The Queen's Rising

by Rebecca Ross

  A sound of relief broke from me and I wiped my cheeks, the tears on my lashes casting prisms about Allenach’s face when I looked at him.

  “Would you like to remain here, or would you like to go to them?” he asked.

  I could hardly believe he was being so kind, that he was giving me a choice. A warning bell rang at the back of my mind, but my relief was so strong it drowned out my suspicions. Everything I had planned had come to pass. Everything was moving forward as we wanted.

  “Take me to them, my lord,” I whispered.

  Allenach stared at me, and then he rose and said, “We’ll leave as soon as you pack your things.”

  He departed and I rushed to shove all my belongings into my trunk. But before I left the room, before I departed the blessing of the unicorn, I laid my hand over my corset, over the stitches that itched at my side, over the stone that had become my closest companion.

  This was truly happening. We were all here. I had recovered the stone. And we were ready.

  Allenach had a coach drawn for me in the courtyard. I walked through the blue shadows of evening at his side as he escorted me out. I thought he would grant his good-byes there, on the cobblestones of Damhan. But he surprised me when a groom brought his horse, tacked and ready.

  “I will ride behind you,” the lord said.

  I nodded, concealing my shock as he shut the coach door. When Cartier realized I was gone during dinner in the hall that night, he would know that I had been taken to Jourdain. I wouldn’t see him again until we converged in Mistwood, and I prayed that he would remain safe.

  Those ten miles seemed to stretch into a hundred. The moon had risen over the tree line by the time the coach came to a halt. I broke my manners and let myself out, stumbling over a thick tussock of grass as I soaked in my surroundings by moonlight.

  It was a yeoman’s house, a long stretch of building that resembled a loaf of bread—white cob walls, a thatched roof like scorched crust. Smoke dribbled out from two chimneys, tickling the stars, and candlelight breathed on the windows from within. There was nothing else around save for the valley, a gloomy barn in the distance, the white speckles of sheep as they grazed. And a dozen of Allenach’s men, guarding the house, stationed by every window and door.

  Allenach’s horse came to a stop behind me just as the front door of the house swung open. I saw Jourdain, etched in the light as he stood on the threshold. I wanted to call out to him, but it hung in my throat as I began to walk, began to run to him, my ankles sore as my feet crushed the grass.

  “Amadine!” He recognized me, shoved past the guards to reach me, and I fell into his arms with a sob, despite my promise not to cry again. “Shh, it’s all right now,” he whispered, the brogue rising in his voice again now that he was home. “I’m safe and well. Luc is too.”

  I pressed my face to his shirt, as if I were five years old, and breathed in the salt from the ocean, the starch in the linen, as his hand gently touched my hair. Despite the fact that we were under house arrest, that he had almost lost his head that morning and I had been stabbed the night before, I had never felt safer.

  “Come, let’s get you inside,” Jourdain said, ushering me to the house.

  It was only then that I remembered Lord Allenach, who I had never thanked for saving my patron father’s life.

  I turned out of Jourdain’s arms, my eyes seeking the man on horseback. But there was nothing but the moonlight and the wind dancing over the grass, the imprints of hooves from where he had once been.

  I cried again when I saw Luc waiting for me in the hall. He crushed me to his chest and rocked me back and forth, as if we were dancing, until I laughed and finally cried the last of my tears.

  Jourdain shut and bolted the front door and the three of us stood in a circle, our arms wound about one another, our foreheads pressed together as we smiled, as we silently claimed this victory.

  “I have something to tell you both,” I said, at which Luc quickly covered his mouth with a finger, indicating I should be quiet.

  “I bet you enjoyed Damhan,” my brother said loudly, walking to a table that was tucked out of sight from the windows. There was a sheet of paper on it, a quill and ink. He made the motion for me to write, and then pointed to his ear and then the walls.

  So the guards were eavesdropping. I nodded and chattered about the grandeur of the castle as I began to write.

  I have the stone.

  Jourdain and Luc read it at the same moment, their eyes affixing to mine with a joy that made the stone hum again.

  Where? Luc hastened to write.

  I patted my corset, and Jourdain nodded, and I thought I saw the silver of tears line his eyes. He turned away before I could affirm it, to pour me a cup of water.

