The Queen's Resistance

by Rebecca Ross

  I kept my jaw locked, forcing myself to listen to him. I clenched my hands into fists, willing myself to remain calm.

  “Isolde would have been impossible to capture now with her constant guard. As would be Aodhan, after I realized how clever and angry he was. But Lucas? He would be easy to take. And I knew if I could take one of the three surviving children into my possession, I could barter for whatever I wanted.”

  He was still smiling, savoring the sight of me disheveled in chains.

  “Do you know what I desire, Brienna?”

  I waited, not willing to play his game.

  “I want the very thing you once found, the very thing you uncovered,” Declan said. “I want Isolde Kavanagh to surrender the Stone of Eventide to me. Is that too hard for you to believe?”

  It was. I suddenly couldn’t breathe.

  “You see, Brienna, magic in this land eventually always descends into corruption,” he continued. “Anyone who has studied the history of Maevana knows this. Magic grants the Kavanaghs a terrible advantage. It was a glorious day when the stone went missing, when the last queen was slain in battle back in 1430. It was a noble era for us, because it suddenly meant that we were no longer ruled by an unstable, tainted queen. That anyone could rise to take the throne, magic or no, queen or no.”

  He quieted, staring at me. I was trembling, trying to sort my response, to make sense of this.

  “I must tell you,” he went on, and I wanted to block out his voice. I wanted to cover my ears and shut my eyes, for his words began to sink into me like little hooks. “I was quite impressed by how you and your ragtag rebel group rallied and fought weeks ago. I am still quite impressed by you, for finding the stone, for fooling your own father so you could dig it up on his lands. My son can’t cease speaking of it to his sister, the story as to how you found the Eventide, how it would burn someone like you or me should we touch it so you kept it tucked away in your dress pocket, the way it radiates around Isolde Kavanagh’s neck.”

  I closed my eyes, unable to look at him a moment longer.

  He chuckled. “And so I thought, Lucas is not the one for this exchange. It is Brienna. The lass who uncovered a stone, the lass who brought magic and a queen back to the land.”

  “What can the stone do for you, Declan?” I was relieved that my voice was steady, that I sounded calm. I opened my eyes to stare at him.

  “Isn’t it obvious, Brienna?” he countered. “Isolde Kavanagh loses her allure and her power without it. She and her father will become weak. But perhaps more than that . . . I will have the people behind me. Because your rebel group is too proud to see it, but the people are afraid of magic. They do not want it ruling us. And so I will be the one to quell their fears, to give them what they truly want.”

  “And what is that?”

  “A king who listens to the people. A king who does not have an unfair advantage. A king who is one of them, who has a vision. And my vision is that of a new kingdom, a new Maevana where there is no magic and no Houses. There is simply one, one House, one ruling family, and one people.”

  Oh, there were so many things I wanted to say to that. I wanted to tell him that the only Maevans that feared Isolde were the half-moons, the Maevans who had been in bed with Declan’s family for years. That magic had not corrupted this land; his family had. And that the only Maevans who would want him on the throne were those with darkened hearts and minds, who craved the sort of evil pleasures Declan was known for. But perhaps more than all of these angry thoughts was the one in retaliation to his vision of one House, one family. I knew exactly how he planned to execute such a vision, and that was to kill everyone who opposed him, to wipe out Houses just as Gilroy had done to the Kavanaghs.

  I wanted to shout and rage at him, but I swallowed it all, knowing that if I angered him, he would harm me. And I needed all my strength and all my wits to outmaneuver him.

  Declan rose, his height intimidating, filling my small cell like a mountain. “I want Isolde Kavanagh to give me the stone in exchange for you. She is to come alone, to kneel before me and surrender it. And I know that she’ll do it. It’s just a stone, and your life is of more import to them than it. I know MacQuinn cares for you, as if you were his own flesh and blood. But it won’t be MacQuinn who will press for your freedom. It will be Aodhan Morgane, the proud lord of the Swift, who thinks he knows everything. Because you have his heart in your hands. Because he has lost his mother and his sister, and so he will determine not to lose you.”

