“Do you have the object of succession?” Faolan said finally. When Gwen looked confused, he clarified. “Did she spill her blood on something?”
“Oh, the locket.” Gwen let her magic retreat and reached into her shirt to draw out the necklace. “It’s right here.”
She lifted it over her head and placed it in Faolan’s waiting hand. He waved her away.
“Off the center, please. I must conduct a test with the locket.”
Gwen hopped away from the center and Faolan placed the locket on the polished floor. He kneeled and placed one hand on the floor with fingers spread. The other he held over the locket.
Faolan’s magic poured visibly out of both hands and his eyes closed in concentration. Gwen stepped back and held her breath. The room with its crumbling wooden walls wavered in Gwen’s vision as the flames in the lanterns dimmed and throbbed.
A few moments passed, then Faolan’s eyes popped open with a frown. He pulled a short dagger out of a sheath on his belt.
“I need your blood,” he said without preamble, and held out his hand.
“My blood?” said Gwen. She swallowed.
“Don’t entertain foolish notions, girl. A pinprick will do. Give me your hand.”
Gwen held it out and tried not to wince when Faolan quickly but lightly jabbed her index finger with the tip of his dagger. He brought the dagger tip to lie beside the locket while Gwen sucked the metallic blood from her injured digit.
Faolan spent a few minutes prodding at the two objects with his magic. A few indistinct murmurs escaped his lips. Gwen stayed quiet on the side of the room and wondered what Faolan was doing. Was it a good sign that he was taking so long? Would he find out how to change the succession? Gwen wished he would say something—Faolan was nowhere near as forthcoming as his son Bran.
Finally, he stood up stiffly with a grimace and sheathed his dagger. He waved his hand at the locket.
“You may take the necklace back.” When Gwen stooped to pick it up, he continued. “You are the chosen heir, of that there is no doubt. It was not a simple matter to confirm your status—my spells had to be modified to accommodate your half-human nature—but the results were clear. And with Isolde bearing no other children, the only option is you.”
Chapter 6
Gwen’s heart sank, and she felt nauseous. It would have been so much easier if Isolde had made a mistake.
“What about transferring the succession to someone else?” Gwen asked, clinging to this last hope.
“I have never heard of that occurring, but that does not mean it has not happened.” Faolan strode to the other side of the circular room and opened a door that Gwen could have sworn wasn’t there before. It swung open silently, and Gwen followed Faolan outside.
They were in a vast garden, surrounded by low walls and covered by a ceiling of uniform gray clouds. The plants varied greatly—some were trimmed neatly while others were wild, some were barren while others had green leaves fluttering on frozen stems—and a multitude of paths crossed the garden beds. Faolan strode ahead, and Gwen trotted to catch up.
“What is this place?”
“The history garden of the realm of Wintertree,” Faolan said absently. “The accounts are more succinct in the winter, due to a lack of foliage, but the information we need will be there.”
“What are we looking for?” Gwen glanced around the garden and marveled at how anyone could make sense of the twisted profusion of branches and leaves. Was there really a whole library’s worth of history books within the stone walls of the garden?
Faolan stopped in front of the gnarled stems of a hawthorn tree. His eyes raked over the branches for a few moments, then he knelt before a small heather bush covered in tiny white flowers.
“By chance, the full account is in bloom and able to be studied,” Faolan murmured.
“What is it? What does it say?” Gwen peeked over Faolan’s shoulder, but the heather meant nothing to her. Faolan touched the petals gently with one finger.
“It is an account of the ruling family of Silverwood. The tale that concerns us took place many centuries ago, long before the closing of the portals. Cameron, a distant cousin of the ailing king, felt he had a more reasonable claim to the throne than the king’s three-year old daughter. The king died, and the stories are unclear whether his death was a natural one or was hastened by Cameron, but that very month Cameron assumed the throne.”
Faolan stroked the petals once more, and the branches shifted to expose new flowers.
