Page 56 of The Forgotten Prince

She seized Gwendolyn by the hand, turned it upside, then dropped a small trinket into her palm. Gwendolyn stared, blinking away the sudden prick of tears.

In her hand, Esme had placed her mother’s ring—a simple copper ring with two small flowers on either side, each bearing seven petals representing the seven Prydein tribes. It was a ring Queen Eseld was never without.

“Wear it in good health,” said Esme. “Until you can return it yourself.”

26

Her mother was alive!

How?

How could this be?

Despite all her searches and inquiries, Gwendolyn had never uncovered a single clue that would suggest this was true. All throughout the long months in Loegria, Queen Innogen and Loc had behaved as though both her parents’ deaths were a given, taking too much glee in Gwendolyn’s grief.

And later, during the mayhem of those weeks after returning to Trevena, there was never one clue to suggest anyone had escaped the Maytide coup.

Then again, neither was there any evidence of Queen Eseld’s demise—no body, no witnesses to her execution. Nothing except a handful of contrasting stories.

It could be true, and, for the first time in so long, Gwendolyn dared to hope.

“What about Demelza and Lady Ruan?” Gwendolyn pressed. “Did they escape with my mother? Why does no one know this but you?”

“Did you not wonder where I was off to so many times? I have my ways.” And then, crossing her arms, she offered a stubborn tilt of her head and gave Gwendolyn a coy smile that said with certainty she would say no more.

It didn’t matter. By the eyes of Lugh! Gwendolyn didn’t need proof. No matter how mean Esme had been, she felt in her heart that, knowing how much this meant to Gwendolyn, Esme would not toy with her.

And regardless, if someone told her now that she must go present herself to Locrinus in order to save her mother, she would do it. Consequences be damned. Right or wrong, Gwendolyn was driven to make amends with the woman who gave her life. Too long they’d been at odds, and Gwendolyn never even once considered how desperately she would regret every argument they ever had.

Only now…

She was alive, and Gwendolyn would do anything to see her again.

Anything!

The satisfied grin on Esme’s face as she departed left a smoldering pit in Gwendolyn’s belly. “Remember, Gwendolyn, tell no one.” She lifted a finger to her lips. “Especially not Málik.” And no, she had insisted, not Bryn—not even to provide him a shred of faith that his mother, too, might have survived the Feast of Blades. Esme was concerned Bryn would tell Málik and that Málik would attempt to stop them. And this was her way of trying to save Málik from her father. And this alone was reason enough for Gwendolyn as well. But if she could help her mother, and Málik as well, and still keep Bryn from losing his head, and somehow manage to accomplish this task, it would be the best of all worlds.

Gathering herself, she went in search of Bryn and meanwhile continued poring over the exchange with Esme, if only to be certain there was nothing she had missed—something Gwendolyn had inadvertently promised or failed to exact, a turn of the phrase that promised more than it gave or took more than Gwendolyn could afford. But there was nothing. Their exchange had been short and Esme’s bargain straightforward. The only problem Gwendolyn could foresee was she didn’t know how to keep this secret from Bryn. She wasn’t a good liar, and Bryn knew her better than anyone, no matter that they had grown apart over these past months.

Quite literally, Bryn had known her since she was a babe. Along with his mother and his father, he was the first to “meet” the new princess in her crib. And no matter that he was barely a year old at the time and couldn’t recall the occasion, his mother had oft told the tale of how her eldest son cooed with delight as he’d peered into Gwendolyn’s crib—a love story for the ages, she’d many times proclaimed, and perhaps Bryn took it too much to heart.

Gwendolyn loved Bryn like a brother, and as her beloved brother, she would prefer not to see him flayed for his support of her. Unfortunately, he could read her too well. Avoiding him would only make him suspicious, and so she devised the perfect plan to keep him preoccupied—if only she could find him!

Losing herself amidst the twisty paths, the long ramps and endless cross points, Gwendolyn grew agitated. Walking in circles, she passed the feast hall where she’d argued with Deartháir Harri and supped on pookies.

She passed the audience hall where she’d first met Emrys, and then the bathhouse, where she’d bonded with Esme—three times each!

Somehow, through all her rounds, she never once encountered Esme again, nor Bryn nor Málik, and she wondered if Esme had put a hex on her to keep her from seeing anyone and betraying her secret. In fact, as tired as she was, she nearly gave up, until she stumbled on the Máistir’s chamber at last.

Poking her head inside, she found Lir where she’d left him, at his brother’s side. Apparently, he’d not left Emrys since they’d arrived. Gwendolyn stayed long enough to reexamine the Máistir’s breathing and his strange wound and spreading bruise. Regretfully, there was nothing she knew to do—nothing better than to assign Bryn the task of searching for his assailant, if there was one.

Leaving Lir with words of encouragement, she resumed her search for Bryn, wondering how he was faring in this place. Except for the sojourn to Loegria after Gwendolyn’s wedding, and then a single visit before that dreadful day, she knew he’d never traveled beyond their territories. Chysauster didn’t count. Nor did the wheals. Together, she and Bryn had traveled oft to check on her father’s mines, but this place was far from home and from anything Bryn might be accustomed to. She suspected it might overcome him as she was, and here, again, she was not by his side, leaving him to investigate this sprawling village and its odd denizens alone.

Nothing was as it seemed, Esme had said. Certainly, that was true of this place. Until this afternoon, Gwendolyn hadn’t even realized how many Fae still lived in the village—all male, in keeping with the Druid tradition. During her last visit, none were anywhere to be found, but this time, they walked about conducting business as though it were the most ordinary thing to do. And yes, they were Fae. Gwendolyn recognized them by their ears, despite that the Druids also wore the ear sheaths—and now it made sense to Gwendolyn that these Druids should wish to blend among the Fae. However, unlike the Druids, the Fae’s “ears” were neither shiny nor was their flesh all the same, though always with the slightest iridescence. As though the essence of magic must be woven through the fabric of their being. And regardless, it was only when one smiled as he passed, showing his porbeagle teeth, that the revelation suddenly occurred to Gwendolyn…

The Druids did not live here alone.

No wonder they guarded this village jealously.

---