by Rebecca Ross
DEDICATION
To my grandparents—
Mark and Carol Deaton & John and Barbara Wilson,
who continue to inspire me every day.
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Map of Maevana’s Territories
Cast of Characters
Allenach Family Tree
MacQuinn Family Tree
Morgane Family Tree
Kavanagh Family Tree
PART ONE—The Return
1. The Enemy’s Daughter—Brienna
2. A Trail of Blood—Cartier
3. To Take Up Grievances—Brienna
4. The Swift Are Born for the Longest Night—Cartier
5. Confessions by Candlelight—Brienna
6. The Lass with the Blue Cloak—Cartier
7. Bring Me the Golden Ribbon—Brienna
8. Where Are You, Aodhan?—Cartier
9. The Sharp Edge of Truth—Brienna
10. Orphan No More—Cartier
PART TWO—The Trial
11. Half-Moons—Brienna
12. Bitter Portions—Cartier
13. Late-Night Quandaries—Brienna
14. Once a Lannon, Always a Lannon—Cartier
15. Brothers and Sisters—Brienna
16. Let Their Heads Roll—Cartier
17. Dark Discoveries—Brienna
PART THREE—The Snare
18. Ride the Currents—Cartier
19. At the Mark of the Half-Moon—Brienna
20. A Bleeding Princess—Cartier
21. Lady of MacQuinn—Brienna
22. Rosalie—Cartier
23. The Beast—Brienna
PART FOUR—The Reprisal
24. Ultimatum—Cartier
25. To Thwart and to Hope—Brienna
26. Hidden Threads—Cartier
27. Blades and Stones—Brienna
28. The Southern Tower—Cartier
29. To Hold Fast—Brienna
30. Where Are You, Declan?—Cartier
PART FIVE—The Lady of Morgane
31. Revelations—Brienna
32. The Account—Cartier
33. The Dragon and the Falcon—Brienna
34. Between Darkness and Light—Cartier
35. The Queen Rises—Brienna
36. The Best of Your House—Cartier
37. To Meet the Light—Brienna
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Rebecca Ross
Back Ad
Copyright
About the Publisher
MAP OF MAEVANA’S TERRITORIES
CAST OF CHARACTERS
HOUSE of MACQUINN—The Steadfast
* * *
Brienna MacQuinn, mistress of knowledge, the lord’s adopted daughter
Davin MacQuinn, lord of MacQuinn (formerly Aldéric Jourdain)
Lucas MacQuinn, master of music, the lord’s son (formerly Luc Jourdain)
Neeve MacQuinn, weaver
Betha MacQuinn, head weaver
Dillon MacQuinn, groom
Liam O’Brian, thane
Thorn MacQuinn, castle chamberlain
Phillip and Eamon, men-at-arms
Isla MacQuinn, healer
HOUSE of MORGANE—The Swift
* * *
Aodhan Morgane, master of knowledge, lord of Morgane (formerly Cartier Évariste)
Seamus Morgane, thane
Aileen Morgane, wife of Seamus, castle chamberlain
Derry Morgane, stonemason
HOUSE of KAVANAGH—The Bright
* * *
Isolde Kavanagh, queen of Maevana (formerly Yseult Laurent)
Braden Kavanagh, father to the queen (formerly Hector Laurent)
HOUSE of LANNON—The Fierce
* * *
Gilroy Lannon, former king of Maevana
Oona Lannon, wife of Gilroy Lannon
Declan Lannon, son of Gilroy and Oona
Keela Lannon, Declan’s daughter
Ewan Lannon, Declan’s son
HOUSE of HALLORAN—The Upright
* * *
Treasa Halloran, lady of Halloran
Pierce Halloran, the lady’s youngest son
HOUSE of ALLENACH—The Shrewd
* * *
Sean Allenach, lord of Allenach, Brienna’s half brother
Daley Allenach, the lord’s manservant
HOUSE of BURKE—The Elder
* * *
Derrick Burke, lord of Burke
HOUSE of DERMOTT—The Loved
* * *
Grainne Dermott, lady of Dermott
Rowan Dermott, husband of Grainne Dermott
OTHERS MENTIONED
* * *
Merei Labelle, mistress of music
Oriana DuBois, mistress of art
Tristan Allenach
Tomas Hayden
Fergus Lannon
Patrick Lannon
Ashling Morgane
Líle Morgane
Sive MacQuinn
THE FOURTEEN HOUSES of MAEVANA
* * *
Allenach the Shrewd
Kavanagh the Bright
Burke the Elder
Lannon the Fierce
Carran the Courageous
MacBran the Merciful
Dermott the Loved
MacCarey the Just
Dunn the Wise
MacFinley the Pensive
Fitzsimmons the Gentle
MacQuinn the Steadfast
Halloran the Upright
Morgane the Swift
ALLENACH FAMILY
MACQUINN FAMILY
MORGANE FAMILY
KAVANAGH FAMILY
ONE
THE ENEMY’S DAUGHTER
Lord MacQuinn’s Territory, Castle Fionn
Brienna
The castle was brimming with laughter and dinner preparations when Cartier and I entered the hall, blue passion cloaks on our backs, the night breeze tangled in our hair. I came to a stop in the heart of the grand room to admire the hanging tapestries, the high arch of the ceiling that melted into smoky shadows, the mullioned windows on the eastern wall. There was a fire roaring in a glazed hearth, and the women of the castle were setting the best pewter and silver on the trestle tables. They did not take note of me, for I was still a stranger to them, and I watched as a group of young girls decorated the table spines with a current of pine boughs and dark red flowers. A boy was rushing behind them to light a mountain range of candles, his eyes clearly taken with one of the auburn-haired girls.
