Page 78 of Arise the Queen
And despite the possibility that Gwendolyn might say yes, Esme did not seem the least bit upset—not truly.
“No,” said Gwendolyn, flicking Esme a glance to spy the corners of her lips lifting.
Cursing beneath her breath, Gwendolyn endeavored to ignore her, returning her attention to the care of her weapon, still vexed, though hardly in the mood to fight, when, in truth, she had Esme to thank for so much. And despite this, her pride could not be so easily soothed. She had spent weeks hoping for Esme’s return—dying inside because she needed to know about her mother. And not for one moment had Esme considered releasing her from this torment.
Time flew—pah!
Both silent now, they sat together in Gwendolyn’s tent, Esme atop that cot, whilst Gwendolyn continued polishing her sword—more vigorously now, wanting to say so much more and unable to speak a single word for fear of losing her temper.
“I knew you would not need me,” Esme explained after a while. Gwendolyn said nothing, so Esme continued, “And clearly, you did not. I believe in you, Gwendolyn, and yes, I left my father’s court… to grieve. No matter what else he may have been, he was also my father.” She did not cry, but her eyes glittered suspiciously, and Gwendolyn’s heart softened because Esme must have known what Gwendolyn would be forced to do in order to win her sword, and not for a moment had she considered stopping her. She sighed.
“I loved him no matter, and seeing his…”
Head.Gwendolyn winced, stopping with the polishing of her sword, laying it aside to give Esme her full attention. “I am sorry,” she said at last. “I did not consider that. I believed?—”
“I loathed him?” Esme shook her head. “He was not the father he should have been. His bitterness produced a monster, and I know his death was the right thing for everyone. Come what may, I’d never, ever choose him over you… but… still… it crushes… my heart.”
Every bit of Gwendolyn’s enmity fled at once. She longed to hug Esme, but sat, uncertainly, because she’d never witnessed Esme with tears. “Where did you go?” she asked softly.
Esme shrugged. “For a while… to a place I love…” She smiled then, showing teeth. “And then to Trevena to keep that scoundrel from growing too comfortable in your absence.”
Gwendolyn’s lips quivered on the verge of a smile. “Thank you.”
“I am so proud of you,” Esme said, her smile growing wider, revealing all her porbeagle teeth. And even now, it was a smilethat was frightening—despite knowing that Gwendolyn herself was Fae.
“I suppose you know…”
Esme tilted her head. “Know?”
“Well… that I knoweverything,” Gwendolyn said, and at hearing this, Esme replied, “Do you?” Her eyes once again glinted, but this time not with tears.
“Yes,” Gwendolyn said. “I know I am Fae. I know you kept that truth from me, and I know you are the one who gave me my… gifts… dubious though they might be.”
“I was only trying to help. But I did not decide alone,” argued Esme.
“Nay,” Gwendolyn allowed. “But I know that as well, and I am grateful for all the sacrifices she made for me, no matter that we did not share the same blood.”
They were speaking of Málik’s mother now—and Gwendolyn still did not know her name, but she understood well enough that to ask a Fae to give their name was the greatest form of disrespect, even if they no longer lived.
Esme’s eyes shone. “She did it for Málik… and in part… for me.”
Gwendolyn’s brows drew together. “For you?”
Esme nodded. “You could not know this, but I loved you fiercely, Gwendolyn, and I would have doneanythingfor you—anything!” She sighed, then continued, “It is also why I risked Málik’s wrath to meet you in the Druid village, to gift you that sword.” She hitched her chin at the sword Gwendolyn had been polishing. “It is also why I was so willing to betray him by revealing his true name… and I would have given you mine, too.”
“But you do not have to,” Gwendolyn said, and Esme stood, then came to where Gwendolyn sat, reaching down and taking Gwendolyn by the hand, drawing her up to stand before her. “Is the name Gráinne familiar to you?”
Gwendolyn shook her head.
“It should be.” She smiled half-heartedly. “Shall I reveal yours?”
“Mine?” Gwendolyn blinked now, gazing into Esme’s beautiful green eyes, only beginning to glean a sense of…something.
Esme squeezed her hand. “Sweet Curcog,” she whispered. “Manannán entrusted me with your true name, but I never revealed it. He sent you to Court as Niamh of the Golden hair, and only Málik and I knew this.”
“Why?”
“Because, Gwendolyn…”
