The Queen's Resistance

by Rebecca Ross

  TWENTY-TWO

  ROSALIE

  Royal City of Lyonesse, Lord Burke’s Territory

  Cartier

  When night fell, I stood as close as I could to the stars, on the castle battlements, letting the wind beat me until my thoughts were smudged and my face burned from the cold. The city of Lyonesse unrolled beneath me, like a scroll written with dark secrets, the houses gleaming with candlelight.

  I had not found Declan Lannon.

  Nor had Jourdain. Or Luc. Or Lord Burke.

  The prince had not been hiding in the four safe houses we had searched, and Tomas had no wisdom as to where Declan would go next.

  He was constantly one step ahead of me.

  I sighed, preparing to retreat to my room when I felt the presence of another. In the darkness, Isolde was standing a few feet away, her eyes also taken with the beauty of the city beneath us. She stepped forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with me, her hands reaching out to rest on the parapet wall.

  “How are the girls?” I asked.

  “I have healed their bodies the best that I can,” Isolde responded. “They are resting for now.” She paused, and I knew there was something else. “Aodhan . . . all six of those young women are Kavanaghs.”

  I had suspected this was so. The one lass who had cast the illusion of the vines to lead me . . . I had known she was a Kavanagh, that she was one of Isolde’s people. I had concluded the other five girls were also the same, and perhaps their magic was still hidden deep in their blood, that it had not come forth yet.

  “Did they tell you such?” I quietly asked.

  “No. They did not have to,” the queen replied, sorrowful. “I knew it the moment I took their hands in mine. I felt the fire within them, fire that had almost died to ashes today. I felt my soul call out to them, and theirs answered in return. Five of them are innocent to it—I think their magic will come gradually to them, once they feel safe and can rest. Their parents and families are dead. Gilroy left the girls alive to be shackled in the brothel.”

  I felt ill as I remembered the sight of it, the smell of it, the darkness and the blood and the chains. How long had those girls been held captive? Did they witness what had happened to their families?

  “Gods have mercy, Isolde.”

  She was quiet for a beat. And then she murmured, “I knew my House was nearly extinguished, that Lannon purposefully targeted them over the past twenty-five years. I expected it would take some time to find my people, if I found any still living. But what I didn’t expect was to identify them by merely taking their hands, by touching them.”

  I thought on that, wishing I knew what to say to comfort her.

  Isolde glanced to me. “I know you must think this all sounds strange, but my father and I continue to pass on theories to each other, frustrated that we do not have a manual to become better acquainted with the rules of magic.”

  “It is not strange, Isolde,” I answered.

  I could see that her thoughts were shifting as her brow lowered. “The butcher has told us everything but where Declan went this morning. He claims he doesn’t know the next safe house for the prince, but that a wagon appeared in the butcher’s storeroom to transport the Lannons. And while I desire nothing more than to beat and torture such a vile man . . . I will not become the very thing that I am trying to purge from this castle.”

  I remained silent, because if she asked for my advice in that moment, I would say beat the butcher until he talked. And I could hardly believe such a desire could be found in me, after being raised in Valenia, where justice was always measured and held accountable.

  “Do you ever wonder,” Isolde began, tremulous, “why you and I and Luc survived when we should have been killed, when our bones should be beneath the grass with our mothers and our sisters? Do you ever hate yourself,” she continued, tears streaking down her cheeks, “for being raised in Valenia? For being cared for and sheltered and loved, for living in ignorant bliss while our people lived in fear and brutality? That while I was sleeping in a warm, safe bed, these girls were chained in captivity, abused every single night? That while I was complaining about learning to read and write and wield a sword, these girls were too afraid to utter a single word, for fear that they would be beaten and maimed?” Isolde wiped the tears away, her hair tangling across her face. “I do not deserve to be queen. I do not deserve to sit on a throne when I have no idea what these people have suffered. I should not have survived the day of darkness.”

