undone, but spring was the season of renewal. Perhaps they could start again.
“Lady Queen, I am the King’s Champion and I follow his orders.” To Branwen, Ruan said, “Please, come with us.” His voice quavered ever so slightly, and she looked over his shoulder to see that he was accompanied by two other members of the Royal Guard.
Branwen pressed her palms together, trying to quell her magic. It wanted to fight.
“Would you allow me to change into more suitable attire, Prince Ruan?” she said as calmly as she could manage.
He gave her a long, unreadable look, then nodded.
“Thank you,” Branwen told Ruan in Ivernic, and he ground his teeth together.
She refused to hurry. She walked into her room and shut the door. Heart pounding in her ears, Branwen changed into a dress made from wool the color of ripe elderberries.
The practice sword Uncle Morholt had given her peeked out from beneath her cot. It should have been burned along with all of his other possessions when he was denounced as a traitor. Branwen couldn’t say why she’d kept it and brought it across the sea. Perhaps because her uncle had been willing to die for what he believed was the right fight, and she would do the same.
Wavering between fury and panic, Branwen plaited her tangled black locks into a single braid that swung against her back. The dream must have been a warning. Tingles spread from her right palm up her arm and across her chest, until it became a numbness, her limbs nearly weightless.
A rapping came at the door. “Ready?” Ruan asked as she opened it. Taking a shallow breath, Branwen nodded. His expression softened a fraction.
“Just answer the king’s questions,” he said in a whisper.
“Gladly. I have nothing to hide, my prince.” Branwen brushed past him with some force as she reentered the queen’s bedchamber.
Eseult was on her feet. “Branny, you don’t need to do this.” She took her hand and sketched their private symbol, urgently, nicking Branwen’s skin. “I am the True Queen of Kernyv and I say it isn’t necessary.” The pitch of her voice was sharp like a badly tuned instrument.
Branwen cupped her cousin’s cheek. “It’s all right, Essy.” She gave the queen a meaningful look. “You have nothing to fear.”
“I will accompany you, Lady Branwen,” said Tristan. He secured his sword at his waist. Glancing at Endelyn, he barked, “Stay with the queen until I return.”
The floating, disoriented feeling returned as Branwen accepted Tristan’s arm. Ruan and the Royal Guardsmen escorted them from the Queen’s Tower.
Tristan leaned in close as they crossed the inner bailey and whispered in her ear.
“I’m right by your side, Branwen.”
* * *
Countess Kensa glanced at Branwen haughtily as she entered the king’s study. Involuntarily, Branwen squeezed Tristan’s arm. The countess was seated between Seer Casek and Queen Verica at the table in the center of the room. Andred sat on the other side of the Queen Mother. The look on his face was crestfallen.
King Marc pushed to his feet at the head of the table. “Dymatis, Lady Branwen,” he said, his countenance devoid of emotion. “Thank you for coming.” He nodded at Ruan, who stepped from Branwen’s path and came to stand beside his king.
“I am always at your disposal, Rix,” she said. Releasing Tristan’s arm, she curtsied. “I am confused as to why I required an escort.”
Marc pulled at the fabric of his sling. He wore the sling as little as possible. Countess Kensa’s arrival at Monwiku must have caught the king unawares.
Ruan dismissed the other guards.
“I, too, would like to know the reason for Lady Branwen’s escort,” said Queen Verica. She coughed into a silk handkerchief, a guttural noise. She should be in bed.
“Countess Kensa,” began the king. “It is your right as a member of the King’s Council to request an audience with Lady Branwen.” He stroked his beard. “Ask her your questions.”
Branwen looked between Ruan and his mother. Countess Kensa sat forward in her chair, almost preening. She withdrew something from her lap and held it up for all to see.
Pinched between her thumb and forefinger was a dried leaf, similar in shape to a fern but dark red rather than green.
“Do you know what this is?” the countess asked Branwen.
“It’s a leaf from a plant we call Ériu’s Comfort in Iveriu. I don’t know your name for it in Kernyv.”
“False Heart,” Andred supplied, barely a whisper.
