Page 93 of The Queen's Huntsman
Gwendolyn bided her time, refusing to take his bait, hoping his anger would lead to mistakes. She stalked him, listening, watching for the opportunity to strike. Once she was close enough, she shifted her feet and body into the proper position, and struck, grazing his wrist, drawing blood. But the man was too quick for his age, evading Gwendolyn’s maneuver, then pivoting, stalking Gwendolyn instead.
“All for what? You?” he continued with loathing, spittle spraying from his lips. “A worthless bitch who no longer even honors your sex! Look at you!” Once again, he screwed his face with disgust. “You were never lovely, but now? You look like a man! No softness about you at all! You are a disgrace to your breed, and no matter. A woman should not command Pretania’s throne!”
Gwendolyn’s jaw ticked with fury, her fingers biting into cold steel, simmering with the desire to run this traitor through.
Bryn’s father grinned with contempt. “Why? You ask why? Because the instant your father perished, we would have been left with nothing. Aligning with Brutus’ elder born gave us the means to endure in this city thatIhelped to build!”
“You ungrateful whoreson!” Gwendolyn returned. “My father gave you everything, and I considered you among the noblest of men—particularly after turning your face from a dukedom to serve your king instead. Your brother is dead now—Adwen, did you know? Did he mean so little to you? And what of your son?”
He shrugged, unconcerned. “My brother and I were never of the same mind. His fate is not mine to lament. He had a chance and failed—as you will fail, you hideous, ill-favored creature. Locrinus is the wiser choice, andhewill command this isle. My son will rise under his command!”
“Nay, he’ll not,” Gwendolyn assured. “I will see that the only thing Locrinus commands is a cell, and you will join him.”
“Oh, no,” Talwyn said hatefully. “You might prevail and you might even kill me. You might even keep your precious Trevena… for a while, but he has something you’ll never have.”
Gwendolyn’s smile was cold. “Indeed, what is that?”
“A cock,” he spat. “Butcher your hair all you wish, play at being a king, but you are not a man, and the thing you lack most is the one thing yourhusbandhas—the will to see this done.”
“I may not have a cock,” Gwendolyn returned. “But I intend to show you my balls!” She rushed at him, striking with all her might.
His sword met hers with a clang that reverberated through the palace halls.
Again and again, she struck, driving him back.
When she cornered him against the wall, he lifted a leg and pushed himself off, driving toward her so ferociously that his blade snicked the curve between her throat and shoulder, a fraction above where the mithril no longer protected. The sight of her blood seemed to arouse him, and he swung again, then turned so his back was to the door. Gwendolyn noted the entryway darken, but daren’t look away from his sword. If she was outnumbered, she couldn’t afford to acknowledge it. Blood trickled down her arm, seeping down between her palm and her sword, oiling the metal. She had not yet had much of a chance to practice left-handed, despite that the sword could be wielded either way. Right now, she couldn’t afford to switch hands, nor could she take a moment to brush the blood from her palm.
The next time he came at her, she met his blade with hers, but the impact of it knocked her sword from her hand. It clattered across the floor. Instinctively, Gwendolyn reached for Borlewen’s blade, but froze at the sound of a familiar voice, the timber of it sending a shiver down her spine. “Gwendolyn is too trusting.”
Bryn?
For a terrible, heart-rending moment, Gwendolyn feared she had been betrayed by her closest of friends—her beloved Bryn.
“So… it was you who aided Locrinus?”
She heard him approach but couldn’t turn to face him. The very possibility of his betrayal left her momentarily undone.
Talwyn grinned at his son. “Yes! Don’t you see? I did it for you, Bryn! For our good name! Only I could have convinced Yestin to go along.”
“Yestin?” Bryn asked calmly, his hand moving to his sword as he passed Gwendolyn, briefly meeting her eyes. Gone now was all trace of the boy he’d once been. In his place was a man, his expression hard and cold. He came sauntering into the room, his gait so much like his father’s—the glint in his eyes, too. Gwendolyn had never heard him speak so coldly.
“Trevena will be ours,” his father continued, his eyes avid, gleeful. “Ours, son! Only imagine! Did you never consider that this would be your fate? To some day sit upon our Cornish throne?”
“After you?” Bryn asked carefully, and Gwendolyn still could not tell whose side he was on. Her gaze slid to her fallen sword, uncertain whether to dive for it. But if she did, and Bryn intended to take his father’s side, he could easily turn and smite her. He was standing right beside her.
“Where is my mother?” Bryn asked.
“Fled,” Talwyn revealed. “I knew she’d not have the stomach for any of this, so I let her go.”
“As youletme go?” Bryn asked.
“Of course.”
“I did wonder… even when Ely and Gwendolyn did not… why my sister and I were both allowed to leave Trevena after the wedding, when before you both forbade it. For so many years, you denied us service to Gwendolyn together, with the argument that you required one child to remain in Trevena.” He cocked his head the other way. “I then wondered why Locrinus seemed so willing to pardon me even as he tormented me—do you have any clue what I endured by his hand?”
Bryn’s father shook his head.
“And then, father… I wondered why every time I mentioned your name, the topic was turned, and no news of your death ever arrived, even after I sent men to investigate.”
