Page 60 of Arise the Queen
“Alas,” she said. “It is no simple task to love a Fae.”
And Gwendolyn should know.
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As the rest of the party sat conversing over the fire, Gwendolyn slipped away, needing a moment’s respite.
Having left both her swords in Bryn’s keeping, she rehearsed in her mind what she meant to say to Málik when she saw him.
They’d been traveling for a month now, had ridden past the Moorfoot hills and Blackhope Scar, now quickly approaching Skerrabra, and still he kept himself apart.
However, after speaking at length with Bryn, Lir, and Amergin, she understood something of his reason: He had not yet approved Emrys’ request for immigration to the City of Light, and Lir was certain it was because he was loath to separate the two brothers. According to Amergin, the portals had grown most erratic. If Málik should approve Emrys’ citizenship, he may not be able to come and go, even as Amergin once had. In fact, Amergin had been forced to accept that his most recent departure from the Fae Court could be his last, and still, he had accepted the assignment. Once returned to the mortal realm, as it was with Emrys, his life force would, again, wane, even as sand through an unstopped glass. Knowing this made Gwendolyn appreciate them both all the more, and she spent these last daysas their tutee, learning everything she could from both elder Druids. And there was much to be known—so much that she had never even guessed at to ask.
Beginning with the fire in their alcove, Porth Pool and the map in her father’s war room, Gwendolyn now knew for certain these were all remnants of another age. However, she also learned that they had burned for her—not for her father, as once supposed. The Sword of Light was another matter because it was conveyed by right to the mortal kings, but the rest of the Fae relics could only work properly if there was a Fae soul to charge them. Since her birth, this was Gwendolyn, and before her, there were countless emissaries lent to the city—mostly freeborn daughters of theFèinne, who’d pledged themselves to be Keepers of the Flame, and consulates to the mortal kings. Unlike mortals whose lives were paused or lengthened during their time in the Fae realms, or within the Betwixt, such as it was with the Druid village at Lifer Pol, they, too, were immortals, and passed their torches when their service was done. In return for their consul, the Fae Court had received payments of gold and gems from Cornwall’s mines, and these were transported Below through, until most recently, her uncle’sfogous—the penultimate portal before it, too, closed. This was also why Cunedda’s stores were empty, and why, between her father’s payments to Brutus, and those he’d made to the Fae, their treasury was wholly barren except for the Sword of Light. The last of the dignitaries departed Trevena—or rather, died—after Gwendolyn was “born” to Queen Eseld.
That dignitary was Málik’s mother…
Who’d hung herself.
To save Gwendolyn.
After her, none of theFèinneever again dared to accept the post for fear of revealing Gwendolyn’s location.
As for Málik’s father… he, too, forfeited much for his love of men. For his sympathies, they’d ousted him soon after the Fae’s exile, and to this day, no one knew where he had gone, or whether he still lived. However, the last Málik knew was that he had gone to seek his lover where she was last known to be, and after departing Trevena, no one ever saw him again.
Amergin explained to Gwendolyn that they’d hidden her Fae soul in the one place they’d believed Málik himself would never come to search. As Aengus’ ward, his mind was once poisoned against mortals, and he’d blamed the deaths of both his parents, not on Aengus, but on their affections for humankind. So it was that they had deemed it the greatest of ironies that they should place the soul of his beloved into the body of a mortal babe—to temper his hatred for men, or perhaps to teach him humility, compassion and grace.
This was, so Amergin said, his mother’s decision to do so—to give Málik time to learn these lessons, and to prepare him, not simply for an eventual reunion with Gwendolyn, but for his ascension to the Fae throne.
Unfortunately, the first time he’d suspected they’d hidden her in the mortal world, he’d found himself in Troy, with a woman by the name of Helen. And, of course, Helen was not Gwendolyn, and once she’d determined who Málik was, she’d used him and his Fae magic to pit kingdom against kingdom, leaving Málik even more embittered. That woman, Helen, so Gwendolyn learned, was Málik’s erstwhile lover and Innogen’s great grandmother. So now there was reason to believe that Innogen herself was part Fae, and that her grandson, Habren, was a distant relation to Málik.
Indeed, what a tangled web, as Arachne once said.
So then, what now should Gwendolyn do with the boy, if in truth he was blood kin to Málik? It was a dilemma, to be sure.
No wonder Esme kept asking.
But this was yetanothersecret withheld, and the depth of Málik’s deceptions was, to Gwendolyn’s mind, unforgiveable. But though he was not innocent, neither was she. Only because Gwendolyn did not know the full scope of her own Fae tale did not mean she was inculpable. And the simple truth that she had agreed to their separation gave Gwendolyn some clue that she was not always in accord with Málik’s heart, despite their close relationship.
Had she agreed to be hidden, at his mother’s behest, hoping to soften his heart? Esme might know, but Esme was conveniently still unaccounted for, and Gwendolyn was finding it difficult to forgive her for it.
As for the reason Locrinus did not realize the map’s magical properties, Amergin’s explanation gave her clarity. It did not work whilst the city was no longer in Gwendolyn’s keeping. Nor did the light in the Dragon’s Lair. Gwendolyn did not need to be physically present, but the city must remain under her sovereignty, and so long as she herself remained in the heart of her people, the flame in the alcove would continue to burn. It was tied, inexorably, to her, until she herself passed this torch. The Spirit of the World was a powerful magic, and it had the power to sustain, or to destroy, and though Gwendolyn still did not know everything she needed to know, she was coming slowly to understand her role in Pretania’s story.
Her boots made quick work of the forest as she approached the outskirts of their camp. Beneath her feet, leaves, twigs, and branches crunched as she walked. The fading light filtering in through the boughs, casting dappled shadows on the ground.
This evening, the air was crisp and cool—far more so than Gwendolyn had planned for. Even here, the faint scent of smoke from their campfires lingered in the air, mixing with the forest’s scents. Reaching the stream at last, she knelt and peered into the water, staring for a long moment at her familiar visage.
The face looking back was her own—the one she’d known her entire life, not the sharp-toothed, pointy-eared Fae countenance she was so startled to glimpse in theunderlandpool. The sharpness of her Fae features was gone, replaced now by the soft curves and lines of a perfectly adequate human face, with high, defined cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. Gwendolyn’s expression was one of displeasure, her brows furrowing and her lips slightly down-turned, because she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of indignation for the part of her identity that was stolen away. She did not like it that her past life was so much less than a dream—a wisp of nothing to her memory. No doubt, during her time in the Fae realm, a veil had been plucked from her eyes—little thanks to Málik—but there was still too much she did not know, and it vexed her.
What did she most wish to be?
Queen of Pretania?
Consort to the Fae king?
She couldn’t be both.
Perhaps Málik was only doing what Gwendolyn hadn’t the guts to do—prepare them both for an eventual parting?
