The Queen's Resistance

by Rebecca Ross

  “Take her back to the castle,” Cartier ordered Jourdain, his voice smooth yet sharp. I had never heard him speak like that, and I shivered as I watched him slip from the coach, Luc taking his place.

  As soon as the coach began its climb back to the castle, Jourdain snarled to Luc, “I thought you were given orders not to engage!”

  And Luc looked to me, uncertain as to what he should say. Because I had been the one to defy the orders.

  “I am sure Brienna has a good reason why,” Luc insisted.

  By the time we reached the castle courtyard, Jourdain was stewing and Luc was fidgeting. My father and brother followed me to my bedchamber, and I wasted no time. My voice was still gone, my larynx seemingly crushed from Fechin’s arm. So I grabbed my pot of ink and a sheet of paper and began to furiously scrawl my explanation.

  “Brienna,” Jourdain sighed as he finished reading. I knew he finally understood why I had chosen to upset the plans, but I could also tell he was going to simmer in his frustration for hours.

  Isolde blew into my room before Jourdain could further his reprimand.

  “Out,” she barked at the men.

  When her livid eyes fell upon me, I had my first moment of righteous fear of her. I watched the men swiftly depart and prepared myself to withstand any punishment from her.

  But I quickly realized Isolde was not here to scold me. She was here to draw me a bath and heal my battered face.

  I sat in the warm water, letting the queen wash the tavern grime from my skin, the dirt from my hair, and the blood from my face. It was humbling to have her care for me, searching for wounds as she cleansed me. Very gently, she took hold of my nose, and I winced at first, expecting pain. But her magic was gentle, like feeling sunlight warm my face . . . a brush of dragonfly wings . . . soaking the fragrance of a summer night. Her magic reset my nose, until all that was left was a small bump, barely perceptible to my fingers as I tentatively assessed it.

  “Where else did he hurt you?” she asked, pouring water over my shoulders to wash away the lingering soap.

  I pointed to my throat. Isolde drew her fingertips across it, and the painful egg that had been pressing on my voice box shrank, leaving behind a tingling aura in my larynx.

  “Thank you, Lady,” I said hoarsely.

  “Your voice will be weak for a few days,” Isolde responded, ushering me from the tub to wrap me in a towel. “Try not to use it too much.”

  I had to set my jaw, to keep my words tame and quiet, but to no avail. Because I wanted to tell her that I had found him, that Declan was running to safe houses, just as we predicted. That I had come face-to-face with Fechin.

  I dressed into a fresh chemise and climbed into bed as I spoke of what had happened, telling her every detail, including the code name of Red Horn.

  She was quiet after that, her fingertips tracing the patterns in my quilt.

  “I’m sorry,” I rasped. “I should not have deviated from the plan.”

  “I understand your intentions,” Isolde responded, meeting my gaze. “In all honesty, I would have been tempted to do the same as you. But if we are going to catch Declan Lannon, we must be calculated. We must move in unity. You should have never been alone in that tavern. I know I gave you and Luc orders to remain armed, but it would have been better if you had declined entry. You should never have chased Declan on your own.”

  I took her correction with flushed cheeks and repentant eyes. My one consolation was the thought of the deep wound I had inflicted on Fechin. It was the only information I could offer her now. “I gave Fechin a permanent limp. You should search the surrounding physicians and healers, because he would have gone directly to one of them.”

  “I shall do that.” Isolde smiled. She suddenly looked exhausted and peaked, and I wondered if her magic drained her, if by healing others, she made herself weak and vulnerable.

  There was a knock on my outer door, and Jourdain emerged on my threshold like a thundercloud. I knew there would be no getting around him.

  His eyes were sharp until I lowered myself back into my pillows. Isolde bid me farewell, and I thanked her as Jourdain took her place at my side, sitting on the edge of the bed, the mattress giving beneath his weight.

  “Has Cartier returned?” I asked, struggling to hide the tremor in my voice.

  “Yes.”