“As a healer, you must know the uses of the plant,” said the countess, as if Branwen were a mouse caught in a trap.
“I do.”
Agitated footsteps were heard from the hallway. Branwen and Tristan twisted toward the door as Queen Eseult burst into the study, Endelyn at her heels.
Eseult’s blond hair was unbraided, whirling around her and gleaming in the sunlight like liquid gold. Her teeth were bared, expression ferocious. She stormed toward her husband.
“I demand to know why you sent your Champion—” Eseult sneered at Ruan. “To arrest my cousin!” She gestured at King Marc with a closed fist.
The king took half a step backward. “Lady Branwen isn’t under arrest. According to Kernyvak law, the King’s Council has the right to summon any subject for questioning.”
“Even when that subject is in the service of the True Queen?” Eseult glanced at Branwen, her cousin’s jaw set with the same determination she’d seen many times throughout their lives. Branwen wasn’t the only lioness that had crossed the waves from Iveriu.
Directing another glower at her husband, the queen said, “How dare you question Branwen without me! Without telling me what she’s being accused of!” Her voice bounced off the high ceiling. “Branwen is my family and you will not take her away from me!”
King Marc shifted uneasily, bewildered at Eseult’s vehemence. He had never seen her lose her temper before.
“I’m sorry, my queen. I thought you were too weak to leave your bed.” Regret stained his features. A muscle flickered in his jaw. “I didn’t want to overtax you.”
“I’m feeling much better,” Eseult said, livid.
“I can see that, and I’m greatly relieved.” Marc extended a hand toward her, and she avoided his touch.
“By the Horned One’s mercy,” Seer Casek interjected, cutting the air with two fingers.
Eseult glared at the kordweyd. “It has nothing to do with the Horned One. I owe my recovery to Branwen.” She aimed her gaze once more at her husband. Pointing at the sling, she said, “As do you, my Lord King.”
“Indeed,” Queen Verica said, eyeing her son with consternation.
“Do you know what this is, Lady Queen?” Countess Kensa asked. She held up the red leaf.
“No,” Eseult said tartly, and rested her hands on her hips.
“Ah.” The countess arched an eyebrow in the exact same way that her eldest son often did. “Andred informed me that when brewed as a tea, it brings on a woman’s bleeding.” Looking from Eseult to King Marc, she said, “It makes a woman miscarry.”
Eseult swept a panicked glance between Branwen and Tristan.
Branwen’s legs trembled from the effort of forcing herself not to react.
“Endelyn found the False Heart in Lady Branwen’s healing kit,” Countess Kensa announced, brandishing the leaf at the king.
“I—” Branwen started, but Tristan spoke over her.
“I’m afraid I don’t follow your logic, Countess,” Tristan told her. But Branwen did. If the nobles believed that the queen had purposefully miscarried Kernyv’s heir, she didn’t know what would happen. Branwen’s mind filled with the vision of Eseult walking toward a pyre.
To Endelyn, Tristan demanded, “Why were you rifling through Lady Branwen’s things?”
The p
rincess cringed, her ears turning scarlet. “Lady Branwen asked me to fetch something for the True Queen’s pain. I noticed this in her box of herbs.”
“She asked me,” said Andred, and his sister’s eyes became slits.
Queen Verica peered at Countess Kensa sideways and said, “I have to agree with my grandson. What is your question for Lady Branwen?”
Appealing once more to King Marc, the countess said, “My Lord King, it is my understanding that Lady Branwen is in the habit of preparing a tea to steady the True Queen’s nerves. Just before the wedding, she asked Andred for directions to the White Moor because she was missing an ingredient.”
Eseult’s shoulders hitched as she drew in a breath. She slid another glance at Branwen; Branwen shook her head, almost imperceptibly.
“There is nothing wrong with a calming tea,” said the king.
“No, but it would be easy enough for Lady Branwen to brew a tea from False Heart instead.”
Branwen’s jaw dropped, and rage erupted in her breast. She pressed her right hand to her stomach, curling her fingers, digging into the wool of her dress. Countess Kensa wasn’t bold enough to accuse the True Queen outright, but she clearly wanted to sow discord between the king and the Iverwomen.
