Page 92 of The Queen's Huntsman
Her hand strangled the hilt of her sword, her feet moving quickly and with purpose, knowing the way better than she knew her palm.
Despite the faint lilt of music coming from the barbican, there was no air of festivity within the palace. If her father had been alive, this would be the hour when their hall would be filled with diners and dancers, and even during the quietest of evenings, there was still dancing and revelry.
Her mother’sdawnsiowas the pride of this city, and Queen Eseld never failed to seize the opportunity to display their talents, even without guests in attendance.
Tonight, however, she found the palace curiously vacant, with only a few guards trolling the halls. Despite her mithril, Gwendolyn intended to take no chances. Any time she heard the smallest noise, she hid, waiting to see what came. When nothing did, she continued.
The great hall was empty. Her father’s throne still stood upon the dais, as though he’d only moments ago completed his audiences and wandered away. The sight of it grieved her, squeezing her heart painfully, but she did not linger to dwell on the past.
Continuing down the hall, she noted the stench of piss as she passed one dark corner and pressed the back of her hand to her nose as she hid there a moment to wait as two guards wandered by.Godsblood.Her mother would be horrified by this insult—her beautiful, polished granite floors were filthy after months of neglect. Trevena was well on its way to looking like Loegria. The thought of this disgusted Gwendolyn, but it didn’t surprise her, because Locrinus had never cared for this city. He only cared for his precious Troia Nova—a city that didn’t even exist except as a thought in his greedy little mind. But those lands were not his to take.
It didn’t matter whether Plowonida remained unclaimed, nor that the neighboring tribes were bitter enemies. No tribe—not even the Iceni—would stand by and allow another king to march in and take lands belonging to another. It was written in the Brothers’ Pact, though that would not stop Locrinus. There was nothing sacred to him—not marriage, nor laws, nor life.
Eyes closed, with her back against the wall, she swore that, with her hand squeezing the dragon of Borlewen’s blade.
Once the guards passed, she continued on her way.
Dressed as she was, with her hair completely shorn, she didn’t believe anyone would immediately recognize her, but, just in case, she kept to the shadows.
She saw no one.
There were no young boys carrying towels for thepiscina, no maids to convey messages betwixt apartments. The torches were not brightly lit, a few of the cressets were entirely empty, with black soot already creeping up the wall, where no maids had bothered to scrub in months.
Her rooms were now to the left, but Gwendolyn had no desire to return to her chambers, as so often she had done upon entering the palace. There was no telling who would be there tonight, and she was no longer a child to run and hide there. There was one place she sensed would not be empty, and this was where her feet led her now… to the king’s chamber.
For years before his death, Gwendolyn had not entered her father’s apartments. During his illness, he’d not encouraged it, and though he’d never forbidden it to her mother, he begrudged her entry as well. He did not enjoy being seen as frail, and, toward the end, there were many, many evenings he’d forgone thedawnsioand even his supper to rest alone in his rooms, save for the company of his Shadows.
Tonight, there were no guards in the king’s antechamber, and Gwendolyn surmised Locrinus had conscripted every able body for his army. Inhaling a breath, she cracked the door and found… just as she’d expected… the room wasnotempty.
One man stood in the center of his room, his posture entirely too familiar.
“You?” she whispered.
Talwyn Durotriges spun to face her, his look of surprise quickly turning to one of annoyance, as though she were a cockroach he’d discovered in his bed. “Indeed,” said her father’s Mester at Arms.Bryn’s father.“Who else could command such a feat?”
There were no words to explain the fury that ignited within her. The rumble that came from her lips was like that from of a wild beast. Gwendolyn lunged at him, not caring to hear his explanations, aching to carve the smirk from his face.
She was no longer his child prodigy. Thanks to Málik, she had moves her former tutor would never anticipate, and neither would she be squeamish about drawing his blood. She didn’t care if he was Bryn’s father. She would gut him and pull out his entrails—strangle him with them.
With two hands, she gripped her bastard sword, remembering every lesson Málik ever taught her.Aim diagonally. Keep your eyes on the sword. Raise the pommel. Pull back as you thrust. Don’t forget to step. Add your hip into the cut. Don’t spin. Move your sword with your body.
Bryn’s father was a master swordsman.
Talwyn was never without his weapon.
He drew his sword easily, lifting it to meet Gwendolyn’s strike. Feigning to parry, he spun, aiming toward Gwendolyn’s ribs. She eluded the slice, resisting the urge to spin, having learned this tactic from none other than him. Instead, she kept her gaze on his sword, light on her feet, stalking him, backing him into a corner with her sword, two handed, adjusting it to be ready, mentally aware of every step she took and how it would affect her thrust.
Thrust don’t swing. Light on your toes. Eyes on the sword.
“Why?” she demanded, the single word sharp as her blade.
“Why?” Talwyn’s face screwed with hatred. “Why?” he asked again. “Because I gambled my life on your father and watched him grow feeble as a mouse!”
He lunged at Gwendolyn, but she was ready for him, blocking his strike. Now, instead of spinning as he’d taught her to do, she steadied herself, saving her energy for a more calculated strike.
“Why?” Talwyn continued. “Because I served my King well, I trained his men—I even trained you, a stupid, whiny little girl! I commanded this garrison, and when that filthy, faithless Elf came around, the King gavemyduties to him, and left me to watch like a useless old bitch while that creature attempted to instruct me as well!”
“Why!” Talwyn shouted again. “Why? Why! Why!” He was livid now, red faced, the whites of his eyes entirely too visible. “Because, when my stupid son served the King’s ill-begotten daughter so dutifully—so ignorantly! Only because he loved the stupid little turd! He was demoted and replaced with another. Discarded! Shame-faced! Bringing dishonor upon my name and house!”
