Page 84 of The Queen's Huntsman
“Then don’t get in the water,” Málik suggested. Still, he persisted.
“What about the climb to the portal? What if we should fall?”
“More’s the pity for you,” said Bryn. “Swimming would be the least of your concerns. Those rocks are treacherous.”
“The answer is simple, my son,” suggested Caradoc. “Don’t fall.”
As the sunbegan its final descent, Gwendolyn and Bryn made their way back through the gorge over to the knoll to spy on the barbican, leaving the rest of the warriors on the beach with Caradoc and Málik. Certain thedawnsiotroop would have emerged onto the road by now, they approached from the northern woods, staying clear of the Old Road, climbing the knoll from the east side, and dropping to their bellies as they neared the top.
At this hour, with the sun shining in their direction, it would be easy to spy their silhouettes, so they remained close to the ground, hoping their heads would be mistaken for one of the boulders on the crown of the hill.
Simply being here gave Gwendolyn a twinge of sorrow, remembering wistfully how, as children, she and Bryn used to entertain themselves on this knoll, guarding the mound with make-do swords, only playing at the King of the Hill.
Of course, Bryn always let her win. But this was no longer fun and games.
If her plan did not work as she willed it, there would be no other option but to launch a full-scale attack, and even with greater numbers, that would not go in their favor.
Tonight, as yestereve, there were still a few traveling merchants encamped within the barbican—traders who likely had no allegiance to any beyond their bellies and purses. Gwendolyn did not blame them. Simply because the king was dead did not mean their families should be expected to suffer. Each man to his own in times such as these.
Many of the most sought-after merchants had homes within the city—the tailor, the cordwainer, the saddler and blacksmith, among others. But their supplies must still come from without. Unfortunately, they were too far away to see aught more than people and movement, so she couldn’t tell who was there. For now, this was enough…
Waiting with bated breath as thedawnsiowagon ambled along the Old Road, Gwendolyn clenched her fist as they reached the bridge, where they were halted. Three guards approached at once, and Gwendolyn watched intently, her belly abuzz as they searched the cart.
Despite all her reassurances to Caradoc and Kelan, Gwendolyn was still worried, and she knew Bryn was as well. Silence was a third companion.
She hadn’t wished for those dancers to be in that barbican for a single moment longer than necessary. The excitement of their arrival was bound to create even more of a distraction, but time was growing short, and there was still much to be done.
Fortunately, there were a few others waiting to cross the bridge—a farmer perhaps returning to his family. So Gwendolyn exhaled in relief as the guard waved the wagon by, and she and Bryn watched as they entered the barbican and found a place amidst the merchants to settle their cart. Giving them a few more moments, Gwendolyn waited until the last of the exiting merchants crossed King’s Bridge, then wended their way north.
One veered south, taking the Small Road, passing directly below, but the woman never peered up. Even from this distance, Gwendolyn recognized her as the lady who sold morels. Tonight, she was without her daughter, walking alone, with a basket in hand. She ambled along till she became naught more than a speck against the winding road, then vanished.
Back in the barbican, the wagon was settled, drawing a crowd. All they needed now was for the diversion to begin—a dance for all dances…
In traditionaldawnsioregalia, they would perform amidst the merchants in garments so revealing as to require leaving them with guards to keep the peace. There should be plenty of revelry, loud enough to divert any attention from disturbances near the postern.
“Almost time,” she said, gauging the sun’s waning light. “You have the glass?”
“Aye,” Bryn said, then added, his blue eyes twinkling. “The Mester Alderman would be proud to see how you’ve applied his lessons.”
Gwendolyn smiled, sad to consider the old man’s demise. Far too many had perished because of Loc’s betrayal. “I paid attention to more than that,” she said, taking one last gander at Bryn’s handsome, beloved face. She didn’t know how this night would end, but Gwendolyn couldn’t have accomplished any of this without him. When only some weeks ago he couldn’t wait to leave her and ferret Ely away to safety, he’d been quick to support her plan.The first to trust her. The last to question her.In truth, she owed him some explanation, but daren’t say too much, even now. “Do you recall how we used to play cat and mouse?”
He chuckled low. “Gods.How could I forget? You were a sore loser.”
Gwendolyn laughed. “No doubt,” she allowed. “But this is why I made it my mission to find every dark corner in that city. I warrant I know it better than any, including you.”
He arched his brow. “Oh? And you think so?”
“I know so,” Gwendolyn said, a smile unfurling, feeling, for the moment, much the same way she had when they were children. The two of them had been so fiercely competitive.
Alas for Bryn, she did have the advantage of being the King’s heir. Gwendolyn only wished now that he had taken more of the glory for himself, and perhaps told her no more often, instead of allowing her to always have her way. Perhaps she mightn’t have so thoughtlessly embroiled him in things he ought not be involved in, thinking herself above her father’s law.
She was not, she now knew—no one was, not even her father.
This moment, there was so much she wished she had done differently—not simply for Bryn’s sake, but for her own… for Trevena… for Pretania.
It wasn’t too late—it mustn’t be, not when she felt such a wellspring of hope. Not when she also spied that hope in Bryn’s face…
His bright blue eyes glimmered, and his dark hair shone against the waning sun. This was the one way he most differed from his sister—his dark to Ely’s light.
