Page 81 of Arise the Queen
Bryn seemed to consider this question for a long moment, then shook his head. But the silence lengthened between them, and she wondered if he was thinking of that night they’d found Talwyn in her father’s chamber—the cruel words he’d spoken. Gwendolyn knew Bryn had forgiven her for his father’s death, and she was grateful for it. But she was still having a difficult time of it herself—not simply Talwyn’s, but Aengus, as well. And these were but two lives she had ended. Although she felt differently about the men she’d put down in Brigantes, these were all still lives taken, and before the battle was done, she would extinguish many more.
It was a terrible weight to carry when she understood that, except for Locrinus and Estrildis, every one of those men who would fight against her was doing what they thought was justand right. She had done the right thing to ask Freydis to keep those prisoners as long as she could. When the war was over, and Locrinus was gone, she had every faith that they would reconsider their loyalties.
Peering at Bryn, she lifted a brow. “I suppose I should tell you that Esme has sought my blessing…”
He feigned at surprise, his shining black hair falling across his eyes. “For what?”
Gwendolyn lifted her chin, then a second brow, because, truly, she did not know what Esme was asking blessings for—to love Bryn?
To bed him?
To what?
Bryn’s cheeks turned red. “And what did you say?”
“Nothing,” Gwendolyn admitted. “Esme will do what Esme will do.”
Bryn pressed her. “But how doyoufeel about it?”
Gwendolyn tilted him a sideways glance. “I’ve told you true, Bryn. I only wish you to be happy, and if Esme is the one who will make it so, I wish this for you.”
His shoulders relaxed then. “I believe she might be the one.” He smiled hopefully, and in that moment, Gwendolyn vowed to support any decision he made, including following Esme into the Fae realms. If, like Emrys, Bryn should wish to join her there, Gwendolyn would never stand in his way.
“Good,” she said, and then, unwilling to fosteranymore secrets, she confessed everything else Esme had revealed—everything.
“Sisters?” he said and whistled. Lifting a hand to his head, he rubbed like a nervous little boy. “Do not detest me for saying so, Gwendolyn… but I can too easily believe this…”
Gwendolyn laughed, shoving him with the pad of her hand, because she knew him well enough to know it wasn’t intended to be flattery, no matter how he might feel about Esme.
“Alas,” he said. “One cannot be queen without a bit of hubris, and you’ve more than your share.” He made a face, and Gwendolyn smacked him again.
“And truly,” he persisted. “As I’ve said, I always knew there was something… odd… about you.”
“Art hoping I will kill you now, so you needn’t worry about the battle?” She smirked.
“No. But really,” he added. “I am so proud of you, Gwendolyn—this is why I intend to follow you till my dying breath, and Esme will as well. I promise you, I did not know about any of the things Esme revealed, but I knew she loved you.” He ducked his head, embarrassed. “It is the thing we bonded over.”
“That and more,” Gwendolyn teased. “Alas,” she said, her mood darkening again. “You well may follow me to the grave. A most impressive sight they might be, but we are still very much outnumbered.”
“No matter,” said Bryn, grinning. “You have Esme on your side.” He laughed and shook his head. “Truly, she alone will fell a hundred!”
Another length of silence fell between them, and when Bryn spoke again, Gwendolyn could hear the pride in his voice. “Have you seen her wield a blade?”
Of course, Gwendolyn had—in the Brigantes’ woods when they were set upon by Loc’s brigands—but Gwendolyn didn’t have the chance to remind him of that because he continued sober as an alderman.
“Only consider this… you’ve two thousand Fae warriors in your company. If each one fells a hundred men, you’ve still the advantage. They alone give you the strength of twenty thousand!”
Gwendolyn lifted her brow. That was puffery, at best, but she didn’t have the heart to deny him that hope. “From your lips to the gods’ ears,” she allowed, and then she slapped herself on the thigh and rose.
“Come, now. Let us return. Before they come searching.” She offered him her hand, dragging him to his feet, and together they made their way back to camp. But as they neared, and the clanking of armor and the sounds of soldiers training filling Gwendolyn’s ears, she squared her shoulders.
“There you are,” said Taryn, rushing to greet them. “Thank the gods! You’d best stop those twoeejits—your grandfather and Caradoc will kill each other before Locrinus has the chance!”
Gwendolyn rolled her eyes. “Excellent,” she said.
The two old fools had begun sparring weeks ago, after Caradoc joined them in Petvaria, and they were a bit too evenly matched. Now, they appeared intent upon proving their superiority, at the expense of losing two valuable warriors. And then suddenly, Gwendolyn knew how to settle their dispute and perhaps how to ease her own disquietude as well—put to rest any lingering doubts about her own worth. It was one thing to take a man’s head by surprise—even a king’s—still another to face him evenly and best him. And this was perhaps at the heart of her malaise over leading these men into battle.
“Where are they?” she asked.
