by Heidi Hanley
“Stop!” Briana yelled, calling up all the magic she had inside her. She used it to push the men apart. Artanin fell back, even as Sigel fought to break through her barrier.
Spurring Banrion into action, she sprinted toward the hill, with Silas right behind her. “Stop in the name of King Brath of the House of Taranian!” she commanded.
All movement and sound halted. Banrion slid to a stop in front of the two men, who were held apart by her thin conjuring. Briana jumped down and stood between Sigel and Artanin, releasing her focus and the magic.
Realizing the barrier was down, Sigel put his hands on her shoulders, clearly intending to move her out of the way so he could tackle the druid.
“No!” she said. “I am ordering you not to kill him, Sigel. He helped me escape Aurum Castle, and I want to know why.”
Nostrils flaring, Sigel stared at Briana, then nodded. “As you command, my lady,” he said, “but we will bind him and keep him prisoner.”
She agreed, and turned to Artanin. “Can you release the spell?”
“I was trying to do that, but something is blocking it.”
Sigel made a disbelieving noise under his breath.
“Then we will release it as we meant to, with the medallions. Have him taken… wherever you take prisoners in Ard Darach, once we remove the fish bowl.”
“The fish bowl?” Sigel asked.
“The spell,” she clarified.
Sigel turned back to Artanin. “This is what mercy looks like, druid. Count your blessings but do it fast. I’m not convinced we’ll yet let you live. Silas, bring me a rope. And call up a handful of soldiers.”
When Artanin was secured and removed from the hill by a contingent of Uisneach men, Sigel, Briana and Silas went back down to join Cailleach and Sir Thomas at the castle.
“Let’s try this again,” Sigel said. “I have no idea what we’re going to find inside, so be prepared for anything.”
A new and troubling thought occurred to Briana. Everyone inside the castle was in a state of suspended animation. Once freed from the curse, would they grow a decade older in a matter of seconds? What would that do to them?
“No matter what we see or hear, our first priority is to get to the king,” said Sigel.
Briana’s stomach lurched, but she nodded in agreement.
“Everyone to their corners,” Sigel instructed.
As Silas headed off to his post, she turned to him with hopeful eyes. Last chance to run away with me?
I would if I could, Briana.
Briana and Sigel took their positions and started the process again. This time, the energy was palpable, and a definite shift began in the wall around the castle. A sharp flash from their medallions raced to the highest point on the keep. Remembering what Cailleach had taught her, Briana used all her might to envision the force field waning, imagined it as a fluid collection of molecules receding from the ground up, replaced by a new vitality in the air around the stronghold. The trees, silent for a decade, took their first resuscitative breaths and stirred in the light breeze. Chickens cackled and sheep blatted inside the walls. She held focus until Sigel called her back.
“We did it, Briana,” he said, in a deadpan voice. The others gathered. Sir Thomas transformed into a human. There were no exclamations of victory; too much had been sacrificed to feel triumphant. Silas moved away to brief the men who came forward with Artanin between them.
“What comes next?” she asked, forcing herself to remain calm.
“I need to instruct the men,” said Sigel. “Then we go in and introduce you to Brath.”
As she waited, Briana wondered what they’d find inside the walls. Will people be happy? Frightened? Confused? Will we even find anyone alive?
Sigel had Artanin taken away, to be locked up. Men came out of nowhere, and were given swift orders that made no real sense to Briana. With Dara at her side, she followed Sigel, Cailleach and Sir Thomas through the portcullis, where they were joined by Silas, Epona and Jonathan. Briana couldn’t hear anything over the sound of her heart pounding and her breathing echoing off thick stone walls that swallowed her into their shadows. She fought to control the burgeoning hysteria that threatened to overwhelm her. No turning back, a voice taunted her, from inside her own head.
Every step she took felt heavy and everything around her seemed to move in slow motion. Two uniformed guards yawned sleepily, then snapped to attention when Sigel passed by. Under an archway, Briana walked into a green yard edged by small cottages. Cutting across the grass, they walked through another gateway into a middle yard where a handful of youths were gaping at each other’s grown-up bodies and shouting gleefully. Their voices sounded muted, as though coming from a long distance.
