The Queen's Rising

by Rebecca Ross

  And then, to my surprise, Yseult turned to look at me. “Amadine?”

  I felt the men’s gazes, like sunlight, bright with curiosity. My hands were cold as I brought my right forefinger to the map, to the Mairenna Forest.

  “My ancestor was Tristan Allenach, who took and buried the Stone of Eventide in 1430. I know the very tree he has buried the stone at, which would be in this segment of the forest, about two miles into the woods.”

  The men and the queen looked to where I pointed.

  “That is near Damhan,” Liam spoke up. He no longer looked like a bedraggled beggar. His hair was washed and slicked back, his beard trimmed, and his face had filled out from eating proper meals once more.

  “Damhan?” I echoed, shivering as that name tickled my tongue. I had never heard the name, yet it pulled along my bones in recognition.

  “Lord Allenach’s residence during summer and autumn,” Liam continued. His insight was about to be extremely valuable to us, as he had only been gone from Maevana for six years, as opposed to the twenty-five that Jourdain and Hector had experienced. “He should be there now, preparing for the annual hunt of the hart.”

  Now that definitely caressed my memory. My mind searched furiously through the past few weeks, then months, wondering why this felt so familiar. I finally rested on the afternoon when Oriana had sketched me as a Maevan warrior, when Ciri had said something I never thought I would need again: My father used to visit once a year, in the fall, when some of the Maevan lords opened their castles for us Valenians to come stay for the hunt of the white hart.

  “Wait . . .” I said, my eyes fastened to the forest, to where my finger still rested. “Lord Allenach invites Valenians to partake in the hunt, does he not?”

  Liam nodded, his eyes sparkling with something that looked like vengeance. “He does. Makes quite a fuss over it. One year he invited as many as sixty Valenian nobles, all who paid a hefty price to hunt his forest, all who needed a letter of invitation.”

  “Which means they will be hunting in the Mairenna,” Luc said, his fingers trailing through his hair.

  “Which means the door into Maevana is about to be open,” Liam added, glancing to Luc. “Lannon keeps the borders closed, save for a few occasions. This is one of them.”

  “When would be the next?” Jourdain asked.

  Liam sighed, his eyes wandering back to the map. “The spring equinox, maybe. Many Valenians like to go to watch the jousting, and Lannon welcomes them, if only to shock southerners with our bloody sports.”

  I did not want to wait for spring. The thought of it made it seem like bricks were hanging from the eaves of my shoulders. But autumn was so close . . . just a few weeks away. . . .

  “Yseult?” I murmured, eager to hear her thoughts.

  Her face was placid, but her eyes were also glittering with something that looked hungry, vicious. “Allenach’s hunt sets us right where we need to be. At Damhan, on the edge of the Mairenna.”

  She was right. We fell silent, wondering and fearing. Could we move so quickly?

  “And how would we solicit an invitation?” Hector Laurent asked quietly. “We cannot simply go and knock on Damhan’s door, expected to be let in.”

  “No. We will need a forged invitation,” Yseult stated.

  “I can forge one for you,” Liam offered. “I wrote plenty of the invitations when I was held under Allenach’s House.”

  I was hung on what Liam had said—when he was held under Allenach’s House?—but the conversation kept moving.

  “We forge an invitation,” Jourdain said, linking his fingers. “We pay the hefty sum. We send one of our men into Damhan. He partakes in the hunt; he recovers the stone.”

  “Father,” I interrupted, as pleasantly as I could. “I need to be the one to recover the stone.”

  “Amadine, I am not sending you to Maevana.”

  “Jourdain,” Yseult said, also as pleasantly as she could. “The stone is Amadine’s to find and reclaim. None of us will be able to locate the tree as swiftly as she can.”

  “But we cannot send Amadine to the hunt,” Luc protested. “These are Valenian men who are invited, not women. She would undoubtedly raise suspicions.”

  “One of you men will go to partake in the hunt,” I said. “I shall arrive after you.”

  “How?” Jourdain responded, a bit sharply. But I saw the fear haunting his eyes when he looked at me.