  Keep it there, Luc added to his sentence. It is safest with you.

  I accepted the cup of water Jourdain handed me and nodded. Luc took the paper and set it in the fire to burn, and we sat before the hearth and talked of safer, inconsequential things that would bore the guards who listened beyond the walls.

  The following day, I swiftly learned that being under a strict house guard was stifling. Everything we said was capable of being overheard. If I wanted to step outside, the eyes of the guards followed me. The greatest challenge would be the three of us overtaking the twelve of them when it was time to ride to Mistwood in two nights.

  So that afternoon, Luc wrote out a plan, which he gave me to read. He and Jourdain had arrived to Maevana completely weaponless, but I still had my dirk strapped to my thigh. It was our one and only weapon, and after I read the plan of escape, I set my little blade into Jourdain’s hands.

  “Did you have to use it?” he whispered, tucking it away in his doublet.

  “No, Father,” I said. I still had yet to tell him about the stabbing incident. I began to reach for the paper, so I could write it all down for him to read. . . .

  There was a knock on the door. Luc jumped up to answer it, returning to the hall with a basket of food.

  “Lord Allenach has been quite the generous host,” my brother said, rummaging through loaves of oat bread, still warm from the oven, a few wedges of cheese and butter, a jar of salted fish, and a pile of apples.

  “What is that?” Jourdain questioned, noticing a flash of parchment tucked among the bread.

  Luc plucked it from the linen as he bit into one of the apples. “It’s addressed to you, Father.” He handed it to Jourdain, and I saw the red wax that held the parchment together, pressed with a leaping stag.

  Distracted from writing about the stabbing, I joined Luc, exploring the basket of food. But just as I was unpacking the bread, I heard Jourdain’s sharp intake of breath, I felt the room grow dark. Luc and I turned at once to look at him, watched him crumple the parchment in clawlike hands.

  “Father? Father, what is it?” Luc quietly demanded.

  But Jourdain did not look at Luc. I don’t think he even heard his son as he set his eyes to me. My heart plummeted to the floor, breaking for a reason it didn’t even know.

  My patron father was staring at me with such fury that I took a step back, bumping into Luc.

  “When were you going to tell me, Amadine?” Jourdain said in that cold, sharp voice that I had heard only once before, when he had killed the thieves.

  “I don’t know what you speak of!” I rasped, pressing harder against Luc.

  Jourdain took hold of the table and hurled it over, spilling the candles, the basket of food, the paper and ink. I lurched back as Luc cried out in surprise.

  “Father, return to yourself!” he hissed. “Remember where we are!”

  Jourdain slowly fell to his knees, that parchment still caught in his fingers, his face pale as the moon as he stared at nothing.

  Luc rushed forward to snag the paper. My brother became very still, and then he met my gaze, wordlessly handed the letter to me.

  I didn’t know what to expect, what could infuriate Jourdain so swiftly. But as my eyes moved over arches and valley
s of the words, the world around me cracked in two.

  Davin MacQuinn,

  I thought it best to tell you that I extended your life for one purpose, and it has nothing to do with how well you begged yesterday morning. You have something that belongs to me, something that is precious, something that I want returned unto my care.

  The young woman you call Amadine—who you dare to call your daughter—belongs to me. She is my rightful daughter, and I ask that you relinquish whatever binds you have on her and allow her to return to me at Damhan. The coach will be waiting outside the door for her.

  Lord Brendan Allenach

  “It’s a lie,” I growled, crumpling the paper in my hands, just as Jourdain had done. “Father, he is lying to you.” I stumbled over the apples and bread to kneel before Jourdain. He looked as if he had broken, his eyes glazed over. I took his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. “This man, this Lord Allenach, is not my father.”

  “Why did you keep this from me?” Jourdain asked, ignoring my impassioned statements.

  “I kept nothing from you!” I cried. The anger bloomed in my heart, crowding it with thorns. “I have never seen my blood father. I do not know the man’s name. I am illegitimate; I am unwanted. This lord is playing a game with you. I do not belong to him!”

  Jourdain finally focused on my face. “Are you certain, Amadine?”

