Page 52 of Arise the Queen
It might be difficult to believe now, because their city was such a marvel, but when her great, great, great-grandfather inherited those lands, there was nothing but ruins—a maze of stone structures half buried, and all that saved it from obscurity was that the old city was constructed upon a granite cliff that bore meager soil, and the sea winds relentlessly blew what was there away.
Even now, Trevena had no true means to produce its own food, and were it not for their port, the people would starve. It was her great, great, great-grandfather who found that map and restored the city, and her father later constructed a palace around it. Gwendolyn counted it to their good fortune that Locrinus did not occupy her city long enough to note how the map altered of its own accord, as though it, too, were a living, breathing form. And yet, even if Locrinus and his brothers did not recognize its magic, Talwyn should have known, and Gwendolyn suspected Bryn’s father had had his own designs to rule. For whatever reason, he never felt inclined to share the map’s worth, though even without Fae magic, it was still quite the asset. It was fortunate for Gwendolyn that Loc was too arrogant and too faithless to understand its value, and she felt certain that, after finding the Treasury empty, his brothers had abandoned the city too soon—that, or else, like the Dragon’s Lair, the map’s enchantment was temporarily lost, and with an empty Treasury and a harbor that could not be used, Trevenamight have seemed a worthless cause. With Gwendolyn’s return to the city, the fire in the Lair was quickly restored, and the map was still changing, though it was no longer so accurate as it was before—a sign that perhaps magic in this realm was waning…
“Art quiet,” said Lir, as he drew up beside her. He clicked his reins to gain Gwendolyn’s attention, and she turned to look at him, grateful to see his familiar blue eyes. Gods knew, he was the only one amidst this entire crew who had always been forthcoming, and she appreciated that now more than ever.
“Where are Emrys and Amergin?” It wasn’t what she’d meant to say, but she didn’t believe Lir would know what she really wished to know…
“They’ve ridden back to speak with Málik.”
Gwendolyn lifted both brows. “About what?”
“I do not know,” he replied, “Though I suspect my brother is contemplating a departure from our Village.”
Gwendolyn’s gaze snapped to his face. “Forever?”
He nodded.
For a moment, she merely stared, unable to comprehend the gravity of what he had just conveyed. “Why would he do such a thing?!”
Lir gave a soft chuckle, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth. “He claims it is time.”
Gwendolyn struggled to make sense of it all. “And how doyoufeel about it?”
A sense of panic embraced her, and her heart pounded, thumping against her ribs. If he spoke true, it would be a matter of life and death for Emrys, and Gwendolyn could not imagine what would possess him to abandon the surety of his village. Every moment he spent away from his protected home was a moment closer to his death. This was why she had been so vehemently opposed to his accompaniment on this journey, though she fully intended to see him returned to his Druidbrothers in good health. But Lir didn’t seem to care—at least not about the risk. Instead, he replied with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “I will miss him, of course.”
Gwendolyn furrowed her brow, surprised that he could be so cavalier about something so grim as his brother’s demise.
“In truth,” he continued. “I will be well comforted by the certainty that he’ll be honored by the Fae. In their care, he will live longer than we.”
Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Gwendolyn said, “Blood and bones!” Relieved, she nodded with sudden comprehension. Of course, he would go to the City of Light.
But then another thought occurred to her. Would Bryn follow Esme? Leave Gwendolyn? The very thought gave her an awful kick to the belly, and no matter, she admired Lir for seeking his brother’s wellbeing above all else. The bond between these two brothers no doubt ran deep, forged through more than seven hundred years of trials. Conversely, her friendship with Bryn spanned but nineteen short years. If Lir could let his brother go, so, too, could she. “Would you join him?”
He let another soft chuckle. “Me?” He seemed genuinely surprised by the question. “Oh, nay,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m afraid this would not be possible.”
“Why not?”
He paused for a moment before answering, a hint of sadness clouding his otherwise bright eyes. “In all these ages since Amergin joined the Fae, no Druid has ever been invited to even visit the Fae lands, much less to live amongst them—not even Amergin’s brothers or sons.”
Gwendolyn peered back over her shoulder to see if the old man had returned, seeing him with entirely new eyes, only considering the sacrifice he’d made—to leave behind a wife and sons in service for all… noble, but heartbreakingly lonely.
And really, even if he had returned to visit his family in the Betwixt, it wouldn’t be long against Fae years when he would have witnessed their ageing and eventual death. “Men have gone,” Gwendolyn argued.
She had seen this proof with her own eyes—and she had gone. However, she didn’t wish to reveal that she’d spied bones in Arachne’s lair.
“It is one thing to trespass, another to be welcomed, and I must believe that will not be my destiny. Alas, My Queen, my skills are best served in Lifer Pol. My destiny remains there.”
Gwendolyn nodded, understanding. “As healer?”
“Not simply.” The young Druid smiled without regret. “As I’ve said, I’ve made it my life’s work to know the laws of men and Fae. It will be my burden for the gift of this knowledge to use it where it will serve both realms.”
“That is… quite… noble,” Gwendolyn allowed. And it was. Truly. She understood what a sacrifice it would be.
Even now, with only a few leagues between them, she felt Málik’s absence acutely, and if she must live apart from him, she didn’t know if she could bear it.
Their conversation lapsed for a moment into pensive silence, and then Gwendolyn said, “I know you, more than Emrys, have always been enamored of the Fae.”
“As you,” he said, and Gwendolyn smiled, remembering their long hours of discourse en route to the Druid village, where she had confessed so much to him. It could be said that Lir knew more of her innermost thoughts than even Ely or Bryn.