“What happened then?” Gwen asked.
“Multiple accounts all describe strange portents in the winds and the rains, the sun dimming in the sky, the earth shaking. And the portals, the known paths to the human lands, the reports state that they shifted and shimmered in unforeseen ways.” Faolan stood up and dusted off his knees.
“How did they stop it?” Gwen asked and held her breath.
“They removed the usurper and put the little daughter on her rightful throne,” said Faolan in a matter-of-fact tone, then he looked at Gwen’s downcast face and his eyes softened marginally. “I’m sorry. I know it is not what you wanted to hear. If it is any consolation, I believe you will make a fine queen, despite your reduced magic and half-blood status. You’ve shown deep loyalty, fortitude, and wisdom during your quest to heal my son last summer, all of which will hold you in good stead during your rule.”
He nodded at her, then beckoned her to follow him. Gwen’s footsteps were as heavy as her heart, and she blinked back tears. Faolan’s magic and knowledge had been her only hope at escaping the fate Isolde had placed on her. With that faint hope now vanquished, Gwen could only see one path ahead.
***
She followed Faolan in a daze through the garden and back through the room of enchantments. Bran, Kelan, and Aidan were waiting on the bench in the great hall, but Aidan jumped up when the door opened. Gwen’s face must have reflected her turmoil within, because Aidan groaned and covered his eyes with one hand, his fingers digging into his temples with white-knuckled ferocity.
Bran looked from Gwen to Aidan, then at his father.
“Well? What’s the news?”
“Rather more ominous than I’d feared,” said Faolan. He unrolled his sleeves and smoothed them into place. “Usurpation has taken place before, and the records show that our current weather problems and portal rips will only worsen with time. A true heir must be placed on the throne of the Velvet Woods, and Gwen is the only candidate.” He clapped a hand on Kelan’s shoulder. “She will need our help taking her rightful place. But this is a problem that involves all the realms. Call for a conclave.”
Kelan hurried from the room. Aidan looked ready to burst.
“So, that’s it?” He clenched his fists at his sides. “Gwen has to be queen, and that’s the end of it?”
“Precisely,” said Faolan. He gazed at Aidan from under stern eyebrows. “She is the only one who can right this wrong. The fate of your world is also at stake, do not forget.”
“There has to be something,” Aidan said wildly. “Wait! What about Isolde? Kick Corann out and put her back. Then—she can have another baby or something.”
“I rather think Isolde is past her child-bearing years,” Faolan said. “And since she gave birth to no other children, we can assume that she was unable to do so. The succession is of the utmost importance, and Isolde would not have left it to chance. And while your notion of reinstating Isolde is a sensible one, the realm’s room of enchantments would never allow someone to rule who was not powerful or capable enough to keep her crown. It would reject her, and we would be no further ahead. A new ruler is needed, with a new way to power the realm that does not involve temporary restoration spells.”
Aidan’s shoulders slumped, and his jaw worked. Gwen walked over and put her arms around him.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he murmured as he clutched her. “How could our lives be turned upside down in a heartbeat? Are you really going to live in the
Otherworld forever?”
Forever. It was such a final word. The thought of never seeing her father, Aidan, and Ellie again overwhelmed her until she forced herself to shut the feelings away. She stepped back from Aidan as a thought occurred to her.
“How am I supposed to power the realm? I know hardly anything about magic, not really. If it’s so difficult that Isolde can’t manage it, what chance do I have?” Maybe if she wasn’t magical enough to rule, she would be off the hook.
“There are many ways to power a realm,” said Faolan. “The continuous song of the Whitecliff realm, the tidal magic of the Longshore realm, these are different ways to harness your power and connect it with the realm. And these decisions do not have to be made all at once. You can set up a physical defense with fighters and patrols, and eventually develop your magic once you explore your realm and find its strengths.”
Gwen sighed, overwhelmed. She was not prepared for any of this.