  I gently took her shoulder to turn her to face me. “There was a moment in my life when I thought I would never cross the channel, when I thought I would remain in Valenia and pretend that I was Cartier Évariste, that I was a master of knowledge and there were no people, no House of Morgane, no mother and sister buried in a northern meadow.” I paused, because I hated myself in that moment. I hated to acknowledge that I had tried to live my life as I wanted. “But I didn’t. You didn’t. We gathered what little strength we had and we crossed the channel, and we took back this land. We fought and we bled. Yes, I was ignorant and naïve too. I did not realize how dark and corrupt things were until today, when I discovered those girls. And if you and I step back now, if we decided that we will bow out of this fight, then more girls will be snatched from their families and chained, and more boys will be raised to be cruel.”

  She finally met my gaze.

  “You and I must continue moving forward,” I whispered. “We must continue uprooting darkness and corruption, and replacing it with goodness and light. It will take time. It will take our entire hearts and the breadth of our lives, Isolde. But we do not wish we were dead. We do not wish that we were different individuals, despite what the saints or the gods have ordained for us.”

  She closed her eyes, and whether she was inwardly cursing me or agreeing with me, I could only wonder. But when she looked at me again, there was a different light in her gaze, as if my words had renewed her.

  I was the first to return to the warmth of the castle, leaving Isolde to lift her prayers to the stars. And I knew what was before me: another sleepless night. Another night for me to pore over Lannon ledgers, desperately seeking yet another place of corruption that would draw Declan.

  Two days passed, filled with searches and chases that yielded nothing.

  We had tracked wagon movements and healers, still trying to recover Fechin. But every path we took ended, leaving us with no further answers or leads.

  And every day that passed was yet another day for Declan to gather his forces.

  Isolde had no choice but to begin making arrests. Anyone harboring the half-moon mark was brought into the keep, to be questioned and detained until Declan could be recovered.

  I was conducting such an interview, sitting in the dungeons with one of the tavern keepers, who stubbornly refused to answer any of my questions, when Luc appeared.

  “Quick, Morgane. We need you in the council.”

  I passed my paper and quill to one of Burke’s men to resume the interview and followed Luc up the winding stairs. I noticed Luc was moving with unprecedented speed, that Luc’s hair was sticking up at all angles, as if he had torn his fingers through it.

  “Do we have a lead?” I asked, struggling to keep pace.

  “Sean Allenach’s manservant has another letter. Hurry, in here.” Luc opened the door to the council, where the fire was burning at the heart of the table and the others were gathered.

  There was a strange pallor in Sean’s face when he looked at me. I thought it was the firelight, that the shadows were playing tricks on his face. Until I noticed Jourdain had his face buried in his hands, as if he had lost his resolve.

  My first fear was that they had found Ewan’s and Keela’s bodies.

  I looked directly to Isolde, who stood quiet as a statue, and I demanded of her, “What has happened? Is it the children?”

  Lord Burke merely handed me a letter.

  We encountered no trouble, but there has been a change of plans. The previ
ously addressed chosen one will not be visiting this autumn. Rather, we will host Rosalie. Prepare to send plenty of wine and bread.

  I shrugged, read it again. “All right. Why does this have everyone out of sorts?”

  Jourdain still did not move, so I looked to Luc, but he had his back turned, facing the wall. Even Isolde would not meet my eyes, and neither would her father. Lord Burke gently took the letter from my stiff fingers, until I had no choice but to set my gaze on Sean Allenach.

  “Sean?”

  “I thought you knew,” he rasped.

  “Knew what?” I snapped impatiently.

  “Who Rosalie was.”

  My mind instantly began to sort through names, faces, people I had known in Valenia. Because Rosalie was a Valenian name. Eventually, I held out my hands, annoyed, and conceded, “I have no idea. Who is she?”

  Sean glanced to Jourdain, who was still immobile. Slowly, as if Sean was afraid of me, he cast his eyes to me and whispered, “Rosalie was the name of Brienna’s mother.”

  At first, I wanted to deny such—Sean Allenach knew nothing—until I realized that I had not known the name of Brienna’s mother. And I should have known such a name, should have known who had given her life, who she missed, who she longed to remember.

  But how would Sean know this?

