Page 47 of Arise the Queen
“Let us make haste,” said Amergin, rising from the table as well, and as he stood, a sense of reassurance washed over Gwendolyn.
Mayhap, indeed, with the First Druid by her side, she would stand a greater chance of convincing Baugh to raise his banners. And now that they had convinced her, Emrys was determined not to be thwarted. He turned to Deartháir Harri, passing off the Druid’s symbol of leadership—the Máistir’s staff. The elder Druid offered a solemn nod to his heir before excusing himself to go pack for the journey ahead.
Málik, too, rose, departing himself, all three abandoning the hall without a backward glance, leaving Gwendolyn alone with Máistir Harri.
A heavy moment of silence settled between them.
It wasn’t so long ago that they’d stood at odds in this very room—Gwendolyn demanding passage through the portal, and Harri refusing to grant it.
It was a long, long moment before she could talk, and then, when she did, there was a knot in her throat. “Art certain you wish to spare him?”
The newly appointed Máistir met her gaze, his expression sober but resolute. “Aye,” he said, his temperament a far cry from the Harri she’d first encountered. “Emrys… is determined to see this through, and we must trust his judgement. His loyalties—our loyalties—lie beyond this village, and his path is his alone to decide. We must pray his sacrifice will aid your cause, for I fear the consequences should it be otherwise.” They both understood what needn’t be said and Gwendolyn nodded again, accepting the Máistir’s words with a mixture of gratitude and apprehension.
She kicked a leaf on the wooden floor. “So you are Máistir now, eh?”
The Druid nodded.
She gave him a crooked grin. “I don’t suppose I will ask you again for passage through the portal.”
He returned the crooked smile. “I suppose not.”
Their discourse was awkward now, and Gwendolyn longed to leave, but she didn’t know how to remove herself without seeming ungracious.
“Go with the blessing of the Ancients,” said Máistir Harri, and Gwendolyn sensed in him a kindness and strength she had not noted before. At once, she regretted every dispute they’d ever had, and Gwendolyn lingered another moment, crossing her arms, knowing it was past time to go, but suddenly hesitating, sensing in her bones that, no matter what transpired in the north, she would not pass this way again. Her time in the Druid village was done, and come what may, she would not walk these halls again. And yet, everything she had learned here had truly helped to prepare her for the task she now faced. Forever more, she would be eternally grateful to these Druid brothers—all of them—many whom had lost their lives in her defense.
And still they embraced her with open arms.
Finally, she turned to go.
“Oh!” said Harri. “I almost forgot!”
Gwendolyn turned to face the man to find him grinning stupidly. “It is my utmost joy to inform you that the Llanrhos order no longer supports the Usurper. They champion your cause, and I am told by the priest who wed you that you may consider your marriage dissolved.”
Gwendolyn gasped aloud, her heart lurching over the news, the weight of his words striking her like a physical blow. She lifted a hand to her breast and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. Opening her mouth, she closed it again, a new rush of tears pricking at her eyes. By the gods, for a woman so intent upon hardening her heart, she could not seem to do it.
Daring to meet Máistir Harri’s gaze, she found solace in their familiar depths as a dizzying array of emotions swirled within her—joy, anger, sadness—above all else, a fierce swell of relief that she couldn’t deny. The ties that bound her to the Usurper had been severed by the Laws of this land, freeing her from a yoke she’d carried too long. She swallowed with difficulty, more tears pricking at her eyes.
Alas.Despite the complexities of her feelings, there was no time for dwelling upon this news. With a deep, shaky breath, Gwendolyn attempted to steady herself, and meanwhile, Máistir Harri regarded her with a knowing smile, his bright eyes reflecting the firelight with a warmth that soothed her soul.
“May good fortune favor your path,banríon,” he said softly.
“Thank… you,” said Gwendolyn, her voice breaking. “For every… thing.…” He came forward without asking her leave, took her by the arm, and embraced her for the first time, and Gwendolyn hugged him back, so grateful for this news, moved beyond words. After a moment, he withdrew, smiling, and led her to the door, and as they stepped out into the cool morning air, Gwendolyn felt…
Freedom.
She was married to Loc no more!
Her journey from here forth was no doubt a quest that held the fate of realms in its balance and the burden of leadership weighed heavily upon her shoulders, but even so, a sense of liberation washed over her—like heavy chains breaking free. The black, encumbering weight of her marriage lifted, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she could not deny the spark of hope that ignited within her breast.
Máistir Harri gave her a kind little pat on the shoulder, and Gwendolyn squared her shoulders, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. But her joy held a dark note, because her first thought was that, now, when she pushed her cousin’s blade into thatdeamhan’sblack heart, she would do so as a free woman.
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And so it was that Gwendolyn, accompanied by Málik, Bryn, Emrys, Lir, and Amergin, set out from the Druid village, each astride one of Enbarr’s mares, as unlikely a crew as any Gwendolyn could ever have imagined—a would-be Queen, a newly crowned Fae king, a Shadow, a retired Máistir and healer brother, along with a bard and poet most folks believed long dead.
Indeed, Gwendolynmight never have believed the last of it herself were it not for the fact that Amergin rode beside her, most zealously debating the art of discernment with Emrys, each elder Druid making his point with only the finest deviation, merely so the other could argue against it. This was nearly as annoying as the fog that had descended upon them the moment they set out. Essentially, they both disagreed over nothing, merely arguing semantics, but they clearly enjoyed a long-held friendship, and Amergin’s presence in this day and age was no surprise to either of the Druid brothers. In fact, from what Gwendolyn could glean from their lengthy discourse, although Amergin now dwelt in the City of Light, he returned infrequently for news of his brethren, and to conduct the business of the FaeCourt—and, of course, he would. The Tuatha Dé Danann had once deemed this man to be a fair and worthy judge for them—why wouldn’t he be the one designated as their supreme arbiter?
It also made sense that the Druids would keep ties with those who’d appointed them—an understanding beyond the simple occupation of a once-held Fae village. And furthermore, if Emrys and Lir and the Lifer Pol Order had lived betwixt realms for more than seven hundred years, why wouldn’t the Druid of Druids be granted immortality?
