Page 75 of The Queen's Huntsman
But not this time.
It could not happen again.
Nothing could have preparedGwendolyn for the pain of Málik’s rejection.
She watched him walk away, and those tender vines that once defended her heart grew thorns as sharp and deadly as her cousin’s blade.
If Gwendolyn had believed Loc’s betrayal to be the worst of what she would endure, this was far more devastating.
But then she took heart.
As Esme chopped her hair, cutting it close, carving symbols into the golden down, she grew more and more certain of her purpose, and her heart…
Reaching down into her lap, she lifted a golden curl, studying it closely.
Itwas, indeed, gold. The Prophecy was true. Therefore, no matter what Málik’s reaction, no matter how dark that look on his face, this gold betrayed him.
Esme gave her a wink, gathering up all the golden curls as everyone watched, mouths agape. With night lowering, she worked quickly, pressing them all into a single ball of gold, the heat of her palms melding it all together, then pulling, tugging, weaving, forming it into something else… a shining band… a crown… a new crown.
Her fingers worked deftly to create points and spikes… then intricate filigree, branches of flowering myrtle, a dragon effigy, stars, runic symbols…
When at last she was finished, she placed the golden crown atop Gwendolyn’s head, as one by one, points of light appeared on the landscape—some only campfires, others like Faerie flames, with their bluish hues lifting the shadows and painting the vale blue-green.
“The King must die,” bellowed Esme. “Long live the Queen!”
ChapterThirty-Six
After three days, Málik was still nowhere to be found, but Gwendolyn understood he had matters of the heart to resolve, as did she.
For her, it didn’t matter that they couldn’t be wed, nor that they couldn’t or wouldn’t be lovers. It was enough to know his true heart—and now, regardless of what he claimed to feel, she knew he loved her, and that must be enough.
Your greatest love must be this land, your joy begot by its stewardship,Emrys had said. It was sage advice, and Gwendolyn intended to heed it.
Moreover, she now understood how much her faith had wavered, and whatever else it said of her relationship with Málik, the crown on her head, made from the gold of her own tresses was indisputable proof that her Prophecy was real, and knowing this, she would stop at nothing to fulfill it. Everything she had endured would be worth it in the end.
For the return of her faith, she would be grateful. Now she must follow her heart, and trust that it would not lead her astray.
Plucking the golden crown off her head to examine it, she studied the impossible design work. Esme had fashioned it for her all-too easily—her hands working magic. She wondered now that this must have been the way Málik fashioned her shaft, bending by the heat he produced. It was entirely remarkable. The points of light in the stars of her crown glistened as though with starlight. Even now, the memory of her working the gold left Gwendolyn spellbound.
Wherever Málik had gone, Esme did not follow, and Gwendolyn took heart in this, though she still didn’t understand what happened, and how Esme had known that her hair would turn gold under Málik’s hand—yet shehadknown. The look in her eyes as she’d handed Málik the blade was unmistakable. It was the look of a woman with untold secrets—secrets Málik shared though neither had bothered to reveal them to Gwendolyn.
She considered that—considered finding Esme and demanding answers, but that would be pointless. Both Málik and Esme would share only what they pleased in their own good time, and not one minute sooner. Gwendolyn might be queen, with their full support, but she was nottheirqueen.
The tent flap parted to reveal Bryn. Behind him, the morning sun burned bright, leaving his face cast in shadows, creating a perfect silhouette of his body. She couldn’t read his expression, but that didn’t matter. His demeanor was much altered now—more like the Shadow who’d once served her so loyally, only with a new respect. No more did he question Gwendolyn’s dictates. “There’s a rider approaching,” he said. “Bearing our standard. I believe it’s Ives.”
Gwendolyn nodded. “Thank you,” she said, standing, returning the crown to her head. “Gather mykonsel. Bring Ives to my tent.”
He turned to go, then hesitated, turning about, with his hand still on the tent flap, holding it back. “Málik has returned as well,” he added. “Should I ask him to attend?”
“Where is he?”
“With Esme.”
So he went first to her?
Gwendolyn sighed, peering down at the ground to hide her disappointment, though she really must cease to allow such things to unsettle her. “Yes, please, ask him if he would be so kind as to join us,” Gwendolyn said—ask, because no one could command him, and Gwendolyn knew it. He was as untamable as the Cod’s Wold.
“Locrinus has emptied Trevena’s garrison,”revealed Ives. “The army marches west to Durotriges.”
