by Morgan Rice
Servants stiffened and opened doors to her mother’s chamber at her approach, and Gwendolyn entered to find her sitting there at her small table, playing a solitary game of chess, as she always did. It brought back memories of when Gwen would play with her. Now her mother was a woman alone, hardened and cold, not wanting anyone’s company, but only that of a game.
Nearby stood her old and trusted servant, Hafold, who never seemed to be far away.
As Gwendolyn walked into the room, her mother turned and looked at her, which surprised Gwen, as her mother usually ignored her. Now, her mother actually looked at her with a whole new respect.
“Leave us,” her mother commanded Hafold, and unlike times past, Hafold bowed and exited quickly. They both showed Gwen a respect she had never received before. It was as if her mother looked at her with whole new eyes.
The door closed behind her, and Gwendolyn stood there and faced her mother alone.
“Please, sit with me.”
“I do not wish to play,” Gwendolyn said.
Her mother shook her head.
“We do not need to play. Just sit. Like we used to.”
Gwendolyn came and sat beside her mother, facing each other diagonally at the small chess table. She looked down and studied the ornate pieces, small military figures dressed in black and white robes, wielding magic weapons.
Gwendolyn sighed and looked out the window.
“I was pleased to hear of your return from the Tower,” her mother said. “It did not sit well with me, you secluding yourself. You are part of the world and you need to be in it.”
Gwendolyn nodded back. She was surprised to hear her mother cared for, and surprised to hear her being so kind. Clearly, losing her husband and her queenship had humbled her mother. This was not the same mother she had grown up with.
“The kingdom is happy to have you back,” her mother said. She hesitated, then added: “And I am happy to have you back, too.”
Gwendolyn looked over and saw her mother smiling at her with compassionate eyes, for the first time in her life. They were eyes lined with hardship, her face covered in lines and spots. Gwendolyn could not help but wonder if one day her face would look like that, too. She knew what it took for her mother to utter those words, and it meant a lot to her, even if it was too little, too late.
“Secluding yourself from the world is easy,” her mother said. “Being a part of it—that is what is hard. And a queen’s life is the hardest of all.”
Gwendolyn thought about that. She was beginning to understand how her mother felt. As queen she could not help but feel the responsibility of all these people, feel it in the weight of every decision she made.
“We were paid a visit by Tirus this morning,” Gwendolyn said.
“I heard.”
Gwendolyn looked at her mother, surprised.
“How?”
Her mother smiled.
“I have my people still,” she said.
Gwen surveyed her mother, impressed. She was an easy woman to underestimate; even in her state, she still had considerable resources.
“You did the right thing,” her mother said. “Your father’s younger brother is a pig. He always has been. Those MacGils have all the class of the Upper Isles, which is none. They are beneath you, beneath all of us. Tirus brought his family to the Upper Isles because he wanted a place to plot and build power and vie for the throne. If he had been a true brother, a loyal brother, he would have stayed in King’s Court, at his brother’s side.
“Do not accept any terms for surrender. He is ruthless. Regardless of what he promises, he will one day kill all of his brother’s issue, so that no one else could have a claim to the throne. You are the one and only true ruler of this kingdom now; don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Not your uncle, and not anyone else. Fight for what you have; your father would want it no other way.”
Gwen thought about all she said, and her mother’s thoughts confirmed her own. She knew her mother would have wisdom to share, and she felt better already. In some ways, the two of them thought exactly alike.
Feeling resolved on the issue, Gwen sighed and looked away, and found her thoughts drifting back to Thor. It weighed on her even more than any of her other troubles. She wished she had never sent him away; it was nagging at her and would not go away. She wished she could take it back. But it was too late.
As she looked at her mother, she suddenly wondered how much her mother knew. She was starting to realize that maybe, deep down, that was why she had really come to her to begin with—not to discuss her uncle, but to discuss Thor.
“I made a grave mistake today,” Gwen said, not looking at her, looking out through the window, her voice getting deeper and harder, sounding more and more like her mother’s. “I sent away someone who loved me very much.”
The former queen sighed.
“A mistake all of us are bound to make at one time. But the one thing you learn in life, as years turn into decades, is that it’s never too late to rectify your mistakes. There is always a second chance. And if there’s not, you can always create a second chance. The power to create it lies in your hands.”
“I am afraid, in my case, it might be too late,” Gwen said. “I may have just sent him to his death.”
There was a long silence as her mother studied her.
“You speak of Thorgrin?” she asked.
Gwendolyn nodded back.
“Yes. I suppose you should be happy, mother. You hated him anyway.”
Her mother sighed.
“I never hated him,” she corrected. “I hated him for you.”
“Because of who his father is?” Gwendolyn asked.
As she asked the question, she watched her mother’s eyes closely. She saw them flicker, and she knew then that her mother knew. Gwen could not believe it.
“You knew!” Gwendolyn said, standing, outraged. “You knew all this time, and you never once told me!”
Her mother shook her head sadly.
“I told you to stay away from him. I tried to force you to stay away from him.”
