The Queen's Resistance

by Rebecca Ross

  “Have you written many grievances down?” I asked.

  “Luc has collected quite a tome.”

  “And why haven’t you?”

  She glanced away from me, and a dark suspicion began to cloud my mind.

  “Brienna . . . tell me.”

  “What is there to tell, Cartier?” And she gave me a false smile, one that did not reach her eyes.

  “You were never a good dramatic,” I reminded her.

  “It is truly nothing.” She tried to slip her hands from mine, but I tightened my hold on her.

  If she would not speak it, then I would. “Jourdain’s people have not been welcoming to you.”

  I knew it was the truth, because there was a flicker of pain in her gaze before she covered it up with irritation.

  “What have they said to you, Brienna?” I pressed on, my anger rising at the thought. “Have they been unkind?”

  “No. It’s what I should have expected,” she countered, as if defending them, as if it was her fault, that she could control who she had descended from.

  “Does Jourdain know?”

  “No. And I would ask you not to tell him, Cartier.”

  “Don’t you think your father should know his people are slighting you? That his people are slighting his daughter?”

  “They aren’t slighting me. And if they were, I would not want Jourdain to know.” She freed her hands from mine and rose, turning to face the window. “He has enough on his mind as it is. And I would think you would understand that.”

  I did understand it. And yet more than anything, I wanted Brienna to feel like she belonged here. It was nearly the shadow of all my other thoughts—for her to be accepted, for her to find happiness. I wanted her to claim her home in Maevana, this wild land that she and I had once spoken of in lessons. Half of her heritage was in this soil, and I did not care which territory it had risen from.

  I stood, wiping the dust from my breeks. I approached her slowly, coming to stand just behind her, just as I could feel her warmth. We were quiet, our gazes to the land beyond the broken glass, the meadows and the woods and the hillocks that rose into mountains.

  “They see me as Allenach’s. Not as MacQuinn’s,” she said quietly. “They believe I fooled their lord into adopting me.”

  And it broke me to hear her acknowledge it. I could have said countless things to her in return, the foremost being that I never saw her as an Allenach, that I had only seen her for who she was—a daughter of Maevana and a beloved friend to the queen. But I held the words down.

  She finally turned to face me, her gaze lifting to mine.

  “They only need a little more time,” she whispered. “Time for my blood father’s memory to fade, for me to prove myself to them.”

  She was right. We all needed time—time to settle, time to heal, time to discover who we were supposed to become.

  And all I could say was her name, spoken as if in prayer.

  “Brienna.”

  My hand rose; my fingers traced the edge of her jaw. I wanted to memorize her, to explore her lines and her bends. And yet my fingers stopped at her chin, to tilt her face up, to watch the sunlight dance across her cheeks.

  Her breath caught, and I leaned down to draw it from her. I kissed her softly once, twice, until she opened her mouth beneath mine and I discovered that she was just as hungry as I was. I suddenly found my hands in her hair, my fingers tangled in the silk of it, lost in the desire to fully surrender to her.

  “Cartier.” She tried to speak my name; I drank the sound from her lips. I felt her hands move up my back and take fistfuls of my shirt, tugging. She was warning me, because I could now hear the footsteps scuffing loudly, just beyond the office door.

  I struggled to break away from her, my breath shallow as I somehow recovered enough to whisper, “You taste like a stolen honey cake, Brienna MacQuinn.”

  She smiled, laughter in her eyes. “Does nothing evade the lord of the Swift?”

  “Not when it comes to you.” I dared to kiss her again, before whoever it was reached the office, but something sharp pressed into my leg. Surprised, I leaned back and traced my hand down to her skirts, to her thigh. There was the hard shape of a dirk beneath the fabric, and I met her gaze, speechless yet deeply pleased she was wearing a concealed blade.

  “Yes, well,” she all but stammered, her cheeks flushing. “We women can’t hide everything in our pockets, now, can we?”