  I hesitated, and the silence pierced me, because it made me see that I was not at all certain.

  I thought back to the night I had asked the Dowager to conceal my father’s full name from Jourdain. . . . She had not wanted to, but yet she had, because I insisted upon it. And so Jourdain had believed—as I had—that my father was a mere servant beneath the lord. We had never entertained the idea that he might be the lord.

  “Did you tell him that you hail from his House?” Jourdain asked, his voice hollow.

  “No, no, I told him nothing,” I stammered, and that’s when I realized it. How on earth would Allenach know to claim me?

  This cannot be. . . .

  Jourdain nodded, reading my painful trail of thoughts. “He is your father. How else would he know?”

  “No, no,” I whispered, my throat closing. “It cannot be him.”

  But even as I denied it, the threads of my life began to pull together. Why would my grandfather be so adamant to hide me? To keep my father’s name from me? Because my father was a powerful, dangerous lord of Maevana.

  But perhaps, more than anything . . . how did Allenach know who I was?

  I stared at Jourdain. Jourdain stared at me.

  “Do you want to know why I hate Brendan Allenach?” he whispered. “Because Brendan Allenach was the lord to betray us twenty-five years ago. Brendan Allenach was the one who plunged his sword into my wife. He stole her from me. And now he will steal you from me as well.”

  Jourdain rose. I remained on the floor, sitting on the backs of my heels. I listened to him retreat to his bedchamber, slam and lock the door.

  I was still holding the letter. I shredded it, let it fall around me as snow. And then I stood.

  My gaze strayed to Luc. He was staring at the mess on the floor, but he lifted his eyes to mine when I approached him.

  “I am going to prove that this is a lie,” I said, my heart pounding. “I will ride with d’Aramitz to Mistwood.”

  “Amadine,” Luc whispered, cradling my face. He wanted to say more to me, but the words turned to dust between us. He gently kissed my forehead in farewell.

  I hardly felt the ground beneath me as I left that house, as I stepped out into the afternoon rain. There was the coach that Allenach had promised, waiting to cart me back to Damhan. I walked to it, my hair and my dress drenched by the time I sat on the cushioned bench.

  As the rain pounded the roof and the coach bumped along the road, I began to think of what I should say to him.

  Lord Allenach believed that I was his illegitimate daughter.

  I did not believe such, yet the lingering doubt was worse than the blade Rian had pierced me with. Most likely, the lord was taunting his old enemy and using me to do it. So I would walk into his hall tonight and let him believe that I was pleased with his claim on me. And when I asked for proof, which he would be powerless to give, I would deny his claim.

  It took me ten miles, but by the time I arrived to Damhan’s courtyard, I was ready to face him.

  I stepped out into the rain, lightning flickering overhead, splitting the night sky in two. As am I, I thought, walking into the castle corridor. I am Brienna, two in one.

  I followed the music, Merei’s music, to the light and warmth of the hall. The Valenians were gathered at their tables for dinner. The fire was roaring, the heraldic stags gleaming from their carved places in the walls. And so I walked the aisle of the great hall, my dress dragging along the glazed tiles, leaving a trail of rain behind me.

  I heard the men go quiet, the laughter ease as the Valenians noticed my entrance. I heard the music painfully end, Merei’s strings clang as her bow jerked. I felt Cartier’s gaze, like sunlight, but I did not respond. I felt all of them watching me, but my eyes were only for the lord who sat on the dais.

  Allenach noticed me the moment I had entered. He had been waiting for me; he watched me approach him, setting his chalice down, the ruby on his forefinger glittering.

  I walked all the way to the dais stairs, and there I came to rest, standing directly before him. I opened my palms, felt the rain drip from my hair.

  “Hello, Father,” I said to him, my voice soaring like a bird up to the highest rafters.

  Brendan Allenach smiled. “Welcome home, Daughter.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  A DIVIDED HEART

  “Rian? Give my daughter her rightful seat.”

  I watched Rian jerk, astounded by his father’s request. I watched Rian’s face contort in rage, rage toward me, for his greatest fear had just been cloaked in flesh and blood.

  The lost daughter had come to take back her inheritance.