  And by the terseness of that “yes,” I knew that they had not recovered Declan. I hung my head until he spoke again.

  “I’m sending you home, Brienna.”

  I started, blinking at him. “I don’t want to return home.”

  “I know. But I want you safe, daughter.” He sensed my dismay and took hold of my hand. “And I need you to return and be Lady of MacQuinn for me.”

  This was the last thing I expected to hear from him.

  “Father,” I whispered. “I cannot do that for you. Your people . . .”

  “My people will heed and follow you, Brienna. You are my daughter.”

  I didn’t want to argue with him. But I also couldn’t imagine returning to Castle Fionn and trying to exert leadership over a people who regarded me with perpetual wariness.

  Jourdain sighed and rushed his hand through his auburn hair. “I received a letter from Thorn today. You remember him?”

  “Your cranky chamberlain.”

  “That’s the one. He writes and asks if Luc can return, to tend to some business he needs help overseeing. There has been trouble with one of the lasses, and Thorn is at an impasse. And I feel like Luc is not the one to send home. You are, Brienna.”

  “I do not know the first thing about being a Lady of MacQuinn,” I softly protested.

  “You’ll learn.” Such a simple, manlike answer. He could tell I chafed at it because he sighed and amended, “Sometimes, you have to be thrown into things, or else you’ll never do them.”

  This was a very Maevan-inspired way of teaching, this thought of throwing yourself into a raging river to learn how to swim. In Valenia, we took our time to learn a new skill. Hence why each passion took an average of seven years to master.

  “You are just trying to get me out of the way,” I stated.

  Jourdain’s brow slanted in a frown. “When I ask for you to help me, daughter, I truly mean it. You overseeing this problem with the lass will take a tremendous burden off my shoulders. But more than that . . . I want you away from this mess; I want you to be safe. I cannot endure it if something should happen to you, Brienna. I lost my wife by the hand of the Lannons. I will not see the same done to my daughter.”

  There was nothing I could say to refute that.

  This had been his fear from the very beginning of my involvement, and if he had had his way, I would never have crossed the channel into Maevana to recover the Stone of Eventide. He would have taken my knowledge and given it to Luc, if only to keep me away from the dangers of the revolt.

  And I wanted to argue with him; I wanted to say this was not fair, to lock me up while Luc continued to chase down the Lannons. I wanted to say that he needed me; they all needed me. And the words rose, pressing against my teeth, desperate to come out sharp and angry until I saw his frown soften, until I saw the gleam in his eyes. He looked upon me as if he truly loved me; he looked upon me like I was his flesh-and-blood daughter, like I had been born a MacQuinn, like pieces of his wife were within me.

  Wasn’t this something I had longed for, something I had ached for my entire life?

  And I chose in that moment to become that, to be his daughter, to let him protect me.

  I chose in that moment to return as the Lady of MacQuinn, to do what he asked of me.

  “Very well,” I said quietly. “I will go.”

  The disappointment still stung, and I looked down until Jourdain lovingly took my chin, to draw my eyes back to his.

  “I want you to know that I am proud of you, Brienna. There is no woman I trust more to lead my people while I’m away.”

  I nodded so he would believe I was at peace with this.
/>
  But within, I felt upset to be leaving Lyonesse, ashamed that I had broken the plans for the night. I was honored that Jourdain trusted me enough to grace me with the power of Lady of MacQuinn, but I also felt dread to imagine the expressions that would meet me when Jourdain’s people realized he had sent me back to lead.

  Jourdain kissed my cheeks, and the simple act made me miss Valenia so fiercely that I had to close my eyes to quell the tears. He rose and was almost to my door when I cleared my throat to ask, “When do I leave, Father?”

  I thought I would have at least another day or two here. Until he glanced over his shoulder to look at me with a gleam of sorrow in his eyes.

  “You leave at dawn, Brienna.”

  TWENTY

  A BLEEDING PRINCESS

  Cartier

  I was standing in the shadows of the corridor when Jourdain emerged from Brienna’s room. I was exhausted now that my anger had ebbed, filthy and sweaty from combing the streets in search of Declan, a hunt that had proven fruitless.