  SEVEN

  BRING ME THE GOLDEN RIBBON

  Lord MacQuinn’s Territory, Castle Fionn

  Brienna

  I planned to skip dinner in the hall that night, to prepare for Neeve’s first reading lessons. I was carrying a tray of soup and bread to my chambers, reflecting on how nice the afternoon had been visiting Cartier and his people, when Jourdain loomed before me out of the shadows.

  “Saints, Father!” I almost spilled dinner down the front of my dress. “You should know better than to sneak up on me!”

  “Where are you going?” he asked, frowning at my tray of food.

  “My room,” I drawled. “Where else?”

  Jourdain took the tray from my hands and passed it to a servant who just so happened to walk by at that moment.

  “I was going to eat that.”

  Jourdain, though, did not seem to hear my exasperation. He waited until the servant disappeared around the bend, and then he took my hand and pulled me along to my bedchamber, shutting the door behind us.

  “There’s a problem,” he finally said, his voice hoarse.

  “What sort of problem, Father?” I tried to read the lines in his brow, to prepare myself for anything.

  “Tell me all that you know of the House of Halloran, Brienna.”

  I stood frozen before him. “The Hallorans?” I cleared my throat, still caught off guard by Jourdain’s request and trying to remember everything Cartier had taught me. “Queen Liadan gave them the blessing of the Upright. They are known for their orchards and their steel goods—they craft the finest swords in Maevana. Their colors are yellow and navy; their sigil is of an ibex standing in a ring of juniper. Their territory is known as the hinge of Maevana, as it is the only one to touch seven neighboring territories. They historically had a strong alliance with the Dunns and the Fitzsimmonses, which was broken when the Lannons took the throne. Since then, they have pledged their allegiance to the House wielding all the power.” I paused, feeling the constraint again of my head knowledge. “I can recite their noble lineage if that is what you are seeking. Even the bastard daughters and sons.”

  “So the name Pierce Halloran should mean something to you,” Jourdain said.

  “Yes. Pierce Halloran is the youngest of Lady Halloran’s three sons. Why?”

  “Because he is here,” my father all but growled.

  I could not hide my surprise. “Pierce Halloran is here, at Fionn? How come?”

  But I had a suspicion as to why. The Lannons were our prisoners. The Hallorans’ alliance with them had begun to crumble. . . .

  “He wants to get a look at you.”

  “He wants to look at me?”

  “He wants to present himself as a suitor to you,” Jourdain amended, as it would have been phrased in Valenia.

  This revelation shocked me at first. But then the shock dissipated as I began to strategize.

  “My, he must think he is very clever,” I stated, which thankfully loosened the tension that had been building in Jourdain.

  “So you see what I see in this?” my father said, his shoulders sagging a bit.

  “Of course.” I crossed my arms, glancing to the fire. “The Hallorans have been in bed with the Lannons for over a hundred years. And that bed has just been overturned. By us.” I felt Jourdain watching me, hanging on to my words. “The Hallorans are scrambling right now, as they should. They are seeking an alliance with the strongest House.”

  “Aye, aye,” Jourdain said, nodding. “And we must tread very carefully, Brienna.”

  “Yes,
I agree.”

  I took a moment to sort through my thoughts, to weave a plan together, walking about my room, absently touching the braids in my hair. I had decided to start plaiting my hair, as many of the MacQuinn women did. Warrior braids, as I liked to think of them.

  When I came to stand before Jourdain once more, I saw a slight smile on his face.

  “By the gods,” he said, shaking his head at me. “I never thought I would be so happy to see that scheming gleam in your eyes.”

  I grinned and playfully laid my hand over my heart. “Ah, Father. You wound me. Why wouldn’t you be happy to hear of my plans?”

  “Because they give me gray hairs, Brienna,” he responded with a chuckle.

  “Then perhaps you should sit for this.”

  He obeyed, taking the chair Neeve had graced the night before, and I sat beside him in my favorite armchair, our boots stretched out to the fire.