  “I want you to hear this with an open mind,” I said, my mouth going dry. I was nervous to share my scheme, which I was spinning as the evening deepened. This was not one of Abree’s lighthearted plays; I was not plotting a way out of a dungeon. I was conspiring against a king; multiple lives were about to be involved and put at risk.

  With an ache in my stomach, I remembered that old skit of mine, the one where every character perished save for one. But I felt Yseult close at my side, knowing the queen was my ally. And Jean David had set down a small purse of cheques by the map, which would help me illustrate my plans with pawns.

  I opened the purse and took out the first pawn, inevitably thinking of Merei and all the evenings we had played each other in cheques and marques. You never protect your side, Bri. It’s your one true weakness, she had once said to me. She only defeated me when she took me by surprise, when she made the oblique move—distracting me with one obvious, powerful pawn and championing me with a stealthier, lesser pawn.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I took my obsidian pawn and set it on Damhan.

  “One of our men goes to Damhan as a Valenian noble, under the pretense of enjoying the hunt.” I took the next pawn, carved from blue marble. “I arrive to Lyonesse, as a Valenian noblewoman. I go directly to the royal hall, to make a request to King Lannon.” I set my pawn down on Lyonesse, the royal city. “I ask the king to pardon MacQuinn and grant him admittance to the country, that my patron father would like to return to the land of his birth and pay the penance for his past rebellion.”

  Luc sat back in his chair, as if his stomach had melted down to the floor. Yseult didn’t move, didn’t even blink as she stared at my pawn. But Jourdain’s hand curled in a fist and I heard him draw in a long, conflicted breath.

  “Daughter,” he growled. “We have already discussed this. Asking for a pardon will not work.”

  “We discussed what would happen if you asked for the pardon, not me.” Our gazes locked—his was that of a father who knew his daughter was about to defy him. My fingers still held to my pawn, and I looked back to the map. “I make a request before a royal hearing, before the soon-to-be-dethroned king. I speak the name MacQuinn, a name that has haunted Lannon for twenty-five years. I make it known that I am his passion daughter, under MacQuinn’s protection. Lannon will be so fixated on MacQuinn’s return that he will not see the Kavanaghs sneak over his border.” I took a red pawn, which represented Yseult and her father, and moved them over the channel, into Maevana, into Lyonesse.

  “An oblique move,” Yseult said with a hint of a smile. So she had played cheques and marques before, and she recognized my bold, risky strategy.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “It will raise Lannon’s suspicions, but he will not think we are so foolish to announce our presence before a revolt. We play into his beliefs.”

  “But how does that get you to Damhan, sister?” Luc gently asked, his face pale.

  I looked to Liam. The next phase of my plans was contingent on whatever the thane could tell me. “If I am making a request in the royal hall, would Lord Allenach be present?”

  Liam’s salt-and-pepper eyebrows rose, but he finally understood where my plans were heading. “Yes. Lord Allenach is Lannon’s councillor. He stands to the left of the throne, hears everything the king hears. Royal hearings take place every Thursday.”

  “So I arrive on Thursday,” I said, daring to look at Jourdain. He was all but glaring at me. “I speak your name before the king and before Lord Allenach. Lord Allenach will be unable to resist offering me sanctuary while I wait for you to cros
s the channel, since the two of you are archenemies. The lord takes me to Damhan.” I slid my pawn to where the castle sat on the edge of the forest, next to the black pawn. “I recover the stone. MacQuinn and Luc,” I said and drew forth a purple pawn, moving it over the water, into Maevana, “cross the channel and arrive to Lyonesse. We are all in Maevana at this point, ready to storm the castle.”

  “And what if Lannon kills you on the spot, Amadine?” my patron father demanded. “Because as soon as my name flies from your mouth, he will want to behead you.”

  “I think what Amadine says is truth, my lord,” Liam cautiously spoke up. “She is right when she says that Lord Allenach—who has overtaken your House and your people—will want to host her until you arrive. And while Lannon is paranoid these days, he does not kill unless Allenach blesses it.”

  “So we are gambling on Allenach having a gracious day?” Luc spurted.