“The queen fell from her horse!” Tristan exclaimed. He looked from the king to Ruan. “You were there, cousin. As were you, Rix.”
“I was,” said Ruan.
“Agreed,” King Marc said. “Countess, I cannot see any reason why Lady Branwen would poison the queen. What do you believe her motive to be?”
Branwen looked toward her cousin, but her cousin refused to meet her gaze. Eseult’s complexion was pallid. Her bottom lip quivered. The queen shifted her weight, unsteady, and Branwen felt unsteady, too. The world tilted around her.
Eseult knew of a reason why Branwen might want her to miscarry.
Did she—could she believe Branwen would poison her? Dark laughter rolled through the back of her mind. She was drowning in it. Lost, buffeted.
She scarcely heard Countess Kensa charge, “Armorica would like to see Kernyv without an heir, and Lady Branwen appears to be in league with Prince Kahedrin.”
“In league with Prince Kahedrin?” Tristan gave a shocked laugh. “Marc, you can’t seriously be entertaining these accusations. Lady Branwen is no spy. She is loyal to her cousin above all.”
“To Iveriu,” Eseult said under her breath. “She is always loyal to Iveriu.”
The vine from Branwen’s dream strangled her anew, strangled her where she stood only nobody else could see. Branwen longed to embrace her cousin, shake her cousin, make her see the truth.
She couldn’t stand for Essy to doubt her motives for even a single heartbeat.
King Marc crossed his arms. “Do you have any proof upon which you’re basing your charges, Countess?”
“Seer Casek,” she prompted.
“Sire,” the kordweyd began. “Too much False Heart could cause the internal bleeding that killed the Armorican prisoner.”
“You’re accusing her of murder, too?” Tristan cried, fingering the pommel of his sword.
The king swung his gaze from the seer to Branwen. “My lady, can you explain why you have the False Heart in your possession?” He asked the question carefully, without menace.
Branwen interlocked her hands behind her back, resisting the urge to strike someone. She was guilty of many betrayals, but not of those which she was being accused.
“Yes, my Lord King. False Heart, as you call it, when taken in small doses, is used to treat many female ailments.”
“Such as?” Seer Casek said.
“It prevents pregnancy,” Andred told the seer, then blushed as he glanced at Branwen. “That’s what I’ve read.” He lowered his eyes toward the table.
“Yes. Andred is correct,” Branwen said. “It does.” At her side, Tristan stiffened, and his stare grazed her cheek. She flicked a glance at him, at his dark eyes bright with guilt, and then looked directly at the King’s Champion.
“The False Heart belongs to me, and me alone.”
Ruan’s jaw went slack. His shoulders slouched forward.
“Why would you have need of such a plant?” said Seer Casek, contempt tipping his words.
“I think you have questioned the lady’s honor quite enough,” Tristan roared. He knew full well why Branwen might have needed it on Long Night.
Eseult remained quiet. She pulled a blond strand from the crown of her head and watched it fall to her feet.
“I don’t mind answering,” Branwen told him. “Seer Casek, I suppose that the drawback to all of the kordweyd being men is that you do not possess the knowledge which is passed down between gifted women.” It took all of her strength to maintain her composure as she spoke.
“In addition to preventing pregnancy, False Heart can also ease the cramps that come with a woman’s monthly bleeding. This is why we call it Ériu’s Comfort.”
“I prefer that name,” Queen Verica said, her voice croaky as she coughed, cheeks sunken. “Your knowledge will be invaluable at the royal infirmary, Lady Branwen.”
King Marc inhaled through his mouth and everyone went quiet.
“Lady Branwen’s answer has satisfied me,” he said. “Her use of the plant is her choice and that is her right.”
“Mormerkti, my Lord King.” Branwen bowed her head. Humiliation rippled beneath her skin, and she would not soon forget who had been responsible for it.
“But, sire, it still leaves the question of who murdered the Armorican,” Countess Kensa protested. “Is it not true that Lady Branwen tended the assassin alone? And that a disturbance was heard by a guard?”
