“What?” he exclaimed. “How would I know that?” His surprise and irritation appeared genuine, but Branwen didn’t trust her instincts in this moment.
“You recognized him. The man in the rowboat.”
Ruan worried a knuckle against his lower lip. “I thought I’d seen him before. I couldn’t remember where.” He leaned across his mount, reaching for Branwen, and she lurched backward in her own saddle, out of his grasp. “What are you accusing me of?” he demanded.
“The pirate king has been working for House Whel,” she said. “He’s admitted it. You are the one fond of accusations, but this is not an accusation. It’s a fact.”
“No, Branwen.” Ruan’s eyes widened, horrified. “He’s a pirate! He’s full of lies!”
“Andred saw him at Villa Illogan on several occasions. With Prince Edern.”
Ruan let out a string of Kernyvak curses, then dragged a hand through his wind-knotted locks.
“Branwen,” he said, pleading. “Let us go somewhere we can talk properly.” She cast him a skeptical look. “Just there.” He pointed back toward Monwiku. “By the rock pools.”
She acquiesced with a curt nod. Even if he was a traitor, Branwen didn’t believe he would ever harm her.
Letting Ruan take the lead, they dismounted farther along the road. Below, waves crashed against the cliffs, a dull turquoise. To Branwen’s surprise, a wooden bench decorated with sea glass had been erected between the rock pools.
“After you,” said Ruan, gesturing for Branwen to be seated. “A resting place for travelers.”
He lowered himself next to her, careful not to brush against her. Branwen traced her forefinger around the bits of sea glass: green, blue, and crimson.
“If you think I’m a traitor,” Ruan began. “Why have you come to warn me?”
“Because I care about you. Because I don’t want it to be true.”
“What lies has this pirate king told you?” He gripped the edge of the bench tightly between his fists.
“Prince Edern wanted the throne for himself. He staked the pirate raids to undermine Marc’s authority as a young king,” said Branwen. “When Edern died—” Ruan flicked her a sidelong glance. “Afterward,” she started again, “Countess Kensa continued the arrangement with the aim of making you king.”
Ruan shook his head, half laughing. “I could believe anything of Edern,” he said, voice forlorn. “But I have never coveted the throne. Even if I truly were of royal blood.”
“Only your mother and Endelyn know—knew that you’re not.”
“And you.”
Branwen started, realization creeping over her. “Did you tell your mother I know?”
His amber eyes flashed. “The night of Queen Verica’s funeral, after you went to bed … I got myself drunker. My mother and I had an argument. I may have told her I love you and that I wanted you to know who I really was.”
She gulped. “Don’t you see?” Branwen said, putting together the pieces. “Endelyn stole the queen’s seal ring for the countess, and the countess sent Tutir and Bledros to kill me—because I could expose you.”
Ruan shook his head more violently, and Branwen could practically hear his wrestling thoughts. The guardsmen had tried to silence her not because she knew the queen’s secret, but because she knew the countess’s. Framing Eseult was merely a bonus.
“The pirate king admitted that Bledros came from the Veneti Isles. And Bledros hired the Armorican assassin—most likely poisoned him, too.”
“And where is this pirate king now?”
“At the castle. Being held in your—in the King’s Tower, until he can testify before the barons.”
Ruan’s knuckles bulged white against the bench.
“Go to Marc,” Branwen entreated. “Tell him you had no part in this.”
“I can’t believe my mother would resort to murder,” he said. “She’s conniving and ambitious, but murder is something else. She wept for months after my true father died.” His eyes had grown glossy. “She wouldn’t take you away from me, Branwen. She wouldn’t.”
“She ordered the attack on Tristan’s ship—the one last spring that landed him in Iveriu. With Tristan dead, you would have been the obvious heir.”
“Even if what you’re saying were true, I would never take the throne from Marc, and my mother knows it.” The words were nearly a growl.
“But you wanted to wage war against Armorica, and so did the barons. King Marc has been losing their support for some time. People are unhappy about freeing the prisoners, about the peace with Iveriu,” Branwen pointed out. “Your accusations against Tristan and the queen only served to further undermine Marc’s reign, make him look like a weak leader.”