“Gwen, Aidan,” said Faolan. “You will need to take word to Isolde. She will be indispensable in our battle planning, since she knows her realm intimately. Leave at first light tomorrow and bring her back here with all haste.”
“Father, you should send along an official Wintertree envoy to make sure they collect Isolde appropriately,” said Bran. He bounced on his heels.
“Quite right, Bran,” said Faolan. “When Kelan comes back, we’ll tell him to prepare for his journey to the human world tomorrow morning.”
“Father!”
Faolan cracked the first true smile Gwen had ever seen on him.
“Yes, Bran, you may be my envoy.”
***
Corann tapped his foot on the wooden floor of the room of enchantments and looked at the human man with annoyance.
“Think harder, will you? Everyone knows that humans are creative instead of magical, but I haven’t seen much out of you yet.”
“Please,” said the man, his forehead sweating under stringy brown hair. He looked no older than twenty. “I don’t know anything, I took a shortcut through the woods after the pub and ended up here.”
“Yes, I’m quite aware of your story. And I didn’t capture you for your knowledge—although that would have been a nice surprise—but for your innate abilities as a human to think creatively, to solve problems. My race has magic, but yours excels in solving problems.”
“Are you an alien?” The man looked as if he wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation but didn’t dare. Corann waved him off.
“It doesn’t matter what I am. What matters is the problem. Here it is, again: this room will only respond positively to the heir of the throne, which I am not. The heir must be a relative of the ruling family, to which I am distantly connected. I need a way to make the room of enchantments accept my rule. I’ve already explained the properties of the magic room to you. Now, what is your suggestion?”
The man gazed blankly at Corann. When he realized that Corann was waiting for an answer, he blanched.
“Have you tried asking nicely?” The man winced at the expected reprimand for his sarcastic answer, but Corann looked thoughtful.
“An interesting notion. The room has exhibited a certain—personality, so the idea of appealing to it as a sentient creature has some merit.” He waved the man off the center of the daisy and the man jumped sideways as if shocked. “Velvet Woods,” Corann said clearly. “I beseech you to hear me. I am Corann, descended from Donovan the Hunter, and I now rule the realm. I vow to restore and improve it in all aspects. Isolde was failing you, but I swear to bring the realm back to the glory of old.”
Nothing happened for a long moment. Corann waited, a look of cautious triumph growing on his face.
The flames shrunk until only the man’s eyes were visible, shining whitely in his terror. Then the central floral disc of the daisy shot upward to send Corann flying.
The flames returned to their normal height and Corann scrambled to his feet, his face livid. The human cowered on the edge of the room while Corann stomped onto the daisy once more.
“Isolde is gone!” he shouted and sent the pale yellow light of his magic pouring from his hands onto the floor. “And Gwendolyn is not of this world. You must accept me or suffer the consequences!”
Corann closed his eyes with a furrowed brow, straining with concentration. The room groaned. Flames from the lanterns shot up to the ceiling and the human yelped. The floor began to rock back and forth, slowly at first but with increasing intensity. Faintly, howls, squeaks, barks, and roars began to sound from the carved walls of the chamber. Wooden eyes flashed with eerie life, and limbs began to move.
Corann opened his eyes at the sounds and stopped his magic with an open mouth. He backed away toward the door, and the human stumbled after him. There was a knock from outside and they fell over the threshold. Corann slammed the door shut behind him.
A courtier stood with a questioning look.
“My lord, is something wrong? How goes your work in the room of enchantments?”
Corann attempted to control his breathing.
“I’m getting a strong response. It certainly recognized my claim. Not much longer, I think, until it is fully functional under my rule.”
The courtier looked satisfied. The human gave Corann an incredulous stare but was cowed enough to stay silent. Corann snapped his fingers with a few purple sparks, and a servant hurried out of a nearby archway.
“Take the human to the cells,” Corann said to the servant, who bowed in response. “I’ll retrieve him later for more testing.”
