Page 74 of Arise the Queen
“We did it,” she mouthed, for his ears alone.
“Youdid,” he said, smiling fondly.
“Seven. Thousand. Warriors.”
It was still not quite enough, but they had yet to approach the Parisi and Iceni and, along with the Iceni, would surely come Cantium.
“Loc will not expect this!”
Indeed, he would not.
They had made certain to avoid the King’s Road, steering clear of Brigantes territory. They’d passed from the Selgovaelands straight into Votadini lands, then skirted the coast from there, traveling by day, resting by night, and every night, as soon as they’d concluded the evening’s Konsels, he and Gwendolyn slipped into the shadows, his desire for her insatiable and all-consuming. He had no will to deny himself. From dusk until dawn, they’d loved fiercely, and without restraint, resting between their lovemaking on a bed of autumn leaves and soft, fragrant meadow grasses, hidden from prying eyes by the last vestiges of his magic…
A magic he could feel waning even now.
And still he would follow this woman.
But he did not pursue her now as, in her exhilaration, she gave Aisling a heel, surging ahead. Love for her had spurred his every action for so long. But it was that same devotion that moored him now to his saddle, leaving her free to revel in this moment of joy. The beat of Málik’s heart echoed in his ears, and his heart swelled with love as he took in every detail of her, from the profile of her face to the delicate curve of her jawline to the way the sunlight tangled in her glorious hair, the effect of it like a golden halo beneath the bright noon sun.
And… once more, he saw her as she once was… whirling, twirling in a field of sunflowers… in the sacred place they’d once created.
He’d give anything to be back there, to protect her, even if it meant sacrificing his own life. And if he died in her service… at least then she could not fault him for it, nor could she loathe him for abandoning his crown…
“You’re in love with my granddaughter?”
Málik’s gaze snapped to the burly elder, who had so quietly sidled up beside him, his horse as modest as that of his men’s.
Baugh, the indisputable leader of these northern tribes whose principles, after all, did not fall far from those of his granddaughter’s.
But Málik did not fail to note his use of the wordmy, and this was perhaps an obnoxious question for a man who knew so little of the woman he’d like to claim, but Málik sensed his interest was genuine, so he nodded.
“I thought so,” said Baugh, and they rode together for a long interval in silence, listening to the footfalls of seven thousand men and horses behind them. “But,” he said, “There is one thing that troubles me… I only wonder what stakeyouhave in the outcome of this battle?”
“Me?” Málik asked with a lifted brow, though he said nothing more.
In truth, he would like to say he had none… but that was not true. He averted his gaze, watching Gwendolyn frolic with Aisling.
“You see,” pressed Baugh. “I am no stranger to the Fae. You do nothing without a favor returned… and what would be that favor?”
It was perhaps true of his ilk, and perhaps once true of him, but Málik didn’t wish to justify that question with an answer.
“I knew your father…”
Once more, Málik’s gaze snapped to his, and the old man’s eyes glittered fiercely. “Yes,” he said, perhaps sensing how easily Málik could wrest the truth from him if he so desired. He laughed then. “I was blessed with the gift of time, and despite this, I have been cursed—like Enbarr’s mares. I will bear only daughters and will never know the joy of a son. That is why Albanactus will inherit my lands.”
“Fascinating,” said Málik with some mordacity, and though he might have liked to have asked why his daughters would not inherit, when he had so many, he knew why—knew it for the same reason his soul wept for the loss of Gwendolyn. There would be no offspring between them, and Málik would be the last of his house.
He said nothing more, and Baugh peered down at the ground between them, his jaw working furiously, confessing as expected. “I will be the first of my name, and the last,” he said darkly. “Thanks to Manannán mac Lir! For my aid in ousting your father, he promised me the Isle of Man and gave me Skerrabra, instead—along with a cock that will never produce sons.”
It was an unforeseen confession, but Málik tempered his fury… for Gwendolyn’s sake. He peered up to find her returning now, a smile on her face to rival the brilliance of the sun itself. His jaw worked, and his fingers bit into the reins. Baugh was brave to reveal himself so boldly. Simply because his magic was waning did not mean he could not summon roots and vines to twist this man’s entrails into knots. Even as he schooled himself, his fury coiled and turned inside him.
Bitterness flooded his mouth, the taste of it vile…
How vast was Manannán’s reach?
How limitless his treachery!
And no matter, Málik could not fault Baugh when he himself was as much to blame for his actions before and after his father’s ousting. They’dallbelieved, as Málik once believed, that his father had misled them—that he’d been so determined to lead them back into the light, and to combine theirs with the mortal world, that he was prepared to sacrifice even their immortality. Even after the Sons of Míl Espáine conspired with Manannán to see them exiled to the darkest regions, his father had invited Amergin Glúingel—a Milesian himself—to reside amongst them, giving the mortal a place of honor and the title of Chief Ollam and Druid of Druids. For that decision alone, Aengus had renounced him, and Málik did, as well. Thus, Baugh was not the first or the last to aid the Poet King, even unwittingly, and none of Aengus’ connivance would have succeeded without Manannán, the master deceiver. It was, after all, Manannánwho’d lured them out from Hyperborea with promises of wealth and power, and, at every turn, presented only tribulation. If the land of their exile was now a living hell, Manannán himself was itsdeamhan.
