Page 5 of Arise the Queen
She tried once more. “Whois the lady?”
To answer the question, the Púca shifted this form into that shrieking, three-headed bard and then opened all three of his mouths to sing…
Gwendolyn lifted a hand to stop him. “Nay! Please… nay,” she begged, and when his black eyes narrowed with disapproval, she inclined her head toward the ruby-lit passage and whispered, “Those trolls will hear.”
Of course, that wasn’t the reason, and the Púca must have gleaned as much because he spun about with a huff—to Gwendolyn’s utmost relief.
Vexed though he might be, she couldn’t stand here listening to all three bloody bard heads, each singing a different tune. For all that was sacred, it was scarcely bearable when she couldn’t understand what he was saying; now that she could, it would be intolerable.
And yet, how was it possible she understood the First Tongue?
Gwendolyn didn’t know anyone who could speakGaelg—Málik perhaps, though he’d never done so in her presence, although he did once interpret the Púca’s song.
“We are late,” apprised the Púca, reforming himself as the cat-sidhe. He gave her a withering glance, then bounded away, muttering something snippy beneath his breath that sounded suspiciously like: “Stupid is as stupid does!”
Gwendolyn lifted her brow, but let it go, hurrying after him, fearing that, in his present mood, he would be tempted to leave her. And, like it or not, she couldn’t afford to alienate that irksome beast, when even those she had trusted had forsaken her. “Wait!” she shouted, suddenly remembering the sack of food she’d brought and rushing back to retrieve it before rejoining the Púca, who never for a moment broke his stride.
It was going to be a long, long day… although…
Gwendolyn peered up at the speleothem-covered ceiling, wondering how anyone could tell day from night in this gloom. At the very least in the Druid village there had been perpetual twilight. Here, it was impossible to see aught without the light of her sword, or thepiskies, which, considering the circumstances, she would gladly do without. Fortunately, she didn’t have to suffer the dark long. As though summoned, thepiskiesreturned to help light her way, and Gwendolyn reassured herself that this was a good sign. If thepiskieswere comfortable with this Púca, it should count for something.
Shouldn’t it?
“Count blessings, not troubles,” Demelza used to say.
Now was as good a time as any to remember that lesson.
Right now, blessings might be scarce, but foremost, Gwendolyn must be wholly grateful for this: She wasn’t dead.
And really, if not for the Púca, she could so easily have met her demise. Therefore, she had this choice: She could remain bitter—and, mind you, she was, if only a bit—or she could make this her first test. If she would be canny enough to unite the tribes of Pretania, she must also be canny enough to win the favor of a bad-tempered Púca.
Anyway, for all Gwendolyn knew, he, too, might be less than pleased over this task he’d been given, and it was simple why when already they’d encountered trolls.
“Slay the child,” Demelza had also advised. “Arise a queen.”
That was what Gwendolyn must do. It would suit no one for her to wallow in self-pity. If she’d learned anything this past year, it was that. After Loc’s betrayal, she’d wasted far too much time shedding tears of regret. She’d not do so again.
Putting one foot in front of the other, she grew resolved. With or without help, she meant to findClaímh Solais, and once she had the sword in her possession, she would make her way back to the mortal realm to make Locrinus pay for his crimes.
With a last glance over her shoulder to be sure the trolls weren’t following, she spied no one, not even a shadow—certainly not Málik.
What more was she fated to encounter in this infernal place?
Deamhans? Spriggans? Trolls?
The instant you descend, he’ll send armies to end you,Málik had warned. Only now, Gwendolyn wondered why he’d ever bothered to warn her when all the while he’d intended to abandon her. Not for a moment had he intended to stand by her side, much less to defend her.
Stupid is as stupid does.
The Púca was right.
Gwendolyn might not be witless, but she was behaving that way. As it was with Locrinus, she had but heard what she’d wished to hear—lies and more lies, but none so treacherous as the ones she’d told herself.
Harden your heart,she apprised herself.
She could not afford to remember sweet caresses or pine for things that could not be. Care for it or not, she must cast Málik out of her thoughts—out of her heart, as well. Her first task—her only task—must be to retrieve the Sword of Light. And, so much as Gwendolyn loathed the truth of this, she feared that whatever it was she was supposed to face in this realm, it would eclipse all the problems she’d left behind. Only one thing was certain: Like Locrinus, the Fae king would have an army at his disposal.
Gwendolyn had none.
