Then I thought of Ionwyn and Carrick. They needed every moment I could give them.
I felt a tingling in my hand as I brushed a plant. Nettles!
I turned and ran into the patch.
I heard the crash of foliage as a Hunter followed me, then an Otherworldly howl funneled through a human throat.
I didn’t feel the stings after that as I ran on, pushing nettles out of the way.
The whistles stopped, or were drowned in howls as my pursuers encountered the nettles.
I slowed, giving myself a chance to gather my breath, but I didn’t stop. The Hunters still howled their pain. I could double back to the cave before they recovered, guaranteeing that my swan-brothers would follow me to the lake beside the cave.
It was worth the risk.
Go!
I burst from the nettles and surged forward again. As I ran, the sound of the howls receded into—
A shadow leaped out from the trees.
Chapter 57
The Hunter threw me to the ground, my face in the crumbling leaves beside the trail. I pushed myself to my knees, but a heel between my shoulder blades shoved me down.
“Curse it again and again,” the voice growled over me.
More footsteps as other Hunters joined us.
“She is untouchable,” said another, more human voice. But it didn’t comfort me. I could hear the growls threading their voices. And through it all was the panting, as if they were wolves just finished running.
My breath came in shallow gasps, fear so tight I could barely breathe, the boot on my back pressing my face into the leaves.
I began coughing, inhaling dust and crumbled leaves.
Hands pulled me up, but I remained doubled over, tears streaming down my cheeks as I gasped and coughed.
As soon as I could breathe, the Hunters tied my hands behind me. “March, Princess.”
They led me through the forest at a grueling pace, offering no help except to pull me to standing whenever I fell.
At first I looked for nettles, thinking I could dive into them. But the Hunters would not be fooled again and led me clear of the nettle patch I’d run through earlier. A stinging tingle had begun in my hands, though I couldn’t be sure whether that was from the nettles or the too-tight binding around my wrists.
A wisp of wind curled around me, and I looked up as if I could follow it out of the forest. The moon was rising. In two more nights, it would be full. The following morning, the six years would be completed.
I shuddered. That meant two days with the Queen.
She’d only needed one to destroy our lives.
I stared at the moon, willing it to grow fuller as I walked. I needed my brothers!
I couldn’t face the Queen alone.
What evil would she work this time? I stumbled to a stop, paralyzed.
“Move!” growled a Hunter.
I couldn’t. Breathe . . . breathe.
A shove from behind. So vicious that I stumbled forward.
Run.
It was as if every prayer I’d sent out into the night had been gathered up—image by image—and this was the reply. It wasn’t till the Hunter shoved me again that I understood the command: Run toward the Queen.
No. I shook my head. I can’t. I’ll fail. I’ll fail and they’ll all die.
It’s time. Run toward her.
I waited for the fear to break, for my terror to ease. It did not.
Run!
I took one step. The fear didn’t break, but it did not grow stronger.
Another step.
Another.
You are that turning point, Ryn. I knew it the moment I saw you. You will turn this story.
And then I was striding toward the castle, walking so fast that the fear couldn’t catch me. I looked up at the moon and felt the anger wax inside me.
I’d run from her for six years. I’d taught Carrick to run. And that would have been fine if my own heart hadn’t been fleeing. I’d run once more, but this time I would meet the Queen, not flee her.
She would not hurt my brothers or take Carrick.
Chapter 58
The Hunters skirted the edges of Fianna, avoiding anyone who might question them. Even once we were on Castle Hill, I knew there’d be no Finn looming up out of the darkness to stand between me and my captors. Yet somehow, that comforted me. It meant that the Queen needed to hide. And well she should! When the Ri returned . . .
Hunters surrounded me entirely once we reached the castle, giving me no chance to attract anyone’s attention. They took me to a dark, empty chamber in the guest quarters. I hardly had the strength to care—or to take advantage of the fact that they’d loosened my hands. I’d run far and fast as I led the Hunters away from Ionwyn, and then I’d been marched back.
It was a wonder I could stand.
But I stood straight as a soldier when the Queen walked into the room, followed by—
Father.
I threw myself at him.
My fingers had barely brushed his tunic before I was dragged back.
“Who is this maid?” Father gazed at me pityingly. “Why does she cling to me?”
“She’s gone mad, I think,” answered the Queen. “Poor child.”
“I leave her to you, dearest.” Father smiled as he turned to leave. “Perhaps you can save her as you saved me.”
I couldn’t call out, so I clapped my hands.
Father swung to face me, puzzled.
I gestured toward myself. Look at me!
His polite expression faltered, and I thought he might recognize me. Finally, he nodded: not a father, but a king bestowing a benediction.
Then he left.
The Queen waited before speaking, giving fear room to blossom.
“After six long years, Andaryn, have you not learned how futile it is to defy me?” She leaned close. “How dangerous?”
Stand, said the voice inside me. Just stand.
So I stood, legs trembling beneath me, and learned that sometimes standing is its own form of courage.
The Queen once again circled me slowly, like a snake throwing coil after coil of its body around me.