  “We are gambling on the fact that Lannon and Allenach will be so absorbed with MacQuinn’s reckless return that they will never see the Kavanaghs and Morgane coming,” I said, trying to keep the heat from rising in my voice.

  “There is another advantage to this,” Hector Laurent spoke, his eyes on the pawns I had arranged. “If Amadine announces MacQuinn’s name at court, his return will spread like wildfire. And we need our people to be alert, to rise at a moment’s notice.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Liam agreed with a nod. “And your Houses have been scattered for twenty-five years. Allenach took MacQuinn’s House, Burke took Morgane’s, and Lannon, of course, took Kavanagh’s. Your lands have been divided, your men and women dispersed. But if they so much as hear the name of MacQuinn spoken again . . . it would be the spark to a dry pasture.”

  My patron father groaned, knowing this was a very good argument in favor of my plan. He covered his face and leaned back, as if the last thing he wanted to do was acknowledge this. But he did not have the final say. The queen did.

  “Once we have all returned home,” Hector Laurent spoke up, his eyes fastened to something on the map. “We gather our people and converge at Mistwood. We storm the castle from there.”

  The mood in the room changed at the sound of that name. I cast my eyes to the map, searching for the place he spoke of. I finally found it, a slender strip of woods on the Morgane, MacQuinn, and Allenach border, a forest that stood in the royal castle’s shadow.

  “I think this is a good start,” Yseult said, the trance of Mistwood broken. “It’s very risky, but it’s also bold, and we need to move bravely if we are going to do this. What Amadine is offering is selfless and invaluable. And the plans cannot move forward without her.” She drummed her fingers on the tables, staring at my pawns. “I say Liam needs to begin the forgery of the invitation. As to which man will go under pretense of the hunt . . . that can be decided later, although I have a good inkling as to who it should be.”

  I looked helplessly across the table at Luc. It obviously would have to be him, since the three lords would be easily recognized. Again, Luc looked ill, like his dinner wanted to come back up.

  “Liam, we also need to arrange a list of safe houses, should something go wrong after we cross the channel,” the queen continued, and Liam nodded. “All of us need to be aware of Maevans who would be ready to house us—to hide us at a moment’s notice—if plans are uncovered and pursuit is employed. Let’s plan to meet two weeks from now, when d’Aramitz will be present, and we can finalize the plans.”

  Because autumn was on the horizon. We would have to weave our plans together and strike quickly.

  A chill danced down my spine as I met Yseult’s gaze. There was a question in her eyes, solemn as it was desperate. Are you certain, Amadine? Are you certain that you desire to do this?

  Was I certain that I was brave enough to stand before a corrupt king and speak the name of MacQuinn, a name that would undoubtedly bear a cost? Was I certain that I wanted to go stay at Lord Allenach’s castle, knowing my father might be one of his thanes, one of his servants, one of his cronies? Knowing that my heritage was rooted in that land?

  But I was ready, ready to find the stone and redeem my ancestor’s past transgressions. To set a queen upon the throne. To return to Cartier and gain my cloak.

  And so I whispered, “Let it be done, Lady.”

  NINETEEN

  SUMMER’S END

  September 1566

  Two days before our second strategic meeting, I came down with a fever. Agnes commanded me to remain in bed, where in vain I drank every healing tonic, ate every nutritious root possible, and sipped copious amounts of slippery elm tea. But it was to no avail; I burned steadily off and on, as if I were a fallen star trapped on Earth.

  Luc came and saw me, right before he, Jourdain, and Liam were to leave for the Laurents’ dinner. He laid his hand on my brow and frowned. “Saints. You’re still burning, Amadine.”

  “I can go,” I panted, weakly attempting to push the heap of quilts away. “I can go to the meeting.”

  I was worried Jourdain would try to upend my plans, and Luc saw it in my glassy eyes.

  “You are not going anywhere,” he insisted, sitting beside me on the bed, tucking the blankets firmly about me. “Don’t worry; I will make sure your plans are upheld.”

  “Jourdain will try to undo them,” I croaked, which prompted Luc to reach for my cup of lukewarm tea.

  “He will try, but he will not go against the queen,” my brother said, tilting the cup to my lips. “And the queen is drawn to your ideas.”

