by Rebecca Ross
“Please, Lord Aodhan,” he begged. “Please. I will never disobey you ever again if you would save her.”
Cartier reached for Ewan’s arms, pulling him back to his feet. He must have realized that Ewan was no longer limping; he stared at Ewan’s bare foot before forcing his gaze up to the boy’s. “It is never good to make promises we cannot keep. And while I cannot make a vow, I give my word that I will do everything I can to save your sister. As long as you give your word that you will remain in my chambers, hidden and quiet, Ewan. No one must know that you are here.”
Ewan nodded vehemently. “I give my word, milord. No one will know. I am good at hiding.”
“Yes, I know.” Cartier sighed. “Now, it’s past your bedtime. You need to come with me, to my chambers.” The three of us stood. And the questions must have been evident in my eyes, because Cartier asked Ewan to step out from the bedroom for a moment.
“You think it best that he remains in your chambers?” I whispered, trying to hide my worry. I wanted to trust Cartier, but what if he chose to hide Ewan? What would I say to Isolde?
“What do you think, Brienna?” He stepped close to me, so he could angle his lips and whisper directly into my ear. His voice warmed my hair as he asked, “The queen knows he is here, doesn’t she?”
“She wants to speak with me about him tomorrow morning,” I whispered in return. “To affirm who he is.”
“Then let me do it, Brienna.”
I leaned back, to meet his gaze.
“I can imagine Isolde is at war with her decision tonight,” Cartier continued, his voice hardly more than a hum. “What to do with the child of her nemesis.”
“And what would you do?”
He stared at me a moment, and then said, “I will do whatever she commands of me. She is my queen. But I want the chance to speak with her of it, to persuade her in the way I think best.”
I could not fault him for this, to want the opportunity to speak privately with Isolde, to make the case for Ewan’s life.
Nor could I stop the tears that filled my eyes. I didn’t know where they came from, perhaps a hidden well in my heart, one that Ewan’s predicament had just created within me.
I tried to turn away before Cartier noticed, but he took my face in his hands and held me before him.
A tear streaked down my cheek. Cartier kissed it, and the way his hands caressed my hair, the way my heart began to strike and spark . . . if not for Ewan being in the adjacent room, I don’t know what would have unfolded between us, although I could imagine.
When he looked at me, I saw the same in his eyes, this insatiable desire to have nothing but the night between us, the stars above us, burning secrets into dawn.
Yet reality was like a splash of cold water in my face. For here we were with a Lannon child between us, with a trial bearing down on us, with uncertainty awaiting us.
I wondered if there would ever be time for me and him.
“Good night, Cartier,” I whispered.
He left without another word once he was certain the corridor was empty, Ewan in his shadow.
And I was suddenly alone.
FOURTEEN
ONCE A LANNON, ALWAYS A LANNON
Two Days Until the Trial
Cartier
I did not sleep that night. I gave Ewan the bed, and I stretched out on the divan and watched the fire die out to embers, thinking long into the night. Thinking of what I would say to Isolde, of how to convince her to let this child live. And then it was not merely Ewan anymore; it was now Keela.
And there were only two days remaining until the trial.
By the time dawn arrived, I knew I needed to speak to Isolde and then speak to Keela in the dungeons.
I called upon the queen midmorning, after ensuring Ewan was going to stay put in my chambers with a bowl of porridge and a book I had selected from the library.
“But I cannot read, milord,” Ewan had complained at the sight of the massive book.
The lad might as well have shoved a dagger into my stomach, for all the pain his words caused me.
“Then look at the pictures,” I had responded, and promptly left before I asked any more probing questions about Ewan’s childhood.
Did you father beat you, Ewan? Did your grandfather starve you? Is that why you do not like to be alone in the dark? Why were you never taught to read?
I waited to meet with Isolde in the queen’s solarium, a room that was still in the process of being stripped of Lannon’s presence. The walls were now bare—they had been crowded with antlers and mounted animal heads before—and I wondered if the queen would commission Jourdain’s weavers to create tapestries to grace the walls.
