Page 4 of Arise the Queen
Had the Druids fed herpookies?
More than anything, she wished she were still abed—never rose to search for Esme, never filled her sack with victuals, never encountered Málik on the way back to her bower. But, no, so it seemed, this was not the case. Gwendolyn squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again to find herself in the same spot.So now what?
Considering the answer to that question, Gwendolyn waited as the trolls made their way through the grotto, taking their sweet time as they meandered along a sloping path toward yet another passage whence emitted an odd ruby light. The Púca, too, remained silent and still, though the instant the quarrelsome pair entered the red-tinted arch, he shifted his form into that of the cat-sidhe, and bounded down from the boulder, demanding she follow.
Much too belatedly, Gwendolyn wiped the troll spittle from her face, peering back at the arched tunnel, then back down at her sword, thinking how close she’d come to…what?
As far as she could tell, it sounded as though they were searching for her on behalf of Manannán, but why?
What stake had the Sea God in Gwendolyn’s quest?
The Sword of Lightwas not Manannán’s, and if Manannán knew she’d come to fetchClaímh Solais, he must also know that Gwendolyn was no longer in possession of it, so what business would he have with her?
“Well!” said the Púca, reappearing before her with arms akimbo. “Art coming, Stupid Girl?”
Gwendolyn frowned. Harnessing patience, she inhaled a long breath, and then held it as long as she could before blowing it out. “I amnota stupid girl,” she said.
“Iknow who you are. Doyouknow who you are?”
What game did he play?Gwendolyn had no tolerance for riddles this morning and less for this rude little creature.
“Well, then,” she said. “If you know who I am, then you must know my name is not Stupid Girl. It is Gwendolyn.”
“Is it?” he returned with a coy tilt of his head.
“Yes. It. Is,” Gwendolyn affirmed, though she wondered why she bothered when she still didn’t know this creature’s purpose. Never in her life had any one creature annoyed her so thoroughly—not even Málik.
And speaking of Málik…
“Did he send you?”
“Who?”
“Málik!”
He didn’t answer. “Come, now!” he said instead. “Hurry! Hurry, now! We haven’t all day!” And he stood, tapping his paw, waiting for Gwendolyn to find her feet.
Alas, Gwendolyn was slow to move.
For one, no one in her life had ever spoken to her so disrespectfully—none save her enemies. How dare Málik saddle her with such a discourteous beast! Not even Demelza would have dared tap her foot in such a blatant show of impatience.
And no matter, Gwendolyn didn’t intend to argue when arguing would serve no purpose. She did not choose this path, nor did she choose this Púca to be her guide—if, indeed, that was what he was meant to be. For all she knew, the vexing little creature would march her straight to her doom, and still she had no choice but to trust that Málik had sent him in good faith.
By now, the trolls’ voices had ebbed, and the blue in Gwendolyn’s sword had faded, so she returned Kingslayer to its scabbard, turning her attention to the small of her back, rubbing with two fingers. Alas, if a bruise was all the injury she had received after falling through that portal, and after facing trolls, she should count her blessings.
Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do to ease the ache in her heart.
If Gwendolyn had once believed that hateful look Loc gave her on their wedding night was the image that would haunt her for the rest of her days, it was overshadowed by her last glimpse into Málik’s face—eyes full of sorrow and regret, but still he’d let her go.
“Where now?” she asked, resigned.
“You wish to see the King,” the Púca said. “We go see the King, but first we seek the Lady.”
Gwendolyn hadn’t actually asked to see anyone, but pointing that out when it was indeed her greatest desire was pointless. “What lady?”
“She who dwells in silk and shadow,” explained the Púca, and his answer made Gwendolyn roll her eyes.
Did no Fae ever speak plainly?