Cailleach glanced at her as they entered another gated postern, into the heart of Ard Darach. Briana’s knees wobbled as she passed the great hall. The keep soared into the heavens across the yard.
The rampart, the defensive wall that enclosed the castle, reminded her of a supersized New England stone wall. Its parapet, the notched railing along the walkway on the top of the rampart, offered protection for guards, evenly spaced stone barriers they could duck behind. Squared off at the top with gaps between them, they looked a bit like the teeth people carved into jack-o’-lanterns. These thoughts came and passed in her mind without raising the slightest smile.
She heard Sigel tell a handful of men to spread the word that the curse was broken before returning to meet with the king. Men and women, teenaged boys and girls, wandered around, asking what happened. The rescuers told a few people, who went out to tell the rest.
A cobblestone walkway ringed the space. Sidestepping a cricket, she arrived with her companions at a large wooden door, where a rabbit stood poised as a guard. It said, “Don’t be afraid, milady. You’re right on time.”
Unable to respond or move, Briana just stared until the rabbit hopped aside. Sigel watched her, his scar standing out vividly against his flushed skin. She wondered if she was the only one who saw the animal. Sigel turned back and lifted the latch on the door. She felt Silas’ hand warm against her lower back and turned, surprised to find one of his hands on his sword and the other clenched at his side.
It’s all right, a mhuirnin. I’ve got you.
She nodded and followed single file behind Cailleach and Sir Thomas up a narrow, winding staircase that opened into a darkened space. Her eyes adjusted as two servants began lighting rushes along the wall, casting shadowy light across an expansive room with vaulted ceiling. Tapestries and banners of the kingdoms of Uisneach hung on the walls and from the curved oak rafters. She swallowed and licked lips that had gone dry. Against one wall stood an ornately carved throne raised two feet from the floor, and on the other side, a second dais, upon which an enormous wood table stretched out. On the floor, ringing the room, were enough tables to seat a hundred people, she guessed. The center was left open. For dancing?
A door, presumably to the family’s quarters, creaked, and a short, rotund man emerged, blinking and stretching his stubby limbs like a comic ballerina warming up before a dance.
Oh, Maker, you cannot be so cruel. Briana’s heart thudded as she considered this might be her future husband. If this has all been a dream, now would be a very good time to wake up.
Oh, no, Briana, Silas reassured her. That is the king’s chamberlain, Emmett Ryan. Her shoulders sank down in relief. A moment later, another man stepped into the room. Sigel let out a sound that was both agonized and overjoyed. He took three large steps and wrapped his arms around him.
The air was supercharged, as it must have been when Dorothy, Toto and the house were whisked away to Oz. For several moments no one spoke. Rumpled hair and dazed expression notwithstanding, King Brath of the House of Taranian was exceedingly regal and incredibly handsome.
“Sigel?” His voice held a slight crackle from years of disuse, but still had a richness to it that wrapped around her like fine whiskey and a peat fire.
“Brath.” Sige
l said, not bothering to wipe the tears that spilled down his cheeks.
No. Oh, no. Briana sucked in her breath. Dizziness and nausea swept over her. If Silas was her soul, this man was her destiny. Brath was the man from her dream, the one who offered her the crown.
“There’s your king, Briana,” Silas said, softly.
“I suspect you’d like to know what’s going on,” Sigel said to Brath.
“That’s an understatement.”
Sigel explained the events of the past decade, and how this group came to the king’s rescue, in fewer words that Briana thought possible. While he talked, Briana studied the man she was to marry. He was not hideous. All those women were right about that. Brath had hair the color of raw cinnamon that swept across his forehead and back from his temples. His dark, hazel eyes reflected a thoughtful intelligence. His angular face, long straight nose and strong cheekbones defined him as a warrior. A full, well-defined mouth and straight teeth would have been inviting to any other woman.
Sigel finished the tale. King Brath ran his hands through his hair. Then the king abruptly turned to Silas, who had been silent, and took him in a huge bear hug before holding him back and giving him a thorough inspection. “Silas, man, damn glad I am to see your pretty face! The ladies of the court will be swooning worse than they were before!” he said, ending the proclamation with a hearty back slap.
