The Queen's Resistance

by Rebecca Ross

  I swallowed, struggling to steady my voice as I vowed to her, “So I swear, you have my protection, as well as the queen’s.” I turned to my archer, who had returned her arrow to the quiver. “Free these women. I want a covered coach summoned to carry them back to the castle at once.”

  The archer nodded as I passed her. I met Tomas’s eye in the corridor; he did not appear shocked by this, but there was deep sadness in his gaze, his shoulders slumped.

  I descended the stairs, my jaw aching from clamping down on my ire.

  The front door was wide open, the butcher nowhere to be found.

  I sheathed my sword as I emerged back into the street, into the fading sunlight and the taunt of the wind. I could hear the scuffing of boots and I looked to the right, to see the butcher sprinting away.

  I followed, taking my time. I needed that time to calm myself, or else I would kill him.

  He tossed a frantic glance over his shoulder at me, proceeding to trip and fall face-first into the street. He was crawling and mewling by the time I reached him, holding his grubby hands up in surrender.

  “Please, milord. I am only a humble butcher. I didn’t know. . . . Those girls were given to me by the king.”

  If I had not been under orders, I would have beaten this man senseless. Instead, I crouched beside him. With one hand, I took him by the neck, a grip shy of choking him. With my other hand, I tore his sleeve.

  There it was. An inked half-moon.

  “What are you going to do with me?” he wheezed, his face mottling. I enjoyed the fear that glinted in his eyes as he regarded me.

  And so I gave him a sharp, frightening smile. “What else would I do with rot like you? I am going to take you to stand before the queen.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  LADY OF MACQUINN

  Lord MacQuinn’s Territory, Castle Fionn

  Brienna

  I arrived at Castle Fionn drenched from a late-afternoon storm with two black eyes, not at all ready to wield the power of Lady MacQuinn. I knew I looked horrible when my horse clattered into the courtyard, Liam barking orders to the servants gaping at the doors, to rouse a bath and a fire for the lord’s daughter.

  The groom, Dillon, hurried from the stables to take my horse, his eyes wide in surprise to see it was me, and only me, that had returned.

  “Are your father and brother well, Mistress Brienna?” Dillon asked as the rain speckled his face, and I could hear the worry lurking beneath the words. A worry that Jourdain’s people were bound to feel at the sight of me.

  Has our lord already abandoned us? Is our lord well? Have we gained him only to lose him?

  “Yes, they are well, Dillon. My father has sent me back in place of my brother,” I responded, dismounting.

  I thanked my escort and then proceeded to walk through puddles of muck and dirt, my passion cloak dragging through it behind me, all the way into the foyer. Thorn, grouchy as expected, was there to meet me.

  “Mistress Brienna,” he greeted, his salt-and-pepper eyebrows arched in shock. “We were not expecting you. Shall I have Lord Lucas’s fire also lit this evening, or is it only to be yours?”

  “Only mine, Thorn. Thank you.”

  “And when can I expect to light the lord’s fire? Tomorrow, no doubt? Since I asked specifically for him to return to handle this . . . problem.” He looked shocked by the bruises on my face; I could tell he was curious to know what had caused them.

  “Not tomorrow. Or the day after that,” I answered with a sigh, unraveling the draws of my cloak. “Do not expect him or my father any time soon. It will most likely be another week at the earliest.”

  I began to ascend the stairs, Thorn following me.

  “We heard there was trouble in the royal city,” he said, still trying to pry answers out of me. “That several Lannons escaped.”

  “Yes.” I was almost to my room, eager to shake Thorn out of my shadow.

  “Is Lord MacQuinn in danger?”

  “No. And neither is Lord Lucas.”

  “Then why did my lord send you back here? Shouldn’t you have stayed with him? I specifically asked for—”

  “For Lord Lucas. Yes, I heard you the first time, Thorn,” I wearily interrupted. I finally reached my door, my fingers on the iron handle. I paused, to meet the chamberlain’s shrewd eyes. “Your lord sent me back instead of Luc. I know this comes as a shock to you, and that as the chamberlain you are familiar with castle dealings. I won’t step on your toes or get in your way, but all the same, I am here because my father wills it, so if there is a problem while he is away, bring it directly to me.”

