Page 38 of Arise the Queen
Staring at him in disbelief, she took yet another step backward, recoiling from him, her eyes burning with unshed tears, feeling the depth of his betrayal.
And then, without another word, she turned and walked away, ignoring the murmurs of curious men following her as she strode back down the hill, making her way back to the Druid village, her chin high, her back rigid.
She would not crumble. She would not break.
She was Gwendolyn of Cornwall, and if she could survive all she had survived, she would survive this as well!
He’d brought her an army, and for that he could have her gratitude, but she would not give her heart to see it broken.
If he’d had a change of heart about Gwendolyn and Esme, so be it.
17
By eventide, the Druid’s Hall was a crush of bodies. Fist- and boot-thumping joined heartfelt cries of, “Long live the Queen of Men!”
Chants of“Ut! Ut! Ut!”resounded throughout.
In observance of the sword’s return, even the Llanrhos order arrived to pay tribute, and it might have been a celebration for Gwendolyn, but as the revelers lifted tankards in her honor, resentment and uncertainty wrapped themselves about her heart like prickling vines. Málik aside, this celebration was premature, she knew, even if no one else did. Far from ended their fight had just begun. With a horde of Fae warriors now encamped about the surrounding fields, her campaign had a chance, but whilst she had the Sword of Light in her possession, and a fledgling army at her disposal, she had a long way to go before she could call herself victorious. Like it or not, it was time to prepare for war, not to drink till their eyes rolled back in their heads.
Even now, as they celebrated, Locrinus was out there amassing men. Before Gwendolyn could even think to face him,she would need to conscript every able body she could find, and even that might not be enough.
Two thousand warriors—Fae or not—would be no match forten.
To make matters worse, Gwendolyn knew well that inspiring these tribes to fight on her behalf would prove trickier than merely to wield a burning sword in their presence. In the end, it was a woman they must follow. And no matter how much she wished it could be otherwise, she knew this would be her greatest challenge.
Despite claiming her as his rightful heir, even her own father made provisions to see a man crowned beside her.
And then there was Málik…
Ever since his arrival this morn, he’d been as sober as an alderman, avoiding her as surely as rats scurried from the light. After their odd, terse greeting, he’d vanished amidst his troops, and Gwendolyn didn’t see him again until supper. Instead of coming himself to return Kingslayer and Borlewen’s blade, he’d sent one of his minions to return both blades, and even now as she sat beside him at the table, her fingers itched to draw her cousin’s dragon-hilt dagger, and put it to his throat.
He was not the same—and it wasn’t solely because of that crown he’d worn atop his head. The truth glinted behind the silver of his eyes every time she caught his gaze. Something had changed during their time apart, and the rift between them grew with every passing moment and every word left unspoken.
Beautiful as ever, he sat, half reclined in the seat beside her, vexingly arrogant in his insouciance, something like apathy seeping from his pores, giving Gwendolyn every impression that he was a bored Fae king only forced to tolerate this mortal gathering. Her belly soured at the thought, and she returnedher goblet to the table, shoving it aside.
As yet, except for the return of the sword and Aengus’ death, nobody even knew what transpired in the Fae realm, nor what history she and Málik shared. Gwendolyn hadn’t had the chance to enlighten Bryn. But shouldn’t she be the one upset? Without a word of explanation, Málik had shoved her through that portal and still she’d found it in her heart to forgive him, trusting that he knew best, no matter how it had appeared. But perhaps he had used her?
Or mayhap he would have preferred for Aengus takeherhead?
Or had he expected that, once revealed, their past should hold sway and that she would so easily cast away everything she had worked for to return to…what?
Forsooth.
If every action had a consequence, the result of Gwendolyn’s “rebirth” was that she had only the vaguest recollections of the creature she had once been. Her mother had been right, after all. Shewasa changeling! But if Manannán himself stood here before her at this moment, Gwendolyn doubted she would know him. And no matter, she could never consider that creature her father over the man who’d raised her. If, indeed, she shared the Sea God’s blood, the only good she knew for sure it had ever done for her was that it gave her the right to reclaimClaímh Solais. For all that she had endured, for all that she had become, she was Gwendolyn of Cornwall, and she could not divest herself of this responsibility she was born to simply because she’d lived another life.
Alas, if anyone else shared her misgivings this evening, it wasn’t apparent. Even Bryn, who knew her best—and perhaps should have read her mood—celebrated with abandon. Ten times thebrewsterpassed him by, and ten times he held out his tankard. Now, he stood, grinning drunkenly across the table ashe proffered up his tankard, lifting it for a toast. “May Lugh’s shpear shtick ’em where the sun don’t shine!” he said.
“In the arse!” followed Lir, and the hall erupted with bellows of laughter.
No one needed to be told where Bryn was proposing sticking that spear, but Lir, in his innocence, was proud to explain the jest.
Beside her, Málik chuckled low and despite Gwendolyn’s mood, she laughed as well.
More tankards lifted, followed by ribald jests and Bryn gulped back his ale. Then, for the eleventh time this evening, slammed down the tankard, and called for another round.
“I will miss that Druid,” said Málik offhandedly, offering his first smile of the evening—a half-hearted, rueful smile. “I’ve never met a man with so little guile,” he suggested, leaning closer, and his nostrils flared, as though seeking Gwendolyn’s scent. Her traitorous body responded with a thrill, but she shifted away, stung by the casual mention of his impending departure.
But, of course, he would go.