“The countess had nothing to do with that.” Ruan pummeled the sea glass with his fist. “I was dishonored, Branwen! And my mother has been inconsolable since Endelyn’s death. She blames me for that, too!”
“Ruan,” said Branwen, iron in her voice. “You told me yourself that your mother forbade you from going to the Veneti Isles. She knew it was an ambush. The pirate king received a warning by white raven.”
Ruan’s head lifted involuntarily. He jammed his lips together. Branwen slipped a hand behind his neck, and he shuddered a sigh.
“We don’t always see the truth about the people we love,” she said quietly.
His gaze grew pained. “No, we don’t. When I saw you on the road just now, I was fool enough to think you might have realized you loved me.”
Branwen broke his stare, letting her eyes wander to a serpent star crawling on the bottom of a rock pool. She continued to stroke the back of his neck.
“My father gave me his knife the last time I saw him alive,” Ruan began. “A few of the miners had escaped the week before, and Prince Edern was behaving even more … unreasonably than usual.”
He scoffed. “When I learned of the prisoners’ escape, I was afraid my father had left me. He gave me his knife as a promise that he never would.”
Branwen’s heart cramped. “His name was Conchobar, wasn’t it?” Ruan nodded. “There’s an Ivernic hero by that name—a legendary king, married to the warrior queen Medhua. It’s said he was so wise that he was made High King of Iveriu when he was only seven years old.”
A smile flickered on Ruan’s lips. “My father wasn’t wise. He should have left with the others.” He shook his head. “Edern saw Conchobar giving me the knife, embracing me—and he finally noticed that I resembled the miner more than I did him.”
“That wasn’t your fault,” Branwen said in a whisper.
“I don’t know what you want from me, karid.”
“I want you to go to Marc—or to flee. I don’t want you to die.”
Ruan stared at her. “And condemn my mother?”
Branwen unpinned the brooch from her shawl. “This belonged to my mother, Lady Alana. She was wearing it the day she died.” She turned it over so the light glimmered on the silver inscription.
“The ancient Ivernic language of trees,” she said.
“What does it say?”
“The right fight.”
Branwen pierced the collar of Ruan’s tunic with the needle. “I believe you will make the right choice.”
“I can’t accept this.”
She finished hooking the clasp. “You gave me your father’s knife.” Part of her ached as she gifted the brooch to him, but “I want you to have this,” she said firmly, and she prayed it would be enough to convince Ruan to save himself.
“You will never not fascinate me,” he said. The surf surged up against the cliffs. “I need time to think.”
Branwen rose to standing. “Will you warn the countess?”
He shook his head. “My mother would never flee,” Ruan said. “But, no. Besides, there’s no way to outrun the Royal Guard. When will she be arrested?”
“At the King’s Council meeting.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
She started to skirt between the rock pools w
hen Ruan called out, “Is a life at Monwiku really what you want?”
“My queen is here.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Branwen smelled rain on the salty air, a tang on her lips, as she left her former lover on the cliffs.
YOU HAD TIME
BRANWEN GLANCED AROUND THE GREAT Hall. There were Royal Guardsmen posted at every exit, and those who had been sent by House Whel had been relieved of duty. King Marc and Queen Eseult were ensconced on their thrones in the middle of the raised dais as members of the King’s Council entered the hall. Sir Goron stood behind them.
Afternoon light gleamed off Marc’s golden crown; diamonds winked from Eseult’s. For the first time, the monarchs appeared unified. Formidable.
Andred stood beside Branwen to the left of the dais. Xandru and the pirate king would remain just out of view, beneath a shrouded archway to the right of the king until they were summoned. Xandru had choreographed the council meeting so as not to arouse Countess Kensa’s suspicions.
Ruan didn’t believe his mother would flee, but Branwen thought her to be a survivor above all else. When Countess Kensa strode into the Great Hall, chin raised, Branwen released a breath. Ruan hadn’t warned her. It had been two days since their conversation on the cliffs above Marghas. She hadn’t seen him at Monwiku, and she presumed he’d returned to Villa Illogan.