Kensa looked directly at her son, and Ruan nodded. So Tutir had reported Branwen’s outburst, after all. Why hadn’t Ruan mentioned it to her?
“Lady Branwen had ample opportunity to administer a lethal dose of False Heart. And she demanded that the body be burned—to disguise her crime, perhaps.”
“The prisoner was still alive after Lady Branwen’s visit,” Ruan said to his mother, voice growing steely. He caught Branwen’s eye. Seething, she dropped her gaze. His defense was too little, too late.
“Depending on the dose, however, it might have been a few hours before it took effect,” Seer Casek said, addressing King Marc.
“Lady Branwen was attending the king before the council meeting,” Andred said. “With me.” He darted a look of apology at Branwen.
“But we don’t know where she was before that,” said Countess Kensa. “Endelyn says she wasn’t present in the Queen’s Tower that morning. She could have slipped into the castle kitchens.”
“You have a tremendous imagination, Countess Kensa,” Tristan scoffed. “I’d almost think you were a bard.”
Endelyn stepped out from behind Queen Eseult. “My Lord King, Lady Branwen wasn’t present in the queen’s chamber when I arrived to wake her.” She looked at Eseult. “Was she, Lady Queen?”
Eseult lifted her head in a jerky motion. Her eyes were dull. Pitching her gaze between Endelyn and Branwen, she started, “I don’t—”
Ruan interrupted the True Queen. “I know where Lady Branwen was that morning, Rix. She was with me.” He took a step toward Branwen, his hands hanging at his sides, palms up as if in supplication. “Lady Branwen was with me until she arrived at your chamber to tend your wounds.”
“From the moment she woke?” asked his mother.
“Yes.” It was a hard syllable.
Tristan’s head swung in Branwen’s direction, as did Endelyn’s. Apparently the Kernyvak princess wasn’t as diligent a spy as she thought she was. Branwen’s fingernails cut half-moons into her palms to keep from exploding. So much for having a lover—having anything—that was hers and hers alone. She could almost hear her magic crackle in the air as she leveled Ruan with a glare that made him gulp.
“I’ve heard enough,” King Marc declared. “My apologies, Lady Branwen. Countess Kensa, you are ignorant of a most important fact.�
��
“Which is?”
“When we were ambushed in the forest, it was Lady Branwen who stopped Ruan from finishing off the Armorican so that we could question him. She had nothing to fear from letting him speak to the King’s Council. She did not want him dead.”
“But—”
The king’s eyes were a tempest. “The next time you bring slanderous allegations against a trusted member of this court, Countess, you had better have substantial proof. Not wild speculation.”
Utter shock blanketed the countess’s face. Branwen had never heard King Marc castigate anyone so thoroughly, and it would appear neither had the countess.
“Lady Branwen is sister to my wife, which makes her sister to me. And she saved my life. She protected me without a weapon, with no thought for herself,” he said gruffly. “If we turn on each other, we won’t need the Armoricans to destroy us, Countess Kensa.”
“I only sought to protect you,” the countess said, somewhat obsequiously. “You are my nephew, after all.”
“Of course,” he said. Surveying the room, the king added, “While you’re all assembled, won’t you join me in congratulating Lady Branwen on her new appointment?”
“Appointment?” asked Seer Casek.
To Branwen, King Marc said, “I am appointing you as the official Royal Healer. If you’ll accept?”
“It would be my honor.” Branwen’s shoulders shuddered. Of her many crimes, Countess Kensa’s charges were not among them. If King Marc had believed Branwen—and Iveriu—to be complicit in his assassination attempt, the Otherworld only knew what revenge Kernyv would take on her beloved homeland.
Relief made her light-headed. Branwen lifted her eyes to the True Queen with a timid smile.
The queen didn’t smile back.
NOTHING BUT SAND
KING MARC DISMISSED EVERYONE SAVE his queen. His brow had been deeply creased as Branwen took Queen Verica’s arm to escort her back to her suite. Her cousin still wouldn’t meet Branwen’s gaze as she exited. Each nerve was a needle beneath her skin.
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