“You wanted to speak with me?”
I turned to see Isolde enter the chamber. “Yes, Lady.”
“I actually just came from another private meeting,” the queen said, taking a few steps closer. “With Lady Grainne.”
“Oh? I trust it was a good meeting, then?”
Isolde smiled. “Aye.”
“And did she agree to support you in full?”
“There was actually no talk of support or alliances between us.”
“Really?” I could not hide my surprise. And while I wanted to know the details, it was not my right, and so I did not ask.
But when I looked at Isolde, at the light in her eyes, I saw the fire of secrets, the lustrous light of a dragon breathing flames over its hoard of gold. Perhaps I would learn the truth of it in the months to come.
“Please, tell me what is on your mind, Aodhan.”
“I would like to request passage into the dungeons, to speak with several of the Lannons.”
Her smile faded. “May I ask which Lannons you intend to speak with?”
“Keela.”
“The princess? I fear that I have tried to speak to her myself, Aodhan. The lass will not talk.”
“I still would like to try,” I said. “I was also hoping to speak to a Lannon thane who goes by the name of Tomas. Is he in the dungeons?”
“Yes, he is being held.”
I drew in a deep breath, rousing my courage to add, “And I need to speak to Declan.”
The queen was quiet, glancing to the wall of windows. The storm had finally passed, leaving behind weak sunlight and soft earth, but soon the clouds would break and we would see the sky again.
Isolde slowly walked to the windows, the purple of her dress reflecting on the tilted panes as she stood and stared at the city of Lyonesse. Her hair was a deeper shade of red than Ewan’s; she had it pulled back with a simple ribbon, her curls like a shield at her back.
“I do not want to behead Keela Lannon,” the queen said. “She is but a girl, and she is terrified. I want her to live, to heal, to grow up to become a beautiful young woman. But the truth of the matter is . . . the people are going to demand all of the Lannon blood. And if I let the grandchildren live, then what happens if seeds of resentment grow in them, for being the last of their line? Will other Houses welcome them, or hate and shun them? Will they ever belong? Will the anger grow into something darker, dooming us to face another war decades from now?”
When she grew quiet, I moved to stand at her side.
“Your fears are justified, Lady,” I said. “I feel them as you do. But Keela is just a child. She should not carry the weight of her father’s and her grandparents’ sins.”
“But isn’t this the way of Maevana? To extinguish entire families who oppose the queen?” Isolde asked. “The bitter portions?”
“And yet you said it yourself yesterday, that we want to emerge from an era of darkness; we want you to lead us into the light.”
The queen remained silent.
“Isolde,” I finally said, but still she would not look at me. Her eyes were on the city, and so I continued, “I have Ewan Lannon in my care. He is the lad who crawled in through Brienna’s window last night.”
“I knew it was him,” she breathed. “I knew it when I looked at him, when I h
ealed him.” She closed her eyes. “I am weak, Aodhan.”
“It is not weakness to want to heal a wounded child, to shelter children from the heavy cost of their family’s wickedness, Isolde,” I responded. “Keela and Ewan are innocent.”
Her eyes fluttered open, fixating on me. “Keela Lannon is not innocent, Aodhan.”
Her words struck me, made me momentarily pause.
“She has a list of grievances against her,” the queen continued. “They are sparse in comparison to her father’s and her grandparents’, and yet they are still there. Several of her chambermaids have come forward, saying she has ordered cruel punishments upon them.”
“I would bet that she was coerced to do these things, Isolde,” I rasped. But my doubt lingered like a bruise.
“I am not queen yet,” she said, so softly I almost did not hear her. “And I do not desire to witness the trial with a crown, but as one of the people. I want to stand equal with them, shoulder to shoulder, when the verdict is given. I do not want it to seem that this is my justice. This is our justice.” She began to pace, her hands pressed together like her heart was consumed with prayers. “Because of this, if the people demand Keela Lannon’s head . . . I have no voice to override them. She is already in the dungeons; the people put her there, and I cannot raise her out of it.”