Branwen looked past Countess Kensa, but there was no sign of Ruan. Her stomach dropped.
King Marc’s face remained impassive as the barons stopped before the dais. Baron Julyan leaned harder on his cane than usual, and Branwen noted that his face was thinner beneath his beard. Baron Chyanhal also regarded the elderly baron with concern.
Seer Casek trailed behind the countess, and Branwen exchanged a lightning quick glance with Tristan. He and Alba stood on the other side of Andred. The king had asked them to delay their departure for Karaez until after the council meeting without furnishing all of the details.
Barons Gwyk and Dynyon positioned themselves beside Countess Kensa, both of their faces creased, no doubt wondering why they had been directed to the Great Hall rather than the king’s study. Baron Kerdu took his place next to Baron Julyan.
Once everyone was assembled before the king and queen, King Marc let them wait another minute in taut silence. A summer wind blew through the cavernous space, and Branwen’s throat grew parched. The vast hall became stuffy, too small.
With a cough, Baron Gwyk was the first to speak. “Dymatis, my Lord King,” he said, bowing his head. “What news of the Veneti Isles?”
King Marc’s rib cage expanded as he drew down a breath. Tension slithered among the barons like a snake.
“The Veneti Isles are once more under Kernyvak control,” the king said, voice deep, with no satisfaction. “The pirates had been warned, but the combined fleet prevailed.”
Baron Kerdu clapped. “Kernyv bosta vyken!”
The others followed suit with an eruption of applause. Branwen watched Countess Kensa, who had pasted on a pleasant smile. The ruby combs holding back her plaits glittered.
Marc pushed to his feet, expression drawn.
“I have summoned you all here today not to relish our victory,” he said. “But to inform you of a defeat—a betrayal that cuts this kingdom to the quick.”
The countess stilled, but her smile faltered only a fraction. Branwen rubbed her gloved right hand against the skirt of her linen dress. Baron Julyan inhaled a short breath at the king’s pronouncement.
“What betrayal is this?” Seer Casek asked. He fidgeted with his jewel-encased antler shard.
“Captain Xandru!” the king said, raising his voice.
Branwen’s eyes darted to where she knew he was waiting. The forms of two men emerged from the shadows. As light from the oil lamps spread over the men’s faces, Branwen sucked in a painful breath.
“What is the meaning of this?” Countess Kensa exclaimed. Outrage lit her blue eyes.
Ruan walked toward the dais, his hands in chains. The skin around his left eye was puce-colored, swollen. He wore the same clothes as when Branwen had last seen him. Lady Alana’s brooch was pinned to his tunic. His eyes traced the stone floor, chest concave.
What had Ruan done?
Andred stiffened at Branwen’s side. Fear and sympathy welled. Her gaze roved, frantic, from Ruan to Eseult to the king. Eseult seemed as surprised as Branwen. Marc remained stoic as he nodded at Xandru. Branwen peered at Tristan, who balled his hands into fists. Alba curled her lip.
One hand clenched around Ruan’s upper arm, Xandru was the one to answer the countess.
“Prince Ruan was apprehended the night before last attempting to murder Remus—the pirate king,” he announced to the barons. Xandru called out something in the dialect of the Veneti Isles, and Otho pushed Remus forward from beneath another darkened archway.
Murmurs escaped the barons. Branwen’s heart seized.
Remus was dressed in a fresh tunic and breeches. His hands were also bound, and there was a vulgar smile on his baby face. His eyes were large, perhaps from being half drunk.
“What reason would Prince Ruan have for wanting the pirate king dead?” asked Baron Julyan.
“Prince Ruan was informed that the pirate king had confessed House Whel paid the pirates to attack Karaez, to ambush Prince Tristan’s ship last spring, and to assassinate the king.”
“Lies!” Countess Kensa declared, thrusting out a hand.
“Your son, Prince Andred, has confirmed that Remus met with the late Prince Edern at Villa Illogan on several occasions,” reported Xandru.
The countess spun toward Andred, expression venomous. The boy reeled backward.
“Prince Ruan wanted to prevent the pirate king from testifying to his family’s treason before the council,” the captain continued.
