Page 79 of Arise the Queen
Gwendolyn swallowed convulsively as Esme bent to kiss her upon the cheek, then drew away, with tears sparkling in her lashes.
“On the eve of your greatest trial, I cannot allow you to go on without baring my heart—without speaking our truth.” She pulled Gwendolyn to the cot, begging her to sit, and once they were seated together, she again took Gwendolyn’s hand, and said gently, “Youaremysister.” Gwendolyn’s eyes widened, then stung, and Esme reached out to swipe a finger across her cheek. “It is true as the grass is green, and the sky is blue, Gwendolyn. You are my true-blood sister. Our mother was Ethniu. You are her daughter with Manannán, my father was Aengus Óg.”
Gwendolyn stared unblinking at Esme’s face, wishing with all her heart that she could remember only a fraction of this life they had shared.
“Do you remember none of this?”
Gwendolyn shook her head.
Esme smiled sadly. “What I did to separate you from Málik, I did at my father’s behest. I gave him a potion to turn his heartfrom you, not because I loved him, but because I lovedyou, and did not wish for him to seek you.”
“But why?”
She tilted Gwendolyn the most tender look. “Because… I will always choose you, Gwendolyn. I did not trust Málik to do the same. Aengus was enraged when Málik asked for your hand, and you were already so weak. I feared the worst, and, at the time, Málik was still his bootlicker.” Her lips turned. “So I offered Málik a potion and took him for my own. Only when he discovered my ruse, he reviled me, left me, and went to seek you. Alas, I should have known a potion without true love would never last, and still I tried… for you. This is the secret I withheld from my father—the place we hid your soul.”
Gwendolyn’s thoughts spun. This story seemed impossible, even surreal. And yet, looking into Esme's earnest green eyes, she felt a sense of the truth.
“I was mistaken, perhaps. Alas, though, if I had it to do all over again, I would like to say I would have told Málik the truth, but I am sure I would not have, because… my father knew his true name, and for that alone, I’d change nought.” More tears welled in her eyes, but they did not fall.
Gwendolyn nodded and squeezed Esme’s hand. “I… will need time to consider all you have told me,” Gwendolyn said after what felt like an eternity had passed, and Esme nodded understanding.
“Take the time you need,” she said, releasing Gwendolyn’s hand as she rose from the bed, turning to leave the room when Gwendolyn called to her.
“Esme…”
Esme turned to look at her.
“Thank you… for telling me the truth.”
With a smile and nod of acknowledgement, Esme started back out of the tent, but then turned once more to say, her voicecoy as ever, “By the by… I really do not intend to make it a habit to bed the men who love you, Gwendolyn, but am I to believe that for Bryn, you might approve?”
Gwendolyn nodded, smiling, and without another word, Esme ducked out of the tent.
37
Blood and bones.
All her life Gwendolyn had lived as an only child, with a mother and father who’d cared for her, no matter how it once appeared. Now, she had a sister, two fathers, two mothers, and an entire life she had no memory of.
It was so confusing to live with the echo of another life, but more than that, she was torn between her two selves—the mortal who, though taught from her first breath to fight like a man, was primed only to support a man; and the Fae creature whose blood gave her the key toClaímh Solais.Despite everything she had accomplished, Gwendolyn did not yet feel she’d proven herself well enough for these men to fight to the death on her behalf. Up to this point, it had proven a relatively simple task to rally troops to this cause. But they followed Gwendolyn only because she had convinced Baugh, or persuaded Caradoc, or simply because she could wield a burning sword. But she knew it would take far more than mere acquiescence to win a fight against Locrinus, who still held the advantage.
It would take fervor for the cause—a devotion born of faith, not fear, and Gwendolyn was coming to appreciate how difficult this was to win.
No wonder Locrinus ascribed to the politics of fear.
This morning, as she knelt by the pond, she peered hard into the undisturbed water, scrutinizing the human visage staring back. Here and now, she longed to spy that changeling with the porbeagle teeth… But the face was her own—and lest anyone mistake this; it was Gwendolyn of Cornwall, daughter and heir to King Corineus, not the daughter of Manannán and Ethniu. She had the same golden curls, but this was indubitably the face of a mortal, without pointy ears or fangs, and the lines that had etched themselves into the corner of her eyes and mouth spoke to a vulnerability she would be foolish not to consider when death was a very real possibility of the battle she would soon engage.
Gwendolyn sighed.
Having left everyone to the breaking of the fast, she had slipped away to find a moment’s respite, half expecting Málik to follow. But it was Bryn who came to find her—and perhaps that was a good thing because Gwendolyn was thoroughly confused. She didn’t know how to feel about anything right now—not Málik, nor Baugh, nor Manannán, nor Esme.
Most certainly not the battle to come.
With only a few more days to travel before reaching Iceni lands, they were nearing the end of this campaign, and despite all her recent accomplishments, she had only one more tribe to seek before facing Locrinus—one small tribe, and she worried how they would receive her.
What if Loc had already convinced them to ally with him?
What if they refused her?