  “All right, Father. Here are my thoughts. The Hallorans are seeking to form an alliance with us through marriage to me. I cannot say that I fault them for their effort. I’m certain they were tools of the Lannons during the past twenty-five years. And the political landscape of Maevana is dramatically shifting. The Hallorans need to rebrand themselves, to win the favor of the queen in some way. Marriage is one of the easiest yet strongest ways to forge a new alliance, hence why Pierce has shown up on our threshold.”

  “Brienna . . . please do not tell me that you are considering this,” Jourdain said, covering his eyes for a moment.

  “Of course not!”

  He dropped his hand and let out a relieved huff. “Good. Because I do not know what to think about this! More than anything, I would like to spit on the gifts Pierce brought us, to send him off with a kick to the breeks. But both of us know that we cannot afford to be so rash, Brienna.”

  “No, we cannot,” I agreed. “The Hallorans want to ally with us. Should we let them?”

  We were both quiet, contemplating all the possibilities.

  I broke the silence first. “We were just discussing alliances, rivalries. The four of us sat down and parsed out Houses to win over for Isolde. We are still trying to decide what to do with the Lannon people, but what about the Carran House, the Halloran House?” I shrugged, betraying my uncertainty. “It nearly makes me ill to think about letting them join our fold. They thrived the past twenty-five years while so many of your people suffered. But if we refuse them . . . what sort of ramifications come with that?”

  “There is no way to be certain,” my father responded. “All I can say now is, I do not want the Hallorans in our alliance. I do not trust them.”

  “You think they would deceive us?”

  Jourdain met my gaze. “I know that they would.”

  I tapped my fingers along my knees, anxious. “So we cannot outright deny them. But I still need to give Pierce Halloran an answer.”

  Jourdain went very still, staring at me. “All I ask—if you would heed me as your father—is that you would not play games with him. Do not do anything that would put yourself at risk, daughter.”

  “I would not assume to play Pierce in a romantic way. But as I just said, I need to answer him.”

  “Can you not simply tell him you are with Aodhan Morgane?” Jourdain spouted.

  “Cartier needs to appear as a lord with no weakness.” It almost sounded harsh, but the words hovered in the air between my father and me as truth; the people we loved were always a weakness. “And the fact that Cartier, essentially, has nothing—no living family, no spouse, no children—sets him higher than us in this game of politics.”

  I watched Jourdain as his eyes glazed for a moment. I worried that he was thinking of himself, of his wife, Sive, of how he had lost her.

  “I simply want for you to be happy, Brienna,” he eventually whispered, and his confession nearly wrung my heart.

  I reached forward to take his hands in mine. “And I thank you for that, Father. After the trial—after Isolde is crowned and we have a better understanding of how everything is going to settle—Cartier and I will make it known.”

  Jourdain nodded, looking down at our linked hands. “So, daughter. How will you answer Pierce Halloran tonight?”

  “How I will begin to answer every man beyond this House who wishes to earn my favor as a suitor.”

  Jourdain went still, soaking in my words, slowly understanding. His eyes lifted, meeting mine, and I saw the surprise within him.

  “Oh? And how is that?” But he already knew.

  A smile warmed my voice. “I will ask Pierce Halloran to bring me the golden ribbon from a tapestry.”

  Every MacQuinn showed up for dinner that night in the hall.

  There was hardly an empty space at the tables, and the great room soon grew stifling from the fire in the hearth, from the inspirations of so many curious people, from the fact that I was sitting beside Pierce Halloran at the lord’s table.

  He was exactly as I expected: handsome in a sharp, unforgiving way, with eyes that flickered with deceptive languidness. And he liked to set that ruthless gaze on me, I soon found. He traced the braids in my hair, the neckline of my dress, the curves of my body. He was weighing my physical attractiveness, as if that were all to me.

  You are a fool, I thought halfway through the meal as I took a steady sip of my ale, his eyes resting on me again. He was too preoccupied to entertain the thought that I might be plotting something detrimental to him.

  I smiled into my goblet, just for a moment.

  “And what is humoring you, Brienna MacQuinn?” Pierce asked, noticing.

  I set down my ale and looked at him. “Oh, I just remembered that the tailor is sewing a new dress for me on the morrow, one with white fur on the trim. I am excited to see its design, of course.”