“Where is the child?” she asked the nearest Hunter.
“No child,” he snarled.
Her gaze flashed to me. But I looked straight ahead, counting the building stones on the wall behind her.
She drew her hand to slap me but stopped. “I swore your life would be sacred, and I will extend that vow even further. I will not touch you until our agreement has been met.”
“Strike her,” she told one of the Hunters.
He backhanded me.
I stumbled back, fire and fear streaming through me. But it was a release too. I didn’t have to wait for the worst to happen anymore. I knew where I stood.
I glared at her as I licked the blood from the corner of my mouth and realized: the Queen was scared. I knew fear—I’d lived with it for years—and I saw it in her face.
I regained my footing and stared at the wall opposite me, mentally tracing the odd shapes of the stones and the mold that mottled it.
Snake-like, the Queen’s hand flashed toward me. She didn’t strike, oh no. She yanked the chain that held the Kingstone fragment around my neck.
I flailed out, trying to regain it, but she’d already taken it. A half second later, she’d knotted it around her own neck.
The Queen traced a feather-light finger over my shoulder, but I didn’t look from the wall. “No more nettle cloak. No Kingstone. And no boy-child.”
She spoke a single, harsh word, and the Hunter dropped to his knees, whimpering with pain.
The Queen turned back to me. “How did you learn about the nettles? What else did you make from them?”
I didn’t answer.
“Miserable old woman! My only regret is that she was dead before we found her. What did she tell you?”
Finally, I looked at the Queen.
I slowly brought a finger to my lips, the lips she
’d closed six years ago. Shhh.
The Queen reared back, livid, and grabbed the cloak of the nearest Hunter. “Find the child! Kill anyone who shelters him, and bring him to me.” She slanted a glance at me. “You are not required to bring all of him to me—but he must be alive.”
I dove at her, slapping her face with all the strength I could muster. She fell against the wall, and I rushed forward to strike her again.
The Hunters held me back, and the Queen raised her hand to—
The door was flung open. Finn strode through it, followed by the Ri.
He slowly took in the scene before him: the Queen with my handprint on her cheek; me held back by two Hunters, blood on my lip. I’d spent the night running for my life through the forest, through nettles. I must have looked as wild as I had when I first rushed out of the forest.
I waited for him to set everything right.
Instead, the Ri stared at the Queen, pain so plain on his face that I thought he’d been wounded, even though there was no blood on his tunic.
And the Queen? Something washed across her face: longing and . . . love?
“Son,” she whispered.
No. It couldn’t be.
But the Ri didn’t tell her to take back the lie. His face paled, and I realized there had been a wound. It was just that the blood didn’t show.
The Queen was his mother, banished from Fianna after killing her lover. And the golden-haired king who took the Queen from the old woman’s cottage?
That was Corbin’s father.
Finally, the Ri looked at me. I let him see my fear, tried to show that the Queen—his mother—was the one I’d been fleeing all along. I needed him to ask why my lip was swollen and my clothes were torn, but his gaze was closed to me. Vacant.
Father had looked that way when he returned from the forest.
The Ri opened his arms to the Queen. “Mother! What happened here?”
It would’ve hurt less if he’d struck me. I sagged against the Hunters who held me.
“Keep her away from me!” The Queen clung to him. “Do you see what she’s done?”
Finn didn’t believe a word. Hadn’t he told me he’d learned long ago not to listen to her? He watched me instead, as if he could see all that had happened in my face.
I prayed he could.
“I know this girl,” continued the Queen. “I met her in the forest years ago. Her name is Ryn or something equally ridiculous.”
Finn muttered a curse under his breath. Even the Ri seemed surprised, though he didn’t speak, as if he too had given his tongue to the Queen.
“She had a baby with her. I think she’d stolen it from some poor peasant, for it wasn’t hers.”
When the Ri didn’t speak, Finn did. “That child is the Ri’s ward.”
The Queen looked horrified. “I saw her steal him away tonight and sent my guard to bring them back! They returned with her alone. When I questioned her about the boy, she struck me!”
And still the Ri didn’t answer.
“There were men who walked with her, sometimes. I fear she’s taken your ward to them.” Her voice faltered in the Ri’s silence.
Perhaps he hadn’t lost himself to her. Perhaps his silence only masked his fury.
The Queen’s eyes filled with tears, and she looked up at her son. Her son! My skin crawled at the thought. “Have I displeased you? I thought only of the boy.”
“How many?”
“What?” asked the Queen.
“How many men walked with her?” The Ri’s voice cracked under some great strain.
The Queen smiled to hear the jealousy in his voice. “Six men. If my guards find them as they search for the child, they’ll see to them.”
“You sent your own men out to hunt them?”
Hunt. Perhaps he was not under her power yet.
“To rescue the child who is your ward.”
The Ri nodded slowly, as if absorbing the news. “Where is Ionwyn?”
Finn didn’t take his eyes off the Hunters, his hand resting on his sword hilt. “No sign of her, my Ri.”
The Ri didn’t blink.
Think! I wanted to shout. You know there’s a reason Ionwyn isn’t here. You said your mother was heartless—why do you trust her now?