  I took one sip and then had to lie back on my pillows, my strength fading.

  “Now rest,” Luc ordered, rising from the bed, setting my tea on the table. “It’s more vital that you heal from this so you are ready to cross the channel soon.”

  He was right.

  I didn’t even remember hearing him leave my room. I fell into a tangle of dark, feverish dreams. I was at Magnalia again, standing in the gardens, the fog thick on the ground, and a man was coming toward me. I wanted it to be Cartier; I nearly ran to him, my heart overflowing with the joy of seeing him again, until I realized it was Oran—Tristan’s older brother. He was coming to cut me down for stealing pieces of his brother’s memories. And I had no weapon but that of my two feet. I ran through a never-ending maze for what felt like hours and hours, until I was ragged and exhausted, until I was ready to kneel down and let Oran cut me in two, until light seeped into my eyes.

  I woke, achy and drenched, but the sunlight that streamed in through my windows was pure and sweet.

  “She’s woken!”

  I turned my head to see Agnes there, her rosy, plump cheeks trembling as she jumped up from her chair. “Monsieur! She’s awake!”

  I winced at her hollering, winced at the urgent creaking of the stairs as Jourdain appeared, halting on my threshold, as if he was too embarrassed to enter my room.

  “Tell me,” I tried to say to him, but my voice cracked into pieces.

  “I’ll go fetch you some water,” Agnes promised, touching my brow. “Ah, the fever has finally broken. Praise Ide.” She scurried from the room, which enabled Jourdain to ease inside, still a bit hesitant.

  He finally settled in the chair Agnes had abdicated, at my bedside.

  “What did I miss?” I croaked again, feeling as if coals had been raked down my throat.

  “Shh, just listen,” Jourdain said. He acted like he wanted to reach for my hand, but was too shy to do it. “Everything you planned is going to occur. The invitation has been forged; we have the sum of money Allenach requires for the hunt. D’Aramitz is going to cross the channel next week. He will be staying at Damhan under the pretense of the hunt, but he is also there to quietly gather and ready my forces. In addition to that, I have requested that he keep an eye on you, that he be your shield, your protection, your ally should you need him.”

  “But, Father,” I rasped, “I do not know what he looks like.”

  “As I know. We prepared for this, though. The first night you are a
t Damhan, when you go into the hall for dinner, wear this in your hair.” Jourdain retrieved a delicate silver rose from his pocket, the edges crusted with tiny rubies. He set it into my palm. “This is how d’Aramitz will identify you, although you will likely be one of very few women there. He will be wearing a red jerkin with this emblem stitched over the center.” He withdrew a piece of parchment. I blinked, my vision still blurry from the illness, but I could see it was a drawing of a great oak, encompassed in a circle. “We discussed this at length, and everyone has come to the conclusion that it is best that once you make the acknowledging eye contact with him the first night, you avoid d’Aramitz the remainder of the time. Should he be caught, I do not want you to be caught with him. Do you understand?”

  Ah, fatherly orders. He sounded so stern, so formidable. But that gleam was in his eyes again, that star of worry. I wished I could extinguish it somehow.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Good. Now, another conclusion we made the other night: when you go to Lyonesse, to appeal to Lannon . . . if Allenach is not present when you enter the royal hall, do not make the appeal for my admittance. You will have to wait until the following Thursday, and Liam has a list of safe houses we still need to get you. . . .” He patted his pocket, frowning. “All this has been decided because if you make the admission before Lannon, without Allenach’s presence, you will most likely be held in the keep of the castle. You understand? You move forward only if you see Allenach, and he stands to the left of the throne and will be wearing his coat of arms. You remember the Allenach coat of arms?”

  I nodded, my voice too withered to try to speak, even though countless questions began to flood my mind.

  “Good. Very good.” His gaze softened, as if he was seeing something in the distance, something I could not discern. “You will cross the channel the last day of September, which will have you reaching Lyonesse the first of October. A Thursday. The royal hearings typically take all day, but I would recommend you go early, because it is a six-hour trip from Lyonesse to Damhan.”