The courtier waited until the servant had led the protesting human out of the ballroom before speaking.
“A summons has arrived.” The courtier held open a wide, shallow box lined with burgundy velvet. Inside were placed nine pendants. One pendant, carved from a dense brown wood with the insignia of a barren tree in silver on the face, glowed red.
“The message pendants of the nine realms,” breathed Corann. “I had forgotten. You are the keeper?”
“I am, my lord. And as soon as the pendant lit, I came to you.” The courtier shifted the pendant gently so Corann could see the insignia better. “It’s from Wintertree with a summons for a conclave.”
“Really? There hasn’t been a conclave for many years. In fact, I can’t recall the last time all the leaders of the nine realms gathered for a conclave. Ah, yes, it was when Queen Brenna ascended to the throne of the Riverside realm.” Corann gazed at the ring with anticipation. “Perhaps this conclave is in honor of my ascension?”
“It is likely,” said the courtier with a smile. “We were right to trust you, my lord. Even the other rulers acknowledge your claim. On behalf of the realm, I thank you for your courage to take the difficult steps so necessary in these troubled times.”
Corann patted the courtier on his shoulder in a genial fashion.
“It was my duty, and my privilege. Come, I must leave at once. Notify the stable hands, if you will, and I’ll see to it that the servants pack our clothes and supplies.”
“Mine, too?” The courtier looked surprised.
“Of course. It would not be fitting for me to travel without a retinue of respected nobles.”
The courtier bowed and hurried to the outer door. Corann threw the closed door of the room of enchantments a baleful glance.
“And as for you,” he muttered. “I’ll deal with you upon my return.”
The door shuddered in response.
***
Gwen examined the schedule board while Aidan pulled out money for the ticket seller at the train station.
“Your mum was right—the trains run every hour until eight at night.” She checked her watch. “Ten minutes until the next one, thank goodness. I’m ready to sit after that walk in from the countryside. Winterwood is not on the right side of the peak.”
Bran grinned.
“Good, time to explore. What’s this, Gwen?” He pointed down the platform.
“That’s a garbage can. And that,” Gwen
said before Bran could ask what he was pointing at. “Is an umbrella. It keeps you dry in the rain.”
“That’s brilliant,” said Bran loudly. “What a wonderful idea! Humans are so inventive. Perhaps we can buy a brumbella to take back.”
“Shh,” Gwen said. A few of the waiting passengers were looking askance at Bran. A young woman with pink-tipped hair stared with narrowed eyes at his fur cloak. “Not so loud. People are looking.”
“Do you think they’ll hunt me down, or lock me up?” Bran peered with interest at the staring passengers, who then cleared throats, shuffled feet, and flicked newspapers.
“No, just—they might start asking questions,” Gwen said.
Aidan joined them with three train tickets in hand, his backpack hanging off one shoulder.
“We should be near Amberlaine in forty minutes,” he said.
“Is that short?” Bran said.
“Reasonably.”
“Trains are brilliant. Perhaps I can get Father to put some in at home. Do you know how to build one?”
Aidan chuckled.
“Sorry, I’m not taking railway engineering at uni.”
A stiff wind caught them by surprise. Aidan only barely clutched their tickets as the breeze whipped fiercely across the platform. Hats and newspapers went sailing across the tracks to a chorus of shouts. The wind continued to buffet them, and they huddled against the schedule board.
“This weather.” Aidan glanced at the forbidding gray clouds above. “It’s the worst I remember seeing it this time of year, and that’s saying something here. And mainly in Cambridgeshire, according to my phone. Although the rest of the country is feeling the brunt of winter.”
“I hope it’s better when we get back to the Otherworld.” Gwen pulled the hood of her jacket over her head.
“I doubt it,” Bran said. He still looked around with interest, totally unperturbed by the inclement weather. “It was stormy when we left, with no sign of stopping.”
Breenan Series Box Set Page 54