“But you still didn’t tell me,” Gwen insisted.
“I knew that one day you would find out,” she said. “I wanted you to learn the news on your own. So you could decide for yourself to stay away from him.”
“Because you think his father’s blood runs in him? Because you think he will harm me?”
The Queen shook her head.
“No. You still don’t understand. Not because there is any flaw in Thorgrin. But because there is a flaw in you.”
Gwen looked back, confused.
“In me?” she asked.
“You are just like your father—you and all of the MacGils. You have always put so much credence on ancestry. But you are all wrong. There is much more to a person than who they descend from. How many countless tyrants descend from noble kings? And how many good kings descend from monsters? The son never equals the father.”
Gwendolyn thought about that. Of course, her mother was correct. But it was still hard, emotionally, to accept it, especially after what Andronicus had done to her.
“You cannot blame sons for fathers’ sins,” the queen added.
“You should have told me,” Gwendolyn said.
“I told you to stay away from him.”
“But you should have told me why. You should have told me the truth, the whole truth, upfront.”
“And what would you have done? Would you have stayed away from him?”
Gwendolyn thought about that, caught off guard. Her mother had a point.
“I … might have.”
“You would not have,” her mother retorted. “You were blinded by love.”
Gwendolyn pondered that.
“I never thought Thor would be a bad match for you,” her mother said. “On the contrary, I knew he would be the perfect match.”
Gwen furrowed her brow, confused.
“Then why did you so try so hard to keep us apart?” she ask
ed.
She studied her mother, who seemed strangely silent.
“I sense there’s something else you’re not telling me, mother.”
Her mother turned and looked away, and finally Gwen could sense that she was onto something. Her mother was withholding something from her.
After a long silence, her mother finally cleared her throat.
“There was a prophecy,” her mother said slowly, tentatively. “I haven’t spoke of it since you were a child. The night you were born, a stargazer came to your father. He proclaimed a prophecy about you. He proclaimed that you would be a great ruler—a greater ruler than your father ever was.”
Gwendolyn’s heart pounded as something made sense.
“Is that why he chose me to rule?” she asked. “Of all the children? Because of the prophecy?”
Her mother shrugged.
“Possibly. I don’t think so. I think he saw something in you. I think he would have chosen you either way. He loved you the most. Even more than me.”
Gwendolyn could feel her mother’s jealousy, her sadness; for the first time, she felt sorry for her.
“I am sorry, mother,” she said.
Her mother shrugged and looked away, yet by the way she was wringing her hands, Gwen could tell there was something more on her mind.
“What is it?” Gwen asked, puzzled.
Her mother would not meet her eyes and something occurred to Gwen.
“Was there something more to the prophecy?” Gwendolyn pressed, sensing that there was. “Surely that wasn’t the only reason you scared Thor away?”
Her mother hesitated, reluctant. Finally, after an endless silence, her mother looked right at her, and Gwen could see the heaviness in her gaze.
“The prophecy foretold that you would marry,” her mother said, her voice grave. “That you would bear a son. And that your husband would die young.”
Gwendolyn gasped. She tried to catch her breath, feeling as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on her head.
“That is why I did not want you to be with Thorgrin,” her mother finally admitted. “I wanted to spare you that heartbreak.”
Gwendolyn stood, numb. She was in a trance as she walked from the room and back into the hall, wishing her life was over.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Thorgrin, gripping the Destiny Sword, rode on the back of Mycoples, her great wings flapping, taking them ever farther from Silesia. He felt hollowed out. As they soared through the clouds, racing into the early morning sun, he reflected on his encounter with Gwendolyn, and hardly knew what to think.
Thor kept replaying in his mind’s eye the look she had given him when he had told her, when she had found out who his father was. It was a look of horror. He had watched her love for him grow cold in that glance, watched her eyes, once shining with love and devotion, become dull with anger and disappointment. The thought of it still left a pain in his chest.
Thor could not help but feel that their relationship had fallen apart, was lost forever. They had once been so close, he had been about to propose to her, to give her the ring. He only had left to tell her the news of his father.
But now…he didn’t see how she would ever accept his proposal now. It was clear that she hated him.
Thor felt the ring inside his shirt pocket, and wondered what would become of it. A part of him felt like just throwing it away, dropping it down and letting it drift through the air, land somewhere in the Ring. But he thought of his mother and realized he could not.
Thor urged Mycoples faster, the wind whipping his face, needing to clear his mind of all these thoughts. Maybe it was not Thor’s destiny to be with Gwen after all. Maybe his only destiny in this life was war and battle. Maybe he had been overreaching to think that he could be with a woman like Gwendolyn.
He forced himself to focus. Somewhere on the horizon lay his father, and he had to focus on the encounter ahead of him. As they raced across the Ring, getting ever closer to the great divide of the Highlands, the Destiny Sword throbbed in his hand. Thor felt both excitement and dread. On the one hand, he was excited to accept Andronicus’ surrender, to rid the Empire of his men, and put an end to the war for good.