  From his place two chairs down, Luc snorted and then hastily tried to cover it up by pounding on his chest, like he was choking. Pierce glanced at my brother, brow arched. Luc finally quieted, waving in apology, and Pierce set his focus on me again, wolfishly grinning.

  “I should like to see you in white fur.”

  To which a second coughing fit began, this time from Jourdain, who was on my other side. Poor Father, I thought, his knuckles white as he gripped his fork.

  Jourdain spared me a swift glace, and I saw the spark of warning in his eyes. I was playing Pierce too well, then.

  I reached for the plate of bread. Pierce reached for it as well, our fingers bumping.

  “Shall I cut you another slice?” he asked with feigned politeness, his eyes, unsurprisingly, on my décolletage.

  But my eyes were on something else entirely. His sleeve had ridden slightly up his wrist, and there was a dark tattoo on his pale skin, just over the faint blue shadows of his veins. It looked like a D with the center filled in. An odd thing to permanently etch on one’s skin.

  “Yes, thank you,” I said, forcing my gaze to shift before he saw that I noticed his strange mark.

  Pierce set a slice of rye bread on my plate, and I knew it was almost time, that I had let this dinner drag on long enough.

  “May I ask why you have come to visit us, Pierce Halloran?”

  Pierce took a long sip of ale; I saw the gleam of perspiration on his brow, and I tried not to revel in the fact that he was barely concealing his worry and nerves.

  “I brought you a gift,” he said, setting his goblet down. His hand swept to the other side of the table, where two broad swords sat on the oak, resting in gilded sheaths. They were, perhaps, two of the most beautiful swords I had ever beheld, and it had taken all of my restraint not to touch them, not to unsheathe one of the blades. “I also brought one for your father.”

  Jourdain made no reply. He was doing a rather poor job of hiding his annoyance with Pierce.

  “And why have you brought us such magnanimous gifts?” I inquired, my heart beginning to beat faster. I saw from the corner of my eye that Neeve was rising from the table, a few other weavers following her. They were preparing to bring t
he tapestry into the hall as we had planned.

  Can you find me a tapestry whose golden ribbon can never be found? I had asked Neeve after scheming with Jourdain.

  Neeve had looked surprised. Yes, of course I can. You need the tapestry so soon, then?

  As soon as dinner tonight.

  “I hope to win your favor, Brienna,” Pierce answered, finally looking me in the eye.

  I merely stared at him; that minute dragged on for what felt like a year, and I tried not to squirm with discomfort.

  He broke the stare first, because there was a commotion sprouting on the other side of the hall.

  I didn’t have to look; I knew the weavers were bringing in the tapestry, that the men were aiding them in hanging it up so that both sides could be seen.

  “And what is this?” Pierce asked, a sly smile at the corners of his mouth. “A gift for me, Brienna?”

  I rose, not realizing that I was trembling until I walked around to the other side of the table, to stand between Pierce and the tapestry on the dais. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly going dry, and the hall grew oppressively quiet. I could feel the weight of all the gazes gathering upon me. The tapestry Neeve had chosen for me was exquisite: a maiden in the thrall of a garden, a sword resting over her knees as she sat among the flowers, her face tilted upward to the sky. She was haloed in light as if the gods were blessing her. Neeve could not have chosen a more suitable depiction.

  “Lord Pierce,” I began. “First, let me thank you for troubling yourself by coming all the way to Castle Fionn, so soon after battle. You obviously had us on your mind this week.”

  Pierce was still smiling, but his eyes narrowed on me. “I will make no more pretenses. I have come to seek your hand, Brienna MacQuinn, to win your favor as my wife. Do you accept my gift of the sword?”

  He had certainly brought the best of his House, I thought, resisting the urge to admire the swords. And yet how dull his character was in comparison to the steel.

  “I will assume that you do not know one of the traditions of our House,” I continued.

  “What tradition?” Pierce ground out.

  “That marrying beyond the MacQuinn House requires a challenge.”