But I’d seen my father. I knew why the Ri trusted his mother.
“You’re sure the girl walked with six men?” He spoke thickly, as if half-asleep.
“Yes. Six. But I do not believe she lay with all of them.”
I lurched forward to give her other cheek a matching slap, but the Hunters kept me pinned between them.
The Ri turned away from his mother and stood before me.
I turned my head away. How could he lose himself to her so quickly?
“Listen to me.” Something bright as fire threaded his voice.
I looked back, startled. His gaze was as real as touch, asking me to understand. “Lady Ryn, I cannot shelter you.”
This wasn’t how I’d hoped it would be: the first time the Ri spoke my name, to tell me he’d leave me under the Queen’s power.
I cannot shelter you.
Then the memory of the trial rolled over me. Once more, I felt flagstones under my knees, the weight of my braid pulled over my shoulder. Saw the Ri’s face as he knelt and warned me, If you challenge him to this, I cannot shelter you.
And I heard, just as clearly, what he dared not speak with the Queen so near: I will support you, even in this.
Even if it looked like he was leaving me.
“Do you understand me?”
I nodded.
One last look, asking if I could meet what was before me.
I can. I will.
He pressed his lips together and turned to his mother. “I’ll see to the search for Carrick myself. Ryn will remain in the dungeon until I return tomorrow.”
The Queen melted with relief. “I will send some of my own men to ride with you. How wise of you to understand so quickly, son! You are like your father.”
The Ri flinched but covered it with a half-smile.
“High praise indeed.” He nodded to Finn. “Bring Ryn. I’ll imprison her myself. And then, we’ll set my house in order.”
Chapter 59
The Ri himself put stone walls and an iron door between me and the Queen before he left that morning.
I stood in the middle of the dim cell, my unsteady breath echoing off the walls. I was filthy from my flight through the forest, but the floor of the cell was worse: stinking and slick with something I dared not touch.
I walked to the cell door and pressed my hands flat against it. The Ri would be back in a day. He’d promised. He’d find Ionwyn and Carrick and the tunics at the cave—surely he’d know to search there!—and Ionwyn would be able to explain everything.
It will only be a day.
And all I could do was wait. I had some hope, though. Perhaps my swan-brothers had reached the old lake. I knew if the Hunters had found them at the lake near the castle, the Queen would have delighted to show me their bodies.
I shuddered.
What I’d have given to tell my story! Instead, I’d stood mute before the Queen while she talked about hunting those I loved most.
I turned back to the cell, with the weak light slanting through the tiny window.
I’d tell my story anyway. I’d tell it here: a prayer for those I loved and a defiance to the Queen. Whoever came tomorrow would see my story in this cell.
I twisted my skirt and tucked it into my belt so that it wouldn’t drag in the muck. Then I crouched and reached a finger to the floor. I recoiled from the slime at first, but the story inside me was stronger. It was my way of fighting.
I drew a girl in a library with a book in her lap.
I drew a woman made of iron and ice with a voice that reached, like smoke, into the king’s heart and mind.
Then the girl again, with her voice pulled from her like a snail from its shell, while six swans took to the air around her.
/> I drew the wind that turned the swans to men and back to swans again.
I drew Tanwen, fire and voice in the dark of the enchantment, and her final victory over the Hunters.
I drew the swans towing the girl and a babe across the sea, their three-note trumpets streaming in the wind behind them.
I drew the Ri, who opened his home to the girl and her boy, whose words in the great hall helped her stand before Connach. I traced one of the Ri’s knots around him and the girl, turning over and over itself so that even I couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended.
And finally I drew a lake with six men standing beside it.
I stretched out my finger to draw the sun above the horizon, its light streaming over the men for the first time in years.
But I couldn’t draw it. Not yet. I couldn’t tell whether it was cowardice or wisdom.
I looked over the pictures and saw that for the first time, I’d drawn sound and voice: the Queen’s, the voice I’d lost, Tanwen’s, even the swans’—their voices like banners in the pictures.
The Queen. My brothers. Even the swan-children of Lir in Ionwyn’s story had voices.
Enchanted voices. Otherworldly songs. And the Queen at the center of it.
I felt like I stood on the threshold of a great secret, but I didn’t know how to step across.
I looked up at the window. The light was failing toward evening already. I’d spent hours over my picture-prayers. I remembered the certainty of the night before—that it was time to run toward the Queen.
Before the last of the light faded, I drew the sun shining down over my six brothers, standing as men.
Sometime that night, I fell asleep.
I awoke to a scratching at the door, then the shriek of metal scraping against metal. I pressed myself back against the wall, hoping that it was the Ri himself, back like he’d promised.
Let them be safe. Let them be alive.
But it was not a Hunter come to fetch me. Or the Ri come to free me.
It was Father.
Chapter 60
I stood slowly, not trusting my eyes. Had the Queen sent him to break my heart again?
“I don’t wish to alarm you, child,” Father said, standing in the open doorway. “But your face reminds me of something. Though I don’t know what it is.”
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