  I knew in that moment that Isolde would never agree to this exchange, no matter what Cartier wanted. There was no possible way that she would hand the stone over for me. She was not to negotiate with Declan Lannon. And I wouldn’t want her to.

  I drew in a long, slow breath. And I refused to speak, to reveal to him what I thought. Because I needed to give Isolde and Cartier as much time as possible to recover me, in their own efforts. Before Declan realized his plan was futile, and he had no other choice but to kill me.

  “As long as they adhere to my desires, I won’t hurt you,” he promised. “But the moment they start trying to thwart me . . . let’s just say you won’t be leaving this cell the same way you entered it.”

  I couldn’t hide my trembling as he left, clanging a door of iron bars behind him. I crawled to the foot of my cot and retched until I was empty and my ears were ringing. My eyes were blurring as I lay facedown, struggling to remain calm.

  My greatest challenge was trying to find a way to covertly send a message to Jourdain and Cartier, to reveal where I was. By now, they probably knew Declan had escaped Lyonesse and I was missing. But I wasn’t even certain of my location. I believed I was being held in Castle Lerah’s keep, in the Hallorans’ clutches, but I wasn’t certain.

  I thought until I was weary, and I realized this was hopeless. And so I reflected on my fondest memories, the ones that had bloomed from my time at Magnalia House. I thought of Merei, of her music, of how she and I used to play cheques and marques and how she always beat me at the game. I remembered the summer solstice, when she and I had stood in our rooms, uncertain yet thrilled with how the night might unfold, that we were students becoming mistresses. I thought of all those afternoons I had sat with Cartier in the library, when he had seemed so cold and aloof and stern, and how I had finally challenged him to stand on a chair with a book on his head. I remembered the first time I had heard him laugh, how it had taken the room like sunlight.

  I must have dozed off, but was awakened by sounds echoing below me. Voices, horses, clanging of iron.

  I lifted my head to hear better, and I realized I was not in a dungeon, as I had once believed.

  I was in a tower.

  Something skittered over the floor of my cell. I thought it was a rat, until it came again, and I realized it was a pebble. And then came a small, beloved whisper.

  “Mistress Brienna.”

  I sat up further, my heart in my throat when I saw Ewan on the other side of the bars.

  “Ewan?” I rasped, climbing off my cot. The chains would only go so far, catching me in the center of the cell, even though I reached for him as he reached for me. The air between us was tender, our fingers just shy of touching.

  “Ewan, are you all right?” I wept, unable to hold the emotion back.

  “I’m all right,” he said through his tears, scrubbing his face with his hand. “I’m so sorry, Mistress. I hate my father.”

  “Shh.” I tried to calm him, to focus him. “Listen, Ewan. Can you tell me where we are?”

  “Castle Lerah.”

  The Hallorans’ holding.

  “Keela is worried about you,” Ewan whispered. “She wants to help set you free, like you tried to do for her. We think we can get the key from the guard tomorrow night.”

  There was the echo of voices below us again.

  “I have to go,” he said, and the tears began to pool in his eyes again.

  “Whatever you and Keela do,” I whispered, “you must be careful, Ew
an. Please do not get caught.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Mistress Brienna.” He reached into his pocket to pull out an apple, rolling it on the floor toward me.

  I bent down, my chains clanging as I caught the bright red fruit.

  “I will set you free,” Ewan promised, laying his hand over his heart. He smiled, revealing a missing tooth, and then he was gone.

  I sat on my cot and held the apple to my nose, breathing in its promise.

  And I dared to hope, despite the cold darkness and the chains and the rats that squeaked in the corner of my prison. Because Declan Lannon’s children were going to defy him to set me free.

  TWENTY-SIX

  HIDDEN THREADS

  Lord MacQuinn’s Territory, Castle Fionn

  Cartier

  Seven days.

  We had seven days to find where Declan was holding Brienna. Because we were not going to hand over the Stone of Eventide.