I knew it would be so. I stood silent, waiting, watching her pace.
“Because of this,” Isolde whispered, coming to a stop before me. “I want you to shelter and protect Ewan Lannon. Keep him hidden until after the trial. I want you to raise him up as one of your own, as a Morgane. I want you to raise him to be a good man.”
“You are giving me your blessing?” I was not wholly surprised by this; I had imagined Isolde would decide upon mercy, and yet I could not deny the fact that I always felt humbled in her presence.
“I am giving you my blessing, Aodhan,” she replied. “As the Queen of Maevana, I will find a way to pardon him. Until I am crowned, keep him hidden and safe.”
“So I will, Lady,” I murmured, laying my hand on my heart in submission.
“I will send word to the guards to grant you passage into the dungeon,” she said. “You may speak to Keela and Tomas as well as to Declan, but just keep this in mind . . .” The queen accompanied me to the door, tilting her head, as if she was reliving a dark memory, one she wanted to dissolve. “Declan Lannon has a terrible way with words. Do not let him rile you.”
An hour later, I was descending into the dark bowels of the castle.
The stone floor beneath me grew slick with every step, and I thought I could hear the distant roar of water.
“What is that noise?” I asked.
“A river runs beneath the castle,” the master guard, Fechin, answered.
I drew in a deep breath, tasting a distant thread of salt and mist. “Where does it run to?”
“The ocean.” Fechin glanced over his shoulder, to meet my gaze. “It was how the Lannons disposed of the dismembered bodies for years, by sending them ‘on the current.’”
His words nearly bounced off me, they were so difficult to grapple with. But this manner of evil had been done here, in these tunnels, for years. I made myself dwell on that truth as I continued to draw nigh to the Lannons’ cells.
We walked farther, until the hum of the river vanished, and the only sound was the water dripping from the cracks above. And then came another noise, one so odd I wondered if I was imagining it. It was the sound of sweeping, a persistent rushing, over and over.
I finally came upon the source, unexpectedly, as if it had blossomed from the stone before me. A figure draped in black veils from head to toe, their face concealed, was sweeping the floor. I nearly plowed into them, lurching to the side to avoid a collision.
They stopped, and a prickling sensation moved over my skin as my torch burned the darkness between me and them.
“The bone sweeper,” Fechin explained nonchalantly. “They won’t hurt you.”
I resisted the temptation to glance at the sweeper one final time, my skin still rippling with gooseflesh. I had only been walking the tunnels for maybe half an hour, and yet how eager I was to ascend from here. I struggled to compose myself as the guard stopped before a narrow door with a crooked slash of a window lined with iron bars.
“The lady said you wanted to see Keela Lannon first?” Fechin set his torch into a sconce to fiddle with his ring of keys.
“Yes.” I realized there was blood splattered on the limestone walls. That the glistening on the floor was indeed bones, and that the sweeper had a reason to be taking a broom to the tunnels.
Fechin unlocked the door, kicking it open with a rusty groan. “I’ll wait here for you.”
I nodded and stepped into the cell, my torch sputtering in tandem with my pulse.
It was not a big chamber, but there was a cot and plenty of blankets, and a narrow table graced with a stack of books and a line of candles. A girl stood against the wall, her fair hair and pale skin smudged into the darkness, her eyes glittering with terror at the sight of me entering her cell.
“Don’t be afraid,” I said, just as Fechin loudly clanged the door shut.
Keela rushed to her table to pry one of her half-melted candles from the wood, wielding the flame as a weapon. She was gasping in fear, and I stopped, my own heart pounding.
“Keela, please. I am here to help you.”
She bared her teeth at me, but there were tears glistening on her cheeks.
“I am Aodhan Morgane, and I know your little brother, Ewan,” I gently continued. “He asked me to come see you.”
The sound of her brother’s name softened her. I was hopeful this would be the meeting ground for us, and I kept speaking, keeping my voice low so my words wouldn’t drift beyond the door.