  I was indignant, until the threads of Brienna’s life began to weave together in my frantic mind.

  Sean knew the name because Rosalie had once visited Castle Damhan. Sean knew because Rosalie had fallen in love with Brendan Allenach. Sean knew because Rosalie was the woman Brendan Allenach had wanted to marry, because she was carrying a daughter.

  Rather, we will host Rosalie. . . .

  Rosalie was the code name for Brienna.

  “No.” I reached out to steady myself on the table, my denial swift, painful. It felt like a bone was caught in my throat. “No, it cannot be. They cannot mean Brienna.”

  “Aodhan . . . ,” Isolde said, and it was the sound of comfort, like someone had died and she was trying to express how sorry she was for my loss.

  “MacQuinn sent her home to Fionn, to be safe,” I rambled on, looking to Jourdain.

  Jourdain finally dropped his hands from his face and stared at me with bloodshot eyes.

  “MacQuinn . . . ,” I whispered, but my voice faded, because I knew in that moment the reason why we could not find Declan Lannon. Because Declan Lannon was no longer in Lyonesse. Declan Lannon had slipped out of the city the same morning Brienna had. And now it seemed that the half-moons had plans to take her captive.

  “Yes,” Jourdain whispered. “I sent her home. To be safe.”

  Only she was not safe. If this stolen message held any truth . . . she was the new target. And if Declan and his half-moons did take her, then they would try to use her for leverage, to bargain with us for her life.

  My thoughts spun wildly; what would Declan want in exchange for her? His family? His freedom? The queen?

  “Where is Daley Allenach?” I asked, my focus sharpening over Sean.

  “My manservant has fled, Lord Aodhan,” Sean replied mournfully. “He knows I have his correspondence.”

  I could have smashed Sean’s face into the wall to hear this.

  “Have you heard from Brienna?” I turned to Jourdain. “Did she reach Fionn?”

  “I heard from her yesterday,” Jourdain replied. “She arrived home safely.”

  I let out a slow breath, believing if she was home, then she would, indeed, be safe. She was in a fortress that had withstood ancient raids and clashes between clans. She was surrounded by people who hated the Lannons. She was cunning, and she was strong.

  And yet she did not know. She did not know Declan had escaped Lyonesse. She would be caught off guard by it; the half-moons would have to take her by surprise if they were to capture her.

  And perhaps even more than that . . . the half-moons seemed to be spread out everywhere, not just limited to the Lannons and the Allenachs and the Hallorans and the Carrans. What if one of the MacQuinns was a half-moon, willing to betray her?

  I stared at Jourdain; he stared back, and the space between us was rife with fear and anger and worry. In the back of my mind, all I could hear was Brienna’s voice, her parting words to me . . . Why are you letting me go when you know I should be here?

  Jourdain and I had made a grave error by sending her home.

  If Declan managed to overtake her, he would have my very heart in his hands. He could destroy me; he could ask for anything and I would surrender it without hesitation.

  I shoved away from the table, striding to the door, unable to speak, overwhelmed with the desire to hurry and ride to Fionn, to reach her before Declan did.

  “Aodhan. Aodhan, wait,” Isolde ordered.

  I stopped upright, my hand on the iron rings of the doors, breathing against the wood.

  “Brienna MacQuinn is one of the smartest women I know,” she continued. “If anyone can slip out of Declan’s grip, it is her. All the same, it is time for us to move.”

  I turned. The others had gathered close in a circle, waiting for me to join them. I stepped back into the firelight. On the exterior, I was composed and cold, but within, I was breaking. I was shattering into pieces.

  “Declan Lannon plans to take Brienna, to no doubt use her as a bargaining pawn,” Isolde said. “If he has taken her before we reach Castle Fionn . . . he will ask for my life in exchange for hers. I have sworn not to negotiate with such a man, so that means we need to discover where Lannon is hiding and recover her as swiftly as we can.”

  “He will not capture her at Fionn,” Jourdain protested. “He won’t get through my people.”

  Isolde nodded. “Of course, Lord MacQuinn.” But the queen glanced to me, and the same thought crossed our minds. Brienna was a blood-born Allenach. The MacQuinns had yet to accept her as their own, no matter if she was the lord’s daughter.

  “Father, I would ask for you to remain here in Lyonesse with Lord Burke, to hold the city and guard the remaining Lannon prisoners,” Isolde said. “Lord MacQuinn, Lord Aodhan, Lord Lucas, and Lord Sean will ride with me to Castle Fionn at once. From there, we will begin to uncover possible leads for Declan’s whereabouts, but I have a suspicion he will be hiding in one of the half-moon territories.”

  The queen looked to each of us, to watch us set our hands on our hearts. When her gaze touched mine, I saw the fire stirring within her, ancient fire as if she were a dragon that had just been woken. A dragon that was about to rise, blot out the half-moon with her wings, and rain terror.

  I laid my hand over my heart, felt its ragged beat against my palm, and let my fury quietly rise with hers.

  TWENTY-THREE

  THE BEAST

  Lord MacQuinn’s Territory, Castle Fionn

  Brienna

  “There’s been an accident, Mistress!” Thorn cried, storming into the office.

  I stiffened, looking up from the MacQuinn ledgers to see blood streaked across Thorn’s jerkin. “What sort?”

  “A hunting accident. I’m afraid two of the men have been killed, and another is—”

  I was out of the chair and down the corridor before he could finish, following the commotion into the hall. I didn’t know what to expect, but my resolve waned when I saw Liam being carried in and laid on a table, his face mangled, an arrow protruding from his right breast.

  The men bearing him felt my presence, turning to look at me with wide, blank eyes of panic. They stepped aside to let me approach, and I gently laid my fingers to Liam’s neck, where a faint pulse still beat.

  “Summon Isla for me,” I rasped, knowing I was going to need the healer’s assistance with this wound. While one of the women frantically rushed away to find the healer, I turned to the men and said, “Help me carry him into one of the bedchambers.”

  We lifted Liam in careful unison and moved into one of the corridors, heading to the closest spare bedroom. Once Liam was gently resting on the mattress, I worked to cut off hi
s jerkin and shirt, to expose his trunk and assess the arrow’s position. I gently touched his chest, feeling for his ribs. I believed the arrowhead was lodged in his fourth rib. Removing it was going to be difficult; I had studied arrow wounds with Cartier as a student, and while I had never had the opportunity to tend to one, I knew chest wounds were almost always fatal if the lung was affected. I also knew that it was extremely difficult to extract an arrowhead if it was embedded in bone.

  I studied his face next, which looked to have been swiped by a row of talons. His flesh hung in ribbons from his cheek, exposing his teeth. I almost had to look away, my stomach roiling at the sight.

  “I need clean water, rose honey, and plenty of bandages,” I murmured, turning to address one of the women who had followed me into the chamber. “And have the girls rouse a fire in this hearth. Quickly, please.”

  As soon as the woman had departed, her urgent calls echoing down the corridor, I set my attention on the man who had helped carry Liam in, whose dark eyes fixated on me, waiting for my next command.

  “What happened?” I whispered.

  “Mistress . . . we don’t know. The other two men with Liam were killed.”

  “Which men?”

  “Phillip and Eamon.”

  Phillip and Eamon. The two men-at-arms who had accompanied me back home from Lyonesse.

  Isla entered the chamber, diverting my shock. I had seen her around the hall for meals but had never spoken with her before. She was an older woman with long white hair and eyes the color of the sea. She set down her satchel and studied Liam’s wounds.

  After a moment, she looked at me and asked, “Are you swayed by blood?”

  “No,” I responded. “And I know how to tend wounds.”

  Isla made no response, searching through her satchel. I watched as she began to set out small probes made of elder wood, of various lengths and widths. Next came the tongs, which were smooth and narrow, specifically designed to extract an arrowhead.

  She motioned for two of the men to hold Liam down. I did not move, not yet, and merely watched as she tried to twist the arrow shaft. The shaft refused to rotate and unexpectedly broke in her hands.