Page 70 of Arise the Queen
Gwendolyn stood firm. “I would have each tribe stand true and strong, with the surety that Cornwall will aid them, but never yoke them.”
“Pretty words from the daughter of a SouthernKing,” he spat. “Do you know,granddaughter… we do not considerourselves kings here in the north. We are elected by freemen. We need no crowns, or jewels, or gowns! Nodawnsio,scholars, or priests! You’ll find no palaces here. We are simple folk, and our word is our bond.”
“Myword is my bond,” Gwendolyn allowed. “And, yes, I am queen of Cornwall, but I come as your equal, not your queen.”
“My equal?” Once again, he barked with laughter and said to the room at large. “She comes as my equal, she says.”
Much nervous laughter filtered through the hall, but Gwendolyn noted that her mother did not laugh, and the joy had dimmed from her grandmother’s eyes.
Had she misjudged him?
Had she dared too much?
Baugh shook his head suddenly, glaring at Eseld. “By the eyes of Lugh! I stand corrected,” he spat. “You do not look likeher, but you behave likeher!” And then he cursed profoundly.Blood and bones.This was not going as Gwendolyn had hoped, but it must be now or never. She pushed aside plates, then bent to drag out the cloth that bound the ancient sword, careful not to hold it in any manner that would appear she intended to threaten Baugh. Gently, she laid it upon the table, and then cast a glance up to meet Baugh’s gaze before drawing aside the cloth.
Even bound with rags, the blue steel shimmered with a soft sheen. Etched along the blade glimmered the runic inscription:Claíomh Solais.
All eyes fell upon the sword—Baugh’s as well, and he was half smiling, though it was a dangerous smile. “Will you dare threaten me with that blade?” he asked, and at once, two of his warriors rose from the table, moving to his side.
“Gwendolyn,” her mother hissed in warning.
“Nay.Ido not threaten,” Gwendolyn said, ignoring her mother, her eyes flashing with an inner fire that rivaled the gleam of her sword. “I simply present a choice.”
The tension in the room grew palpable, and Gwendolyn knew one wrong move would set off a violent confrontation.
Beside her, she sensed Málik’s growing tension and noted the hand that moved beneath the table.
Across the room, Bryn’s face was a mask of terror—no doubt understanding that if her grandfather moved against her, he and Málik were only two against so many.
Emrys and Amergin were little help, and neither appeared willing to rise to Gwendolyn’s defense against her grandfather.
Slowly, purposefully, Gwendolyn unlaced all the ribbons that bound her sword, letting the cloth fall away before lifting it straight up by the hilt for all to see.
Baugh’s guards moved to seize her, but stopped when the steel flickered, then roared to life—like a dragon awakened from slumber. The flames danced and swirled along the length of the ancient blade, its brightness illuminating the entire room, a white glaive of light that was terrifyingly beautiful.
More gasps, then whispers followed.
Gwendolyn’s hand trembled as, for the second time, she held the sword aloft, feeling its fire coursing through her veins. “If you will not respect my mortal father, mayhap you will appreciate my Fae father more—Manannán,Lord of the Sea!” Her gaze never wavered. “But I am also the rightful heir of Cornwall and if you would toss scraps to the Usurper’s brother, you owe me more!”
Baugh’s eyes fixed upon the sword. “Ioweyounothing,” he argued, though the curiosity in his eyes told Gwendolyn he was considering her words…
But no less the sword.
“You above all should know what it means to be favored by the gods. I have seen your island and your village, and you live here against all odds through the gods’ favor. If I bring a threat, it is only this… Who is to say your favor will endure if you ignorethe gods’ choice?” She held the sword higher. “Iam Chosen, and if you doubt my words, you need only look with your eyes!”
Beside her, Málik spoke but did not stand, nor did he adjust his cocksure slouch. He spoke softly, though with conviction. “She speaks true,” he said, with his one finger on his temple and his thumb beneath his chin, his knuckles on his cheek. “That sword she wields does not burn for me, nor for the One she slew. It burns only for her.”
Across the room, the fire from her blade twinkled in Baugh’s eyes.
Málik continued quietly, “She did not shrink from the man who violated her, nor did she give up when they murdered her father, then seized Trevena. They left her with nothing but rags on her back, hunted like a beast, and still she did not relent till she took back her city, and in doing so, won the respect of a Catuvellauni chieftain—an enemy who now bends the knee to your granddaughter… because he believes in her… as I do.”
A muscle ticked at Baugh’s jaw, but he listened quietly.
“She met the Catuvellauni as strangers, saved them, took them in and sheltered them, and did not hesitate to seek the Druids, when stronger men would have cowed.”
Hearing him speak so effusively of her, Gwendolyn’s throat grew thick with emotion. More than anything, she wanted to turn to him and thank him.
“And,” he continued. “It cannot go unsaid that I have lent your granddaughter two thousand of my finest warriors.” And then he smiled unabashedly, showing all his porbeagle teeth, and gave a nod to Gwendolyn’s grandmother. “So it appears, like you… I cannot resist a fearless woman.”