  Thorn pressed his lips together, bowed his head, and retreated, and I entered my room with a sigh.

  The chambermaids were still frantically trying to spark a fire in my hearth and warm a bath for me. One of the girls gasped when she saw the bruises dappling my face, and I smiled as I draped my cloak over the back of a chair.

  “It looks worse than it is,” I stated, hoping to ease the worry in their expressions.

  The girls didn’t say anything; they only worked faster so they could slip from my chamber. Alone at last, I disrobed and sank into the warm water, shutting my eyes, listening to the rain tap on the windows. Time faded away, like the steam rising from my skin, and I thought about Ewan and Keela and Cartier until I felt like I was drowning.

  I wondered what was happening in Lyonesse, if—at this very moment, as I was sitting in a bath—Cartier and Luc and Jourdain had recovered Declan and the children. I wondered about Isolde, about her safety and her coronation. I wondered about my place in this land, a lord’s daughter who did not quite fit in anywhere. Where was my home? Was it here, at Castle Fionn, among the MacQuinns, who still did not trust me? Was it in Lyonesse, at the queen’s side? Was it beyond the channel, in Valenia, where I could finally establish my House of Knowledge? I thought of Merei, wondering where she was, how she was doing, if I should go and visit her.

  “Mistress Brienna!”

  I startled, splashing in water that had gone lukewarm. Neeve stood several feet away, her mouth open in horror as she studied my bruises. I had not even heard her enter, so lost was I in my own mind. And my heart began to pound at the sight of her, my sister. I wondered if there would ever be a moment that I could tell her who I truly was to her; I longed for it as I feared it.

  “Did none of the girls stay to help you bathe?” she asked, kneeling beside the tub.

  “No, but I didn’t need it.” And I certainly did not want her to feel obligated to help me. I began to rise, but Neeve had taken the sponge and my hand, beginning to buff the dirt from my nails.

  “You broke your nose, didn’t you?” she murmured, meeting my gaze.

  I held my breath, unsure how to respond. “It’s all right,” I whispered when she reached for my other hand. “I do not need you to help me.”

  “If you are to be treated as the Lady of MacQuinn, as Liam has informed all of us you shall be . . .” She began to vigorously scrub my nails, as if she was agitated. I wondered if it was at me, until she continued, “Then all of us should be offering to serve you in any way that we can.”

  I tried to relax, but my back was sore and I had a crick in my neck and I felt like weeping. Eventually, I asked, “Shouldn’t you be at the loom house, Neeve?”

  She dunked her sponge in the murky water, taking the cake of soap in her hands. “Yes, well, everything is out of sorts right now.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  When Neeve was quiet, I turned in the tub, so I could level my gaze at her. I suddenly felt a strange weight in the pit of my stomach as I put the pieces together. Jourdain had claimed there was a problem with one of the lasses, which I had disregarded as a lie to usher me home. But then Dillon had looked shocked to see me, and Thorn especially had appeared upset, because he had asked for Luc to return and handle whatever it was. . . .

  “What happened?”

  Neeve sighed, focusing her attention on the damp snarls in my ha
ir. “You’ll hear about it soon enough.”

  “Why can’t I hear it from you?”

  “Because I dislike gossip.”

  I pursed my lips at her until she smiled at me. She looked beautiful, her hair falling loose from her braid, her eyes the color of dark amber. I hardly noticed the scars on her face, the scars down her neck, the scars on the backs of her hands as she washed me, the evidence that she had fought and won against an illness that should have claimed her life.

  “Should I be worried?” I asked as she assisted me from the tub, wrapping a towel around me.

  “No,” Neeve responded, reaching for my comb. “But let me just say that the lass in question is relieved you have returned, instead of Lord Lucas.”

  Jourdain’s intuition, I thought. And I silently marveled, to imagine how my father had innately known to send me instead of my brother.