  I sat with Isolde’s inner circle, and we argued deep into the night: to exchange the stone or not. But we eventually came to the same consensus: Declan could not be trusted. There was a great chance of him deceiving us, of taking the stone and slaying Isolde and Brienna regardless of what we chose. The location he had requested—where the Mairenna Forest met the Valley of Bones—was on Allenach territory, and I had no doubt that Declan would stand in the protection of the tree line, where he could tuck away a formidable force behind him.

  We had determined not to negotiate with him from the beginning of our rising, and so we wouldn’t now. Furthermore, to relinquish the stone to him was taking a huge step of defeat, one that would inevitably spell our own destruction.

  Even so . . . I wanted to exchange the stone for Brienna. I wanted it so ardently that I had to sit with my mouth shut most of the night.

  Eventually, we were too exhausted to plan any further.

  Jourdain had arranged guest chambers for us, but no one stopped me from returning to Brienna’s room. I removed my boots and my cloak, left them as a trail along her floor, and crawled into her cold blankets, pressing my body in the place where hers had been, breathing in the memory of her.

  How do I find you?

  I prayed this, over and over, until there was nothing but bones and dull heartache within me, and I drifted into dreams.

  I saw her standing with my mother, with my sister in the meadows of Castle Brígh. There were flowers in her hair, laughter in her voice, the sun so bright behind her that I struggled to discern her face. But I knew it was Brienna, walking with Líle and Ashling Morgane. I knew it was her because I had memorized the way she walked, the way she moved.

  “Do not give up hope, Cartier,” she whispered to me, suddenly standing at my back, her arms coming around me. “Do not weep for me.”

  “Brienna.” When I turned to embrace her, she became sunlight and dust, and I was left desperately trying to catch the wind, catch her shadow on the ground. “Brienna.”

  I spoke her name aloud, waking myself with a start.

  It was still dark. And I could not lie here a moment longer and dwell on the dream that told me Brienna was closer to my mother and my sister than to me.

  I rose and restlessly began to walk the castle corridors. It was quiet, and I eventually meandered to the dimly lit hall. The mess Jourdain had made had been cleaned up, the tables righted, the floors swept. I lingered by the hearth embers, to soak in the warmth, until I remembered Thane Liam.

  We needed that man to fully recover, to awaken and tell us what he had seen.

  I began to walk to Liam’s recovery room, hiding in a shadow when I saw Thorn coming from the opposite end of the hall, a candle lighting his gruff face. I watched the chamberlain enter Liam’s room, soundlessly closing the door behind him.

  So the two of us shared the same thought.

  I approached the door, my breath suspended as I set my ear to the wood.

  There was a scuffle, a man’s hissing.

  I threw open the door to find the chamberlain had a pillow pressed to Liam’s face, and the thane’s feet were twitching as he almost succumbed to the suffocation.

  “Thorn! What are you doing?” I cried, walking toward him.

  Thorn jumped, his eyes bulging as he looked at me. He quickly drew a dirk and lunged for me, nearly catching me by surprise.

  I reflexively blocked his cut with my forearm, shoving Thorn across the room. I watched him fly, crash into the side table, overturning the healer’s supplies. Jars of herbs shattered on the floor as Thorn scrambled, dirk still glittering in his fingers. He bared his crooked teeth at me, and I was amazed to see the man transform from a crotchety old chamberlain into a formidable opponent. I took his wrist in my grip, twisting his arm around until he let out a yelp of pain, his fingers helplessly dropping the blade. I took him all the way to the floor, straddling him.

  “I don’t know anything,” he dared to sputter.

  I tore his sleeve, exposing the half-moon mark. He shuddered with shock, that I had known to look for it, and he froze.

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “That is not the answer I am looking for.” I proceeded to break his wrist.

  He emitted a shout that was sure to wake the castle. And all I could think of was how I had just broken the brittle bones beneath this half-moon, how I would keep doing it until he told me where Brienna was.

  “Where. Is. She?”