For a moment, it would almost seem as if this castle and these people had never known the darkness and oppression of the Lannon family’s reign. And yet I wondered what wounds remained in their hearts, in their memories after surviving a tyrannical king for twenty-five years.
“Brienna.” Cartier came to a gentle stop at my side. He stood a safe distance away from me—a full arm’s length—although I could still feel the memory of his touch, I could still taste his lips on mine. We stood together quietly, and I knew he too was soaking in the clamor and rustic beauty of the hall. That he was still trying to adjust to what our lives were about to become now that we had returned home to the queen’s realm of Maevana.
I was the adopted daughter of Davin MacQuinn—a fallen lord who had been in hiding for the past twenty-five years—who had finally returned to light his hall and restore his people.
And Cartier, my former instructor, was the lord of the House of Morgane. The lord of the Swift—Aodhan Morgane.
I could hardly find the will to call him by such a name. It was one I would have never imagined him possessing throughout all the years I had known him in the s
outhern kingdom of Valenia, when I had been his pupil and he had been my teacher, a master of knowledge.
I thought of how our lives had intertwined, from the very first moment I had met him when I was accepted into the prestigious Magnalia House, a Valenian school for the five passions of life. I had assumed that he was Valenian—he had taken on a Valenian name, was polished in etiquette and passion, and had lived nearly all of his life in the southern kingdom.
And yet he had been far more than that.
“What kept you?”
I startled, Jourdain taking me by surprise as he stepped into my view, his eyes sweeping me from head to toe, as if he expected me to have a scratch. Which almost struck me as humorous, because three days ago, we had ridden into battle with Isolde Kavanagh, Maevana’s rightful queen. I had donned armor, streaked blue woad across my face, braided my hair, and wielded a sword in Isolde’s name, not knowing if I was going to live through the revolution. But I had fought for her, as had Cartier and Jourdain, and with her to challenge Gilroy Lannon, a man who should never have been king of this land. Together, we had brought him and his family down in the span of a morning, a bloody yet victorious sunrise.
And now Jourdain was acting as if I had been darting through battle once more. All because I was late for dinner.
I had to remind myself to be understanding. I was not accustomed to fatherly fussing—I had lived my entire life not knowing who my blood father was. And, oh, how regretfully I knew now who I had descended from; I pushed his name from my mind, focusing instead on the man standing before me, the man who had adopted me as his own months ago, when the two of us joined our knowledge to plot a rebellion against King Lannon.
“Cartier and I had much to talk about. And don’t look at me like that, Father. We’re back in time,” I said, but my cheeks warmed under Jourdain’s attentive scrutiny. And when he shifted his eyes to Cartier, I think he knew. Cartier and I had not been merely “talking.”
I irresistibly thought back to that moment when I had stood with Cartier in his dilapidated castle on Morgane lands, when he had given me my passion cloak at last.
“Yes, well, I told you to be back before dark, Brienna,” Jourdain said, and then he softened his tone when he addressed Cartier. “Morgane. Nice of you to join us for a celebratory feast.”
“Thank you for extending the invitation, MacQuinn,” Cartier returned with a respectful bow of his head.
It was odd to hear such names spoken aloud, for they didn’t align as such within my mind. And while others would begin to address Cartier as Lord Aodhan Morgane, I would always think of him as Cartier.
Then there was Jourdain, my patron-turned-father. When I had met him two months ago, he had introduced himself as Aldéric Jourdain, his Valenian alias. But, like Cartier, he was far more than that. He was Lord Davin MacQuinn the Steadfast. And while others would begin to address him as such, I would call him “Father,” and would always think of him as Jourdain.
“Come, the two of you.” Jourdain led us up to the dais, where the lord’s family was to sit and sup at a long table.
Cartier winked at me when Jourdain’s back was angled to us, and I had to swallow a smile of pure joy.
“There you are!” Luc cried as he entered the hall through one of the side doors, his gaze finding me on the dais.
The young girls paused in their pine-and-flower arrangements to giggle and whisper as Luc passed them. His dark brown hair was in disarray, which was a daily occurance, and his eyes were bright with mirth.
He clomped up the dais stairs to sweep me into an embrace, acting as if we had been apart for months although I had seen him earlier that afternoon. He took me by the shoulders and turned me about, so he could see the silver threads stitched upon my passion cloak.
“Mistress Brienna,” he said. I turned back around and laughed, to finally hear the title linked to my name. “It’s a beautiful cloak.”