  I let him rise, just to see if he would do it. And then I lifted my hand and said, “Rian may keep his seat, for now. I would like to talk privately with you, Father.”

  Allenach’s eyes—a pale shade of blue, like deceptive ice on a pond—flickered with curiosity. But he must have been expecting I would say such, because he stood without qualm, extended his right hand to me.

  I ascended the dais, walked around the table, and set my fingers in his. He escorted me from the hall, up the stairs, down a corridor I had not ventured yet. He took me to his private wing, a vast connection of chambers that were lavishly furnished.

  The first chamber was something I would call a parlor, a place to sit with guests and close friends. There was a large hearth, alight with a roaring fire, and several chairs overlaid with sheepskin. On one wall was a grand tapestry of a white stag, leaping with arrows lodged in his chest, and so many mounted animal heads that I felt as if they were all watching me, the firelight licking their glassy eyes.

  “Sit, daughter, and tell me what I can get you to drink,” Allenach said, dropping my fingers so he could walk to a bureau that sparkled with bottles of wine, ceramic pitchers of ale, and a family of golden chalices.

  I sat in the chair closest to the fire, shivering against my wet dress. “I am not thirsty.”

  I felt him glance at me. I kept my gaze to the dance of the fire, listening as he poured himself a drink. Slowly, he walked back across the floor, sat in the chair directly across from mine.

  Only then, when we were both still, did I meet his gaze.

  “Look at you,” he whispered. “You are beautiful. Just like your mother.”

  Those words angered me. “Is that how you knew it was me?”

  “I thought you were your mother at first, the moment I saw you step into the royal hall. That she had come back to haunt me,” he replied. “Until you looked at me, and I knew it was you.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You don’t believe me?”


  “No. I need proof, my lord.”

  He crossed his legs and took a sip of wine, but those shrewd blue eyes of his never broke from mine. “Very well. I can give you all the proof you desire.”

  “Why don’t you start by telling me how you came to know my mother.”

  “Your mother visited Damhan with your grandfather for one of my hunts some eighteen years ago,” Allenach began, his voice smooth as silk. “Three years before that, I had lost my wife. I was still grieving her death, thinking I would never look at another woman. Until your mother arrived.”

  It took everything within me to conceal my scorn, to suffocate my sarcasm. I held it at bay, forcing myself quiet so he would keep talking.

  “Your mother and grandfather lodged here for a month. During that time, I came to love her. When she left with your grandfather to return to Valenia, I had no inkling that she was carrying you. But she and I began a correspondence, and once I learned of you, I asked her to return to Damhan, to marry me. Your grandfather would not allow it, thinking I had ruined his daughter.”

  My heart was beginning to pound deep in my chest. Everything he had shared could be taken for truth—he had mentioned my grandfather. But still, I held quiet, listening.

  “Your mother wrote to me the day you were born,” Allenach continued. “The daughter I had long waited for, the daughter I had always wanted. Three years after that, all your mother’s letters ceased. Your grandfather was gracious enough to inform me that she had died, and that you were not mine, that I had no claim on you. I waited, patiently, until you were ten. And I wrote you a letter. I figured your grandfather would withhold it from you, but still I wrote to you, asking you to come visit me.”

  When I was ten . . . when I was ten . . . when Grandpapa had flown to Magnalia with me, to hide me. I could hardly breathe. . . .

  “When I still failed to hear from you, I decided that I should grant your grandfather a little visit,” Allenach said. “You were not there. And he would not tell me where he had hidden you. But I am a patient man. I would wait until you came of age, until you turned eighteen, when you could make your own decisions. So imagine my surprise when you walked into the royal hall. I thought you had at last come to meet me. I was about to step forward and claim you until one particular name came off your tongue.” His hand tightened on his chalice. Ah, the jealousy, the envy, began to tighten his face like a mask. “You said MacQuinn was your father. I thought perhaps I had mistaken it—perhaps my eyes were fooling me. But then you said you were a passion, and it all came together; your grandfather had hidden you by passion, and MacQuinn had adopted you. And the longer you stood there, the more certain I was. You were mine, and MacQuinn was using you. So I offered to host you here, so I could learn more of you, so I could protect you from the king. And then that skittish dog confirmed my suspicions.”