“I found your brother at my castle. I think he left Lyonesse during the battle, searching for someplace safe to stay. He asked me to come and speak with you, Keela, to see what we can do to help you in the upcoming days.” This was what I was most concerned about, after discovering Keela had grievances against her. I needed to think of a way to get her to talk about it, so I could help her form an answer when the grievances were read before an angry crowd. “Would you be willing to speak with me, Keela?”
She was quiet.
I thought she was considering my words when she let out a scream that rose the hair on my arms.
“You lie! My brother is dead! Get out!” She hurled the candle. I narrowly stepped out of the way as she continued to scream, “Get out! Get out!”
I had no choice.
I rapped on the door and Fechin opened it.
I stood outside of Keela’s cell, leaning against the bloodstains on the wall, and listened to her weep. It tore my insides to hear it, to know this was Ewan’s sister, that she was being held in the dark, that she was terrified at the mere sight of me.
“She acted the same way for the queen,” the guard said. “Don’t let it upset you.”
I was not comforted by his words.
I felt ill as I continued to follow the guard down the tunnel, the air turning stale and putrid.
We arrived at Thane Tomas’s cell next. Once again, Fechin unlocked the door and I stepped within the cell, uncertain as to what I would find.
This cell was relatively clean. An old man sat on his cot, his ankles and his wrists shackled, staring at me. Despite his years, he was still broad and powerfully built. There was no emotion in his face or eyes, only hardness, and he was difficult to look upon. His blond hair was almost completely gray, lank and tangled at his shoulders, and his face was haggard, as if he was more wraith than man.
“Thane Tomas?”
He said nothing. I sensed he would withhold his voice, that he would refuse to speak with me.
“I stumbled upon your namesake at my castle,” I continued in a low tone. “A little red-haired lad.”
As I expected, the mention of Ewan stirred something in him. His mouth was still downturned, but
his eyes softened.
“I suppose you have him chained up now?” the thane grunted.
“On the contrary. I have him in hiding.”
“And what do you want with me, then?”
“Are you loyal to Gilroy and Oona?”
The old thane chuckled. He spat on the floor between us and crossed his arms, the chains clanging. “They have ruined the name of Lannon. Utterly ruined it.”
I had to hide my pleasure to hear his disdain. And I tucked his name into the back of my mind as a potential ally. He might be a Lannon we could swing to our favor, who could help us rebuild. If he cared for Keela and Ewan, enough so that he risked himself in battle to help Ewan escape, then he had to be worth more than any Lannon I had ever known.
I began to leave, but his voice rose again.
“You’re Líle’s son.”
His statement stopped me cold. Slowly, I turned to look at him again, to find his gaze on mine.
“You have no idea who I am, do you?” Tomas continued.
I thought of my mother’s letter, of how I was trying to suppress the truth of her revelation. But before I could respond, he spoke again.
“Sweet Líle Hayden. She was a light among us, a flower blooming in frost. I wasn’t surprised when Kane Morgane swept her away to his lands, to crown her as Lady.”
“And who are you to her?” I snapped. His words were wounding me; I did not want to imagine my parents, to dwell on my loss.
Tomas was grave as he whispered, “Her uncle.”
I staggered back, unable to hide my shock.
“I am the last of the Haydens, the last of your family on the Lannon side,” Tomas said, gentler now, as if he felt my agony.
And I wished he had not told me. I wished that I did not know he was a relation, that a great-uncle of mine was sitting in chains in the castle dungeons.
“I cannot liberate you,” I said. But my mind was already seeking a way; my heart was a traitor, longing to set him free.
“All I ask is that you bring out a new chopping block and axe for me. That you won’t stain my neck with their blood.”
I nodded and departed, struggling to regain my composure as I waited for Fechin to lock the thane’s cell before guiding me to my final stop. I considered returning to the light and forgetting about Declan. My clothes were drenched with sweat; I felt on the verge of illness. And then I heard my father’s voice, as if he was standing behind me, saying, “You are Aodhan Morgane, the heir of the Morgane House and lands.”