“Yes, well, I waited long enough for it, I should think,” I replied, helplessly glancing to Cartier.
“Which constellation is it?” Luc asked. “I fear I am rather horrible with astronomy.”
“It is Aviana.”
I was a mistress of knowledge now, something I had labored years at Magnalia House to achieve. And in that moment, standing in Jourdain’s hall in Maevana, surrounded by family and friends, wearing my passion cloak, with Isolde Kavanagh about to return to the northern throne . . . I could not have been more satisfied.
As we all sat down, I watched Jourdain, a golden chalice in his hands, his face carefully guarded as he surveyed his people entering the hall for dinner. I wondered what he was feeling, to finally come home after being gone for those twenty-five years of terror, to wade back into his role of lord to these people.
I knew the truth of his life, of his Maevan past as well as his Valenian one.
He had been born in this castle as a noble son of Maevana. He had inherited the lands and people of MacQuinn, striving to protect them as he was forced to serve the horrible King Gilroy Lannon. I knew Jourdain had witnessed terrible things in the king’s hall—he had seen hands and feet cut off of men who could not pay the full amount of their taxes, had seen old men lose an eye for looking at the king for too long, had heard women scream from distant chambers as they were beaten, had seen children scourged for making a sound when they should have been quiet. I watched it, Jourdain had once confessed to me, pale from the memory. I watched it, afraid to speak out.
Until he had finally decided to rebel, to take down Gilroy Lannon and put a rightful queen back upon the northern throne, to snuff out the darkness and the terror that had become the once-glorious Maevana.
Two other Maevan Houses had joined his secret revolution—the Kavanaghs, who had been the one magical House of Maevana and the origin of queens, and the Morganes. But Maevana was a land of fourteen Houses, as diverse as the land, each holding their own strengths and weaknesses. Yet only three dared to defy the king.
I think it was doubt that held most of the lords and ladies back, because two precious artifacts were missing: the Stone of Eventide, which gave the Kavanaghs their magical power, and the Queen’s Canon, which was the law that declared no king was to ever sit upon Maevana’s throne. Without the stone and the Canon, how was the rebellion ever going to completely overthrow Gilroy Lannon, who was deeply rooted on the throne?
But twenty-five years ago, MacQuinn, Kavanagh, and Morgane had united and stormed the royal castle, prepared to wage war. The success for the coup depended on taking Lannon by surprise, which was spoiled when my biological father, Lord Allenach, learned of the rebellion and ultimately betrayed them.
Gilroy Lannon was waiting for Jourdain and his followers.
He targeted and killed the women of each family, knowing it would take the heart out of the lords.
But what Gilroy Lannon did not anticipate was for three of the children to survive: Luc. Isolde. Aodhan. And because they did, the three defying lords fled with their children to the neighboring country of Valenia.
They took on Valenian names and professions; they discarded their mother tongue of Dairine for the Valenian language of Middle Chantal; they buried their swords and their northern sigils and their anger. And they hid, raising their children to be Valenian.
But what most did not know . . . Jourdain never stopped planning to return and dethrone Lannon. He and the other two fallen lords met once a year, never losing faith that they could rise again and be successful.
They had Isolde Kavanagh, who was destined to become queen.
They had the desire and the courage to revolt once again.
They had the wisdom of years on their side, as well as the painful lesson from the first failure.
And yet they were still missing two things that were vital: the Stone of Eventide and the Queen’s Canon.
That was when I joined them, for I had inherited memories from a distant ancestor who had buried the magical stone centuries ago. If I could recover the stone, magic would r
eturn to the Kavanaghs, and the other Maevan Houses might join our revolution at last.
And that was exactly what I had done.
All of this had happened mere days and weeks ago, and yet it felt like it had happened very long ago, like I was looking back upon all of it through fractured glass, even though I was still bruised and battered from battle and secrets and betrayals, from discovering the truth of my own Maevan heritage.
I sighed, let my reveries fall away as I continued to regard Jourdain sitting at the table.
His dark auburn hair was pulled back by a ribbon, which made him look Valenian, but a circlet crowned his head, a glimmer of light. He was dressed in simple black breeks and a leather jerkin with a golden falcon stitched over the breast, the proud sigil of his House. There was still a cut on his cheek from the battle, slowly healing. A testament of what we had just endured.
Jourdain glanced down into his chalice, and I finally saw it—the flicker of uncertainty, the doubt in himself, the haunting unworthiness—and I took a goblet of cider and drew out the chair close to his, to sit at his side.
I had grown up in the company of five other ardens at Magnalia House, five girls who had become like sisters to me. Yet these past few months surrounded by men had thoroughly taught me about their natures, or, more important, how fragile their hearts and egos were.
I remained quiet at first, and we watched his people bring forth steaming platters of food, setting them down on the tables. I began to notice it, though; quite a few of the MacQuinns talked in hushed tones, like they were still afraid to be overheard. Their clothes were clean but threadbare, their faces deeply grooved from years of hard labor, decades absent of smiles. Several of the boys were even sneaking slivers of ham from the platter, stuffing the food in their pockets, as if they were accustomed to being hungry.