Baron Dynyon cleared his throat. “Precisely who informed Prince Ruan of the pirate king’s allegations, and how was he apprehended?”
Branwen swallowed. Ruan looked at her for the first time.
“The allegations are true, Baron Dynyon,” said Ruan. Branwen’s throat burned. “Lady Branwen asked me to confess my crimes to King Marc, ask for forgiveness. She told me where the pirate king was being held. When I arrived, however, he was nowhere to be found.” His tone was a mixture of remorse and acquiescence.
“Alas, no,” said Xandru. “Ruan discovered me in the pirate king’s bed when he put a knife to my throat.”
Anger seared Branwen, and now she understood how Ruan had obtained his black eye. Xandru had wagered that Ruan would kill to protect his family. He had used Branwen to bait the trap because of Ruan’s feelings for her.
She wanted to tell Ruan that she didn’t know, but she bit her tongue. What did it matter? She clumped her skirts in her hands.
“The treason is mine and mine alone,” Ruan told the barons, then pitched his gaze at Marc. “Please spare my mother and brother.”
“The pirate king says otherwise,” declared King Marc.
“The pirate king lies,” Ruan countered. His tone was curt but his shoulders sagged, a man who had accepted his fate.
Baron Chyanhal planted his feet, his generally placid demeanor tinged with menace. “The punishment for treason is death by burning.”
“I’m aware,” said Ruan, almost as if he were bored, slipping into the role of the caddish nobleman who had first greeted Branwen when she arrived in Kernyv. He was willing to burn for his mother’s crimes.
“I would like to hear the pirate king’s testimony,” pronounced Baron Julyan. He wheezed, and Branwen detected the phlegmy rattle of a chest infection.
Xandru inclined his head at Otho, who shoved Remus forward.
“He speaks Aquilan,” Xandru said to the baron. “Ask him your questions.”
“Remus? That is your name?” said Baron Julyan.
“King Remus,” he replied, puffing out his chest.
“A king no longer,” said A
lba, voice full of spite. Her hand felt reflexively for her sword, but she was unarmed.
“Remus,” Baron Julyan repeated. “Did Prince Ruan warn you of the impending attack?”
“The warning was delivered by white raven,” the pirate king said. He looked directly at Seer Casek. “The temple in Marghas often stakes our raids.”
Branwen’s lungs burned with hatred. This man who had tried to suppress her gods, to make her cousin bleed, was a traitor to the crown all along.
“That’s preposterous!” Seer Casek spluttered. “The temples teach the mercy of the Horned One. I am his servant.”
Remus shrugged, disinterested. Baron Kerdu glanced at Casek askance. Branwen glimpsed several guardsmen approaching from the back of the hall.
“And did Ruan instruct you to carry out the attack on Karaez? On Prince Tristan?” Baron Chyanhal pressed him. “And the king?”
Baron Gwyk and Baron Dynyon traded a glance, both paling considerably. They had allied themselves with the wrong House.
The pirate king smiled, running his tongue across his jagged teeth.
“Instructions for the raid on Karaez came directly from Countess Kensa after the assassination attempt failed. Payment for the attack on Prince Tristan came from the temple.” Remus shifted his eyes to Tristan. “If I were a honest man, I suppose I should refund their money.” His laugh was empty.
Seer Casek took several aggressive strides toward the dais. Xandru blocked his path. Alba moved toward the countess, fists white with rage, and Tristan held her back. Countess Kensa remained uncharacteristically quiet; she visibly swallowed.
“Are you going to take the word of a pirate over that of a kordweyd?” the seer challenged the king. “I would have thought that your faith was strong, my Lord King.”
“I am,” he answered coldly. “I recall that neither you nor the countess was present when I was attacked in the Morrois Forest. You both departed separately from the festival.”
Marc targeted Ruan with his gaze. “And Branwen had to prevent my Champion from killing the assassin. Although he made sure he was poisoned afterward.”
Ruan hung his head, but he didn’t protest his innocence. Branwen’s breathing grew shallow. Had he truly fooled her so thoroughly for so long?
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