Page 82 of The Queen's Huntsman
“They appear to be fast friends.”
“Don’t they?” Ely agreed and sighed happily, then changed the topic. “You know, Gwendolyn? I’ve been meaning to say…” Her gaze lifted to Gwendolyn’s head. “It took me a while to become accustomed to it, because your hair was always your most glorious feature. But now I see your beautiful eyes and cheeks.”
“You flatter me undeservedly, Ely.”
“Oh, nay, dear friend! Nay! I’ve never seen you more lovely, nor your eyes more aglow. There is something about you that shines as brightly as the stars.”
Hearing the sincerity in Elowyn’s tone, Gwendolyn smiled, sweeping her palm across the soft fuzz on her head, stopping to finger one of the many runic inscriptions—symbols like those in her Prydein gown. As yet, she didn’t know what any of them meant, but there was something bold about the style, even if it wasn’t conventionally beautiful.
“And yet… I really must ask,” Ely dared. “Who cut your hair?”
Gwendolyn sighed, knowing intuitively what she wished to know, and, truly, it wasn’t as though she meant to keep it from her.
For these past two days, Ely had ridden mostly by her side, only sometimes in the company of Bryn and Kelan. None of the entourage she traveled with now would dare engage in idle talk, but the moment they arrived at camp, Ely would doubtless hear the news from others. It was not a secret Gwendolyn could hope to keep, and yet… there was nothing to say—leastways not precisely what Ely wished to hear. “Esme did,” she lied.
But it wasn’t precisely a lie. Málik might have been the first to put a blade to her locks, but Esme was the one who’d finished it and made it presentable.
“Oh,” said Ely, sounding disappointed, and thereafter, they rode in silence—because Ely knew her too well. By the tone of Gwendolyn’s voice, she must have determined there was more to this tale. Indeed, Málik had cut her hair, and it turned to gold. But then he’d walked away. Though he probably hadn’t done so for the same reasons Locrinus had, Gwendolyn’s feelings were far too muddled to put into words. Nor had she yet made sense of it all.
This wasn’t the way she’d ever imagined her Prophecy would reveal itself… not quite. Rather, she had dreamt of this incredible, magical moment, wherein the entire world would hold its breath at the snip of his scissors, and only she and her beloved existed. He would trim her hair, see that it was gold, then take her into his arms, kiss her desperately, and afterward, they would live happily ever after, with their loved ones all healthy and happy to share in their good fortune. But that’s not the way it happened.
Not for the first time, she turned to seek Málik… and found him watching her still, his smoke-filled eyes dark and foreboding.
What is it you’re not telling me?she asked him silently.
ChapterThirty-Nine
Gwendolyn knew every inch of her beloved city—every nook, every bolt, every crack in the mortar.
As her father’s only child and heir, she was among a select few who’d been able to roam the city at will. She took full advantage of that privilege, and because of that, knowing what she knew, delivering Trevena might prove to be an easier task than anyone supposed…
If she herself didn’t die during the process.
Most of their numbers had remained in the Cod’s Wold, with Taryn and Esme in command. Lir also stayed, despite that they could have used his healing talents. It was a decision Gwendolyn made knowing the Druid was not made for war. However, if all went according to plan, there should be no injuries amidst their crew.
For her own part, she couldn’t say the same.
Planning according to the chart of tides, they waited to launch the attack with the spring tide, when the ebb and flow was higher and lower than usual. That would give them more beach to cross at its lowest point, and then, once the tide turned, it would surge higher and faster, aiding Gwendolyn with the second part of her plan—a detail she would share with no one… not even Bryn or Málik.Not yet.Málik would be the first to try to stop her, and she would not be thwarted.
On the evening of the strike, they gathered on the beach north of Trevena, just beyond the keeve, where the cliffs hid their camp from view. Here, Gwendolyn explained the most pertinent details.
Under her father’s rule, both the inner- and outer-city gates had remained open—for a few reasons. As a man of the people, her father had typically heard audiences until the eighth bell, even when he was gravely ill. Therefore, he’d left the gates open so villagers could freely come and go. Yet, as generous as that was, it was the least of her father’s concerns. Unfortunately, the closing of the outer city gates also presented a number of administrative problems—the first being that, whilst the gates could be easily secured by the severing of ropes, once closed, they could not so easily be re-opened. As heavy as the armored wood was, it took a string of ponies to lift the portcullis, and then an entire team of engineers to repair the mechanisms to secure it in place. In the event of fire, if those outer gates were shut, there would be no safe passage in or out of the city, and Trevena’s occupants would burn along with the city—unless they should cast themselves over the wall into the bay, and it was a long perilous drop onto the rocks below. If the fire didn’t kill them, the fall definitely would. And this was the primary reason those gates were left open, save during times of war—an eventuality Gwendolyn never saw till now.
And yet, Locrinus would not be overly concerned with an attack. The city’s very reputation would lull him into a false sense of security, and he needn’t be told it was impossible to approach the city without notice. It was easy to see. The entire locality was viewable from the ramparts, and the only tree standing for a good league was the Elder Yew. Any company approaching the city would be spied for miles. Long before anyone reached King’s Bridge, the portcullis could be lowered with the simple swing of an axe.
Moreover, it was impossible to move any great numbers across King’s Bridge. During market days, villagers and merchants could only cross single file. Their carts were barely accommodated, requiring great effort and care during the crossing. One too many had gone over the cliff side, smashing on the rocks below. With the towers manned, their archers could easily pick off trespassers.
There was also a small, but heavily guarded postern gate. But behind it lay a steep path down to the harbor. But much like King’s Bridge, that way was not easily traversed. It wasn’t simply steep, it was narrow. Only one person at a time could maneuver the steps, and one shove, one slip, one hurried misstep, and the rocks below were as unkind to flesh and bones as they were to wooden ships out in the bay. This was why all cargo was searched below, and conveyed into the city upon a lift, reserving the stairs for men.
However, unbeknownst to all but to a few in the royal household, there was one more postern gate. Not only was this hidden portal intended to be an escape for the king and his family, it was also meant to be used for the repair of thepiscina. As a matter of prudence, no stairs were ever constructed there, and the descent was as precarious as the ascent.
From the outside, it was indiscernible. From the inside, it was hidden from view, and because it lay adjacent to her father’s treasury, that area had been guarded too. This was the area Gwendolyn had found herself investigating alone.
Before Málik absconded with her inheritance, the aldermen themselves had taken well-regulated shifts, but even they had little to say to deny the King’s heir. So long as she stayed clear of the vaults, no one could speak against it, and Gwendolyn had often used this spot to hide from her mother.
Drawing out a map of the palace and the surrounding environs, she pointed out all the key markers, carefully explaining the workings of the gates, along with all the reasons they couldn’t be closed, and the procedures her father set forth to prepare in case of war—something Locrinus wouldn’t bother to question or change, considering that he still didn’t deem Gwendolyn a threat.
Moreover, whoever he’d left in charge of Trevena wouldn’t likely concern himself with daily audiences—not at this point—so Gwendolyn felt certain that, with the withdrawal of the Loegrian troops, they would close the inner-city gates, if only because they were easy to reopen, and Gwendolyn’s spies had once again verified that the garrison was nearly empty.