  “I’ve been practicing my letters while you were away,” she announced proudly, changing the flow of conversation.

  I smiled and asked her more about it, sitting on a stool to let her talk and brush out my tangles, until my damp hair was smooth and draped down my back like a cloak of silk.

  Neeve helped me dress, drawing the laces at the back of my gown until I was confident it would hold me together long enough to get through the remainder of the day. She braided my hair and I donned my slippers and pulled a shawl around my shoulders, leaving my room to find Thorn.

  I didn’t have to search for long. I found him in Jourdain’s office, waiting for me.

  I sat in my father’s chair, a small throne carved from oak and draped with a bolt of sheepskin.

  “What do you need my help with, Thorn?”

  The chamberlain sniffed, choosing not to sit. “I merely need guidance. We have not had a situation like this in a long while.”

  “Very well. What is the situation?”

  He didn’t have a chance to explain. The office doors banged open and in strode Betha, the head weaver, red-faced and damp from the rain. She took one look at me, sitting in Jourdain’s chair, and instantly began shaking her head.

  “I thought Lord Lucas was returning,” she said to Thorn.

  “Lord MacQuinn sent his daughter instead.”

  Betha stared at me. I felt the heat rise in my face.

  “What can I help you with, Betha?” I inquired.

  “I don’t want to talk to her about this,” she said to Thorn.

  Thorn appeared flustered. “I’m afraid you will either need to bring it to Mistress Brienna, or wait until Lord MacQuinn returns.”

  “Then I’ll wait.” Betha pivoted to leave. She was almost to the threshold when a young girl appeared from the shadows, standing in her path. “Come, Neeve.”

  I thought I had misheard at first, or that there was another Neeve. Until I saw the cream of my sister’s hair, heard the dulcet cadence of her voice.

  “No, Betha,” Neeve said. “I want to bring this before Mistress Brienna.”

  My pulse quickened, to know that the lass in question was my sister. I tried to swallow my surprise as Neeve walked into the room, wringing her hands, coming to stand before me with a nervous flicker of a glance.

  I wondered why she had not said something sooner when she came to my chamber. And I wondered if she had wanted to, and had simply lost her courage.

  “Neeve,” I said gently. “Tell me. What has happened?”

  Again, the words seemed to fade, because she parted her lips, but no sound came forth.

  “She’s refusing to work,” Betha said, the disappointment keen in her voice. “Neeve has always been one of my best spinners. She has a natural inclination to it; she leads the others with her skill. And she has refused to work the past week. And now some of the other lasses have joined her in this . . . resistance.”

  This was not at all what I was expecting. I looked to her, unable to conceal my surprise. “Is there a reason for this, Neeve?”

  Betha made a grunt, but I ignored her, wholly focusing on my sister.

  “Yes, Mistress Brienna. A good reason,” my sister replied.

  “You are simply being stubborn, lass,” Betha retorted, but even through this conflict, I could hear how fond Betha was of Neeve in the tone of her voice. Even the way she looked at the young girl . . . Betha’s hard edges seemed to soften. “You are making it more difficult for the other spinners, who must now work twice as much to make up the difference.”

  “The other spinners should not have to do this work either,” Neeve said adamantly. She was not going to sway, not even when Betha brought her before the lord’s daughter.

  “Tell me what this work is,” I requested.

  “It is a tapestry commission,” Neeve began, “by Pierce Halloran.”

  Just the sound of his name made me tense.

  “And I refuse to contribute to it,” my sister continued, a defiant gleam in her eyes. “I refuse to so much as touch it because of how he treated you last week, when he thought he was above you.”

  I was amazed by this, by her and her resistance, her devotion to me. And I wondered if she felt the kinship between us, even without knowing I was her half sister.

  “And while I understand this, Neeve,” Betha said sternly, “you are young, and you do not understand how your actions will impact the entire House of MacQuinn.”

  “Please explain your reasoning, Betha,” I said.