  We had been so close. So close to capturing the prince and regaining the children.

  It was infuriating to think how he had slipped through our fingers.

  I met Jourdain’s gaze. He did not seem surprised to see me waiting here.

  “What did she say?” I asked.

  “She said she will go home, as I want. She’ll leave at first light.”

  “How did you convince her?”

  “My chamberlain needs assistance with one of the lasses back home,” Jourdain answered. “Instead of sending Luc, I want to send her.”

  After watching this night go completely awry, Jourdain had outright told me he did not want Brienna in Lyonesse. He wanted to send Brienna home to Castle Fionn, where she would be safe. And while I had listened to him, I knew Brienna would be hurt by this, feel like we were shoving her out.

  Furthermore, Brienna was the one in our circle who was a natural schemer. I had taught her everything I knew, from history to poetry to where all the vital blood flows were in the body. But I had not taught her how to scheme, how to move pawns across a board, how to strategize and outwit. It was her strength, the canon of her blood House, the blessing of the Allenachs that set them above the rest.

  I could have made a strong case against Jourdain, told him that Brienna was the one who gathered up the safe house locations, the one who uncovered the meaning behind the half-moon. That Brienna was essentially the mind behind our revolution.

  I could have reminded Jourdain about all of these things, and yet I resisted. Because deep within me, I wanted her as far away from Declan Lannon as possible. I did not want Declan Lannon to know her name, to look upon her face, to hear the sound of her voice. I did not want him to so much as know she existed.

  And so I went along with Jourdain and Luc, because he certainly chimed in agreement to his father’s will, even though it set a thorn in my heart to send Brienna away.

  I remained standing against the wall, nearly dead on my feet; I had not slept more than a few hours at a time the past two nights.

  “Go on to bed, lad,” Jourdain said gently. “I’ll make sure to wake you when it’s time for her to leave.”

  I nodded. My feet were numb as I walked to my room and closed the door.

  I sat on my bed, the bed I had not slept in one time since arriving. I leaned my head back until I found the pillow, descending into painful dreams of my mother, of my sister. I had never known what they looked like, because the only word my father had used to describe them was “beautiful.” But I saw Líle and Ashling Morgane that night, walking through the meadows of Brígh, the mountain wind soaking in their laughter. I saw them as they should be now, my mother with silver in her blond hair, Ashling just shy of thirty, dark-haired as our father.

  I woke at dawn with tears in my eyes, the fire given to ashes.

  I changed my clothes and washed the dream from my eyes, raking my fingers through my hair as I sought Brienna.

  She had already departed from her room, and I eventually found her in the courtyard with Jourdain’s men-at-arms, waiting for her mare to be brought from the stables. As soon as I came up beside her, I could tell she had not slept much that night. Her eyes were bloodshot, and bruises were beginning to bloom on her face and neck, from her altercation with Fechin.

  “I know,” she said, realizing I had noticed her bruises. “But at least my nose is no longer crooked.”

  “Is it still hurting you?” I asked.

  “No, thanks to Isolde.”

  I forced a smile to conceal how the sight of bruises on her upset me. I took her hand, drawing her close. She settled against me with a sigh; her arms came around me. I held to her and she held to me, my fingers tracing the loose silk of her hair, the range of her shoulders beneath her passion cloak, the graceful curve of her back.

  I could feel her words warm my shirt as she said, “Do you agree with him? To send me away?”

  My hand moved to her hair, to gently tug her head back, so she would look at me.

  “No. I would not have sent you from my side.”

  “Then why are you letting me go?” she whispered, like she knew I had been complacent, like she knew I had the power to persuade Jourdain and I had withheld it. “When you know I should be here?”

  I could not answer her, because to respond would be to uproot my deepest worry, to give my fear a shape, to let out the darkness in my heart that I did not want her to know.

  She stared up at me, her eyes inscrutable.