On the other hand, Thor dreaded meeting his father face-to-face, especially under these terms. He felt uncontrollable hatred for him, for what he had done to Gwendolyn, to the Ring. If Thor had his choice, he would kill him, and it burned him that he had to accept his surrender. But that’s what had been decided by his people, and that is what he would do.
Thor tried to picture how it would go in his head, and he was having a hard time imagining it. Did Andronicus know he had a son? That it was Thor? Would he greet Thor as a father? As an adversary? Or both?
Meeting his father for the first time would be, in some ways, like meeting a part of himself. He needed to keep a cool head and not get caught up in his personal emotions. After all, he was representing his people.
They flew over the Highlands, the endless stretch of mountains rising in peaks below, covered in white from the snow, and finally there came into view the other side. Countless Empire troops filled the Eastern Kingdom, covering the ground like ants. Up ahead, in the distance, he spotted the center of their camp, saw a huge black and gold tent, and knew it must house Andronicus.
But suddenly Mycoples dove straight down, so steep that Thor nearly fell off.
“Mycoples, what is it?” Thor called out, surprised.
Mycoples dove down to one of the highest peaks on the mountain range, and set down beside a crystal-clear blue mountain lake.
As she sat there, beside this empty lake, so high they were nearly in the clouds, Thor looked down at her, puzzled. He had never seen her act this way before.
“Mycoples, tell me?” he asked.
She purred, blinking her eyes slowly.
“We must continue on,” Thor urged. “We have no time to waste. Please. Fly!”
But Mycoples, for the first time, ignored his command.
Instead, she lowered her head down to the shore and rested her chin beside its waters. She dropped her head, and Thor sensed a great sadness in her.
Thor dismounted and came over to her; he stared at her, then reached up and slowly stroked her long, narrow face, running his hand along her scales. She blinked slowly as he did, purring deep inside her throat, and leaned over and nudged him with affection with the side of her nose.
“What is it, girl?” he asked.
She made a funny noise deep inside, almost like a whine, and Thor knew something was wrong. He felt as if she were trying to give him a message, as if she were trying to tell him not to go.
“But I must go!” Thor said.
She suddenly leaned back her head, aiming it up at the heavens, and shrieked. It was a loud, tortured shriek, like a wail, filling the entire highlands, echoing off them again and again.
Thor stepped back, shocked. It was a wail of desperation. It was as if she knew something terrible were about to happen.
Realizing that she was not willing to fly anywhere, Thor decided to give her some space. Perhaps she would calm, and her mood would change.
He took a few steps over to the crystal clear waters of the lake, a gust of wind rippling off it in this freezing weather, the only sound in this desolate place that of the pebbles crunching beneath his boots. Thor looked down at the icy waters and saw them reflecting the morning sky above, filled with purple and pink and crimson clouds. The sight took his breath away.
He was about to look away when suddenly he glanced at his own reflection. He looked twice.
He could not believe it.
There, in the waters, looking back up at him, was not his face. Rather, he saw, staring back, on his body, the face of Andronicus.
Thor turned away, agitated, breathing hard, not wanting to look back at the waters. Was it real? Who was he becoming?
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Gwendolyn stood on the upper parapets of Srog’s castle, looking out at the swirli
ng mists of the Canyon. The fog blew in fast and furious, enveloping her legions of men below within her walls. Beyond the outer wall, she saw the legions of Tirus’ men, encamped like a plague, biding their time. She knew that when morning came, they would have a battle on their hands. Whether or not they chose to fight for their independence was not a question in her mind; now all that remained was how they chose to fight.
Beside her stood Srog, Kendrick, Brom, Atme, and all her generals, along with Godfrey, Reece, and several Silver, the small entourage walking the parapets together, looking out with her. They were all in preparation mode now, their battle faces on. Gwendolyn’s stomach turned. She was not afraid of battle; what bothered her was the idea of killing her own people, especially when so many of Andronicus’ men were still left within the Ring. After all, the other MacGils, however detestable, were people of her own blood, cousins she had once been friends with. At a time like this, they should all be sticking together.
But what choice did she have? They had forced her hand, and now it was live free or die. And freedom and honor were more important to her—and to all of them—than life.
As Gwendolyn looked down, she noticed a commotion inside the gate: a group of her attendants seemed to be arguing with a newly-arrived visitor. As she leaned over the edge and looked closely, she did a double-take. She recognized the man getting off the horse: he was short, with a twisted back, and carried an oversized bow. She knew that figure anywhere.
It couldn’t be. Had Steffen made it back to Silesia? Or was her mind playing tricks on her?
Suddenly there came a commotion at the entrance to the parapets, and Gwen turned to see her chief attendant rushing for her.
“My lady,” he said, agitated, sweating, “there is a commotion at the gate. We have a newcomer who claims he knows you; of course, given his appearance I assume it is a lie, and we are preparing to take him to the dungeons.”
Gwendolyn’s face flushed with embarrassment. She looked down and watched Steffen being led away from the main castle, toward the dungeon. She could see the look of shock and shame in his face.