She closed her eye, wishing a sinkhole would open up and suck her in. When she opened them again, the King of Uisneach stood watching her with curiosity.
“Are you unwell, my lady?”
Something in the way he said “my lady” sent shivers over her body. Blood rushed to her head. Tears formed in her eyes. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t control the trembling that had taken her insides hostage. There was no rainbow bridge to help her over this abyss.
You were made for this moment, said Silas. You are brave enough and strong enough to see this through. You are the Queen of Uisneach.
“My lady,” King Brath said again, taking a step toward her.
She stepped back. “I’m fine,” she said weakly. “Fine,” she repeated, trying to convince herself, as much as anyone else.
“It’s been a long journey, Your Highness,” Sigel said. “Milady is perhaps a bit overwhelmed.”
“Your Majesty,” Cailleach said, stepping forward, her voice strong and indubitable. “May I present, Lady Briana, the Mouse of Prophecy.”
Feeling detached from everything around her, she let him study her, the woman he’d just been told would be his wife.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her eyes and met the king’s. She reacted on instinct, stepping forward and meeting his eyes. “It is a privilege to meet you, Your Majesty,” she said, offering the deepest, most perfect curtsy of her life.
Brath came forward and smiled as he reached for her hand to raise her up. “The pleasure is certainly mine,” he answered, his eyes warm and genuine.
Too late, she realized this touch was the signal she and Silas had chosen to end their telepathy. She tried to pull away but the king’s grip was firm. No! Please, Silas, I’m not ready. Nothing. His eyes were trained blankly on the couple before him, his face an unreadable mask.
“Lady Briana, I trust these gentlemen took good care of you.”
An awkward silence hung over the company. Briana chose her words carefully. “I have never felt safer, Your Majesty. You can be proud of these men of Uisneach.”
“Oh, I am proud of them,” he said, beaming at his friends. When he turned back to her, his smile softened. “And I look forward to getting to know you, my lady, but unfortunately there are several things that need to be done…”
The door of the hall opened, admitting a man Briana recognized immediately by the color of his eyes: Jameson Stark. From behind her came a garbled noise. Jonathan’s face had crumpled.
The older man stared as though at a ghost. “Oh, my Maker. Jonathan? Is it really you?”
“Father,” was all the boy could choke out as he flew into his arms. As they hugged, she and Silas shared a tearful smile.
Things happened in rapid-fire succession. People poured into the hall. Brath began issuing orders to get things working again. She appreciated the kind but firm way in which he took control and was impressed with how much the people seemed to love him and want to please him. Kind, but not weak. A nice balance for a monarch, she thought, starting to regain a little of her equilibrium.
She and her companions were each assigned a servant and encouraged to rest before an early dinner. Sir Thomas would stay behind with Brath to discuss a few details of Briana’s journey and her current needs, and then he and Epona would fly back to Winge Mansion.
“Assuming we have food to prepare for dinner.” Brath laughed, the way only a ruler comfortable with having everything he needed all the time could.
Briana considered offering to help, then realized that not only was she exhausted and not fit for service, but she wouldn’t have a clue what to do. Instead, she looked to Silas. His expression asked if she was okay.
Hell no, I’m not okay. If he received the message, he didn’t let on. All she could do was sigh and try to communicate visually that she loved him and that this was killing her. Their momentary contact was broken by a slightly-built girl who volunteered to take her to her room.
“What shall I do with the hound?” she asked.
“This is Dara, and he stays with me.” Briana looked to King Brath, not for permission but to make her position clear. The girl looked at the king also, uncertain of Briana’s authority. He nodded and smiled kindly at both women.
“You heard Lady Briana, Gael. Dara stays with her.”
Gael led her through a covered walkway to the guest rooms in the keep. Briana was relieved at the distance between her and the king, whose suite was located on a floor above the great hall. Jonathan peeled away toward the cottage he’d share with his father. Everyone was quiet as they walked the short distance to