  And I wondered why this felt like such an ominous parting, as if a river were about to rise between us.

  I lowered my head, my lips brushing the edge of hers. I should not kiss her here, in the courtyard, where anyone could see us. I should not, and yet she brought her mouth to mine. She gave me her breath as I gave her mine, until my heart was beating in her hands, until I felt like she had swallowed all of my secrets, all those nights when I lay awake with her on my mind, all those mornings when I walked through Brígh’s meadows with my eyes set to the east, to that forest trail that bridged our lands, waiting for her to appear, waiting for that distance to close between us.

  “Brienna.”

  Her father was calling her, his voice sharp, to wake us both.

  She broke away from me, turned without speaking. But perhaps she and I no longer needed words. I stood and watched the morning catch the silver-threaded stars of her cloak. She mounted her mare in the center of the courtyard. Liam O’Brian, Jourdain’s thane, and two MacQuinn men-at-arms would accompany her home.

  Luc and Jourdain came up beside her, to bid their good-byes. Brienna smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She gathered her reins, and Jourdain patted her knee in farewell.

  I was still standing in the same place as she trotted out of the courtyard. My eyes followed her, through the sunlight, through the shadows, until she disappeared beneath the stone arch.

  Not once did she look back at me.

  Hours later, I sat in the queen’s council chamber, staring at the map of Lyonesse spread over the table. Six of us had gathered to plan the next raid—Isolde, her father Braden, Jourdain, Luc, Lord Derrick Burke, and myself. We had skipped breakfast to pore over additional Lannon ledgers, and by that afternoon, we had chosen four more potential safe houses for Declan, each of them located in the southeastern quadrant of town, each of them close to the tavern and hostel Brienna and Luc had scouted the night before.

  The news had finally leaked; Declan Lannon had escaped the dungeons, and he was hiding in Lyonesse. And Isolde had been left with no choice but to call for a curfew, for shops and markets to suspend until he was recovered, for the city gates to be closed and heavily guarded, for the residents to remain in their homes with their doors locked and their windows shuttered. She had also made the request for citizens to be ready to have their homes searched.

  In addition, we put forth a vast reward for Declan Lannon’s recovery. The sum was doubled if the children were also safely brought
to the queen. Surely, I thought, someone would betray Declan, unable to resist the promise of wealth. But as the hours continued to pass, it would seem that the half-moon clan was not tempted by riches.

  I sat and stared at the map, drumming my fingers over the table as I regarded the places we were about to search. Declan had been at the hostel. But where would he slither next? Would he keep moving, or would he try to remain in one place? How long did he intend to hide with two children? What was he ultimately trying to do? Free his entire family from the dungeons? Incite a revolt against Isolde? Was he truly the “Red Horn”?

  As if he had read my mind, Lord Burke asked from across the table, “What is it that he wants?”

  “That is still uncertain,” Isolde responded. “Declan has made no demands of us yet.”

  “But he will, sooner or later,” Jourdain said. “Lannons always do.”

  “Whatever his demands are,” Isolde said, clearing her throat, “we do not entertain them. I will not negotiate with a man who has sown terror and violence for years, who has been weighed by the people and judged to be executed.”

  “That makes him even more dangerous, Lady,” I stated. “He has nothing to lose at the moment.”

  Braden Kavanagh shifted in his chair, concerned as he glanced to her. “I would not be surprised if Declan sets a snare to capture Isolde. I want her guarded at all times.”

  “Father,” Isolde said, unable to hide her impatience. “I already have a dedicated guard. I rarely have a moment to myself.”

  “Yes, but can we trust your guard?” Jourdain dared to ask.

  Lord Burke stirred. The queen’s guard were men and women from his House. They had indeed proven themselves to us, but that did not fully quell our worry that some might be persuaded to turn.

  “This master guard that betrayed you,” Lord Burke said. “He was a Lannon, not a Burke. And I can swear that the men and women I have provided as your guard are trustworthy. None of them bear the half-moon mark.”