Page 36 of Arise the Queen
Instead of shoving her through the portal, had Málik but intended to drive her to her death? Complete the task he’d been given by his king? Leave her for dead in the weeds below the village? “Gone?” she whispered, and Bryn nodded, reaching up to tug a wisp of golden hair from between her dry lips.
“Have I accomplished nothing? Was it only a fevered dream?”
The question appeared to take Bryn aback. His head cocked backward, like a chicken. “Dream?” he asked, blinking. He stared a moment before shaking his head.
“No dream,” reassured Emrys as he came forth now, bearing the proof of Gwendolyn’s quest—a shining, runic-inscribed sword that was polished till it gleamed. He bore it atop a pelt of clean, white fur, holding it before him as he grinned. “Of course, we could not return it in the condition we found it.”
Gwendolyn gaped at the sword, blinking, her mind slow to clear, confusion and sorrow twisting like vines through her heart as she remembered the horror of the moment she’d wielded it against Aengus…
Emrys cackled happily. “I have never seen its like!” he said giddily, gazing down at the sword. But he could not know what that weapon had cost her. In the end, she might be victorious, but Aengus’ death had come at the cost of a piece of her soul—she’d lost in the win.
Glancing down at the foot of her bed, she spied the cloak Arachne made for her, and tears pricked at her eyes.
It was all true?
Arachne and the Púca?
The trolls—Yavo and Razi?
Her visage in the pond?
The Fae king?
Manannán…
“You did it,” said Bryn joyfully, tugging at his fledgling beard—weeks’ worth of growth, though it seemed to Gwendolyn that she had only just left him. “You well and truly did it, Gwendolyn. Gone two moons! We thought you’d never return.”
His expression sobered a moment, and his tone was no longer so exuberant. “And then, when Málik and Esme left us as well, without a by your leave, we were quite certain this foreshadowed the worst.”
Gwendolyn nodded. Yes, of course, they were together… Málik and Esme. Because she saw them at the Fae court, hands joined. And even if they had been pretending, that kiss Málik bestowed upon her cheek, that caress… it bespoke more than friendship. That kind of enmity only sprang from the deepest of love—lovers spurned or betrayed.
For a moment, Gwendolyn didn’t know what to say. If, indeed, she had sacrificed Málik’s love for that sword… that price was too much to bear. She had dared so much to hope that his betrayal was only spurred by his love for her.
“We kept the faith,” assured Emrys as he laid the sword across her lap, but Gwendolyn recoiled from it, not daring to touch it for fear that it might burn—or not. Which case would be worse she didn’t know!
Blood and bones.Would she still be worthy of the sword after taking the Fae king’s life? “So it’s true?” she whispered brokenly. “All of it?”
Bryn shrugged. “All we know is that we found you holding that bloodied sword. Whose blood it bore, I cannot say, but I may guess. Alas, more than that, I do not know. I cannot say what is true or what is not…”
Gwendolyn nodded jerkily, more tears forming—some perhaps tears of joy, and some relief, with much regret—all threatening to choke her breath.
Later, she would tell them everything—later, not now. At the moment, she could scarcely bear to even think of the truth, much less speak it aloud.
Sheslew the Fae king.
She did.
And now, what of Esme and Málik?Did they no longer have need of her? Had Gwendolyn served her purpose—to end Aengus’ reign? And now they would disdain her? After all, Aengus was Esme’s father, and no matter what they might havefelt for each other, they shared the same blood. And Málik was his ward. Gwendolyn’s head swam with everything she had learned…every bit true.
“Please… do not weep,” begged Bryn. “You have the sword,” he cajoled. “This is what you wished for, after all. Now, you can take it north, wield it before your grandfather—proof you were born to lead!”
Gwendolyn nodded, finding it too difficult to speak for the lump in her throat—so much heartache, so much fury, so much death. But Bryn spoke true. That sword had been her one true desire for so long—above everything, and everyone…including Málik. And now that he was gone, she must take that sword north—alone.
With an entourage of…two?
Now that they no longer had Esme or Málik, she could not imagine risking Lir, and so… it should be her and Bryn. But, yes, it was true that the sword was their salvation, and she found a glimmer of hope amid her despair.
Smiling through her tears, Gwendolyn couldn't help but feel an immense sense of gratitude towards Bryn—for his undying loyalty and his love that never faltered.