  Betha flashed a glare at me, as if she resented my ignorance. “If we refuse this tapestry that Lord Pierce has commissioned . . . it will make things very difficult for us. The past twenty-five years, the Hallorans were our greatest supporters.”

  “Supporters?” My dread began to grow. . . .

  “Aye. They kept us alive with their patronage. If not for them, we would have starved beneath Brendan Allenach. You see, Lady Halloran has very extravagant taste, and will only purchase our wool and our linen for her wardrobe. She kept us busy the past few decades with her orders, and of course, her sons as well. To suddenly refuse them now . . . I think it will cause tremendous trouble for us down the road.”

  I took a moment to calm my heart, to sort through my response. “I understand your concerns, Betha. But Brendan Allenach is gone. Davin MacQuinn is your one true lord again. And we do not need to cower and acquiesce to people like the Hallorans. We hold no alliance with the Hallorans, so we do not need to feel obligated to please them.”

  Betha chuckled, but it was born out of spite. “Ah, see? How would you understand? You have no inkling as to what life was like during the dark years, when I woke every morning uncertain if I would live to see sunset.”

  Her words humbled me; she was right. I did not know. But I also wanted her to trust me, to see that we were emerging from the dark years.

  “May I speak to you alone, Betha?” I asked.

  She looked at me with insolence—I thought she would refuse my request—but she surprised me when she nodded to Neeve.

  Neeve and Thorn, who I had all but forgotten about, both departed, leaving me alone with Betha.

  We were silent for a moment, both of us uncomfortable. I listened to the fire crackle in the hearth; I looked to its light, to find the hilt of my courage in its dance. But before I could utter a word, Betha spoke.

  “Neeve is my granddaughter,” she began, shocking me further with her confession. “She is my daughter Lara’s only child. And so I will do everything within my power to protect Neeve, because in the end, I could not protect her mother. And if that means I force her to work on the Halloran tapestry, then I do it out of love, to keep her from harm. And I would ask you to admonish her to cast off this resistance, this foolishness.”

  I was quiet, reeling from her request.

  “I do not want her to be like you,” the weaver rasped, her words sharper than a blade in my side. “I do not want her to get grand ideas in her head, that she can go about and anger certain individuals.”

  “Lest you forget, Betha,” I said, and thank the gods I sounded calm, “Pierce came to
me. I did not go to him.”

  “And that is what you do not understand, Brienna!” She tossed up her hands. “I don’t know where exactly you come from, but you obviously could do whatever you desired and faced no consequences. Here . . . it is much different.”

  “So you would have me give Neeve an order to go against her conscience?” I countered. “I do not believe that is right, Betha.”

  Betha huffed, but she remained silent, and I wondered if she was heeding me, just a little bit. I eventually stood from my father’s chair to level my eyes at her.

  “I understand your fears,” I murmured. “I hate to hear that you once lived in a time when you faced such terrible evil. But your lord has returned. Your queen has returned. And she is a striking light in the darkness. And the Hallorans know this and tremble in such light, because it exposes them. They do not own you. Nor will they ever. And if you stand against them this time, I promise that I will stand with you if retaliation comes. So will my father, and so will my brother.”

  She was glaring at me. But I could see a sheen of tears in her eyes, as if she had breathed in my words, as if she felt them settle within her.

  “I think that Pierce is testing you, by making his request so soon after one of your tapestries embarrassed him. I have no doubt that he is trying to express his power, even though he has none here,” I whispered. “So will you choose him, or will you choose me?”

  Betha said nothing.

  She turned and departed the chamber, slamming the door in her wake.

  But I remained there, sitting alone in my father’s office until the fire began to die and the darkness bloomed across the floor.

  I did not hear the news until noon the next day. But the murmurs began, sprouting from the loom house to the castle corridors, winding from one building to the next like a vine, until they reached me in the cellar, where I was helping the cook hang boughs of herbs to dry.

  The Pierce tapestry had been suspended.

  And I sat among the jars of pickled fruits, the baskets of onions and potatoes, herbs crinkled in my apron, and smiled my joy into the shadows.