  “I don’t know where he took her!” he wailed, floundering. “Please, Lord Aodhan. I . . . I truly do not know!”

  “Who took her?” I hissed. And when he sputtered, unable to form words, I bent back his broken wrist.

  He screamed again, and this time I could hear calls in the corridor. Jourdain’s voice, drawing near. He would stop me. He would drag me off the chamberlain. And so I reached for Thorn’s other wrist, preparing to break it next.

  “Who. Took. Her?”

  “The Red Horn!” Thorn cried. “The Red Horn took her. That’s all . . . that’s all I can tell you.”

  I felt the candlelight brighten the room, heard Jourdain’s curse of surprise, felt the floor tremble as he approached me.

  Thorn was weeping, “Lord MacQuinn! Lord MacQuinn!” as if I had attacked him, disgusting coward that he was.

  “Aodhan! Aodhan, by the gods!” Jourdain declared, trying to pull me off the chamberlain.

  But my mind was racing. The Red Horn. Who was the Red Horn?

  “Who is the Red Horn, Thorn?” I pressed.

  Jourdain’s grip on my shoulder tightened. He blinked down at Thorn as if seeing him in a new light.

  Luc came rushing into the room, Isolde on his heels. They gathered around me, regarding me with wide eyes until I turned Thorn’s broken wrist upward to expose the half-moon.

  “I just found our rat.”

  Jourdain stared at Thorn for a moment, a range of emotion crossing his face. Then he said in an even voice, “Bind him to a chair.”

  We stood around him, trying to coax out answers. I thought the old man would relent, especially when Jourdain offered him his life. But Thorn was stubborn. He had exposed that the Red Horn was involved, but that was as far as his revelations would go. The only way to get him to talk would be to continue beating him, and Jourdain would have none of that.

  “I want you to assist Luc and Sean with solving the riddle of the Red Horn,” he murmured to me. “They’re in the office trying to hash it out.”

  I was quiet for a moment. Jourdain continued to look at me with worry in his eyes.

  “I could get the answer out of him,” I said. “If you would let me.”

  “I will not have you become that, Aodhan.”

  My irritation flared as I said, “Brienna’s life depends on this, MacQuinn.”

  “Don’t presume to tell me what my daughter’s life depends on,” Jourdain growled, his composure finally slipping. “Don’t act as if you are the only one who is agonizing over her.”

  We were be
ginning to turn on each other, I thought as I watched Jourdain sneer at me. We were exhausted, devastated, clueless. We should give over the stone. We should not give over the stone. We should compromise with Thorn. We should beat Thorn. We should pull up everyone’s sleeves. We should not invade others’ privacy.

  What was right, and what was wrong?

  How were we to recover Brienna if we were too afraid to get our hands dirty?

  I left Jourdain in the corridor, striding to the office, where Luc and Sean were sprawled over the map, half-eaten pastries on their breakfast plates, speaking what sounded like nonsense to me.

  “Tell me all the reds,” Luc said, dipping a quill in ink, preparing to write.

  “Burke has red,” Sean began, studying the map. “MacFinley has red. Dermott, Kavanagh, and . . . the Fitzsimmons.”

  “What on earth are you speaking of?” I asked, and they paused to glance at me.

  “Which Houses boast the color red,” Luc replied.

  I walked to the table to sit with them. “I think House colors are far too obvious.”

  “Then what do you presume?” Luc snapped.

  “You are on the right path, Lucas,” I said calmly. “The color red has significance. But it will be significant only to whatever House the Red Horn belongs to.”

  Luc tossed down the quill. “Then why are we doing this? We are wasting our time!”

  Sean was silent, reaching for a stack of notes they had been compiling. I glanced over to read it, notes about horns, drawings of horns, the different meaning behind notes blown on the horns. Trumpets and bugles and sackbuts. All instruments. Which, of course Luc would hear the word horn and think instrument, since he was a musician.

  But that is not what I envisioned.

  I was about to share my thoughts when I heard a clatter in the courtyard, just beyond the office windows. Standing, I walked to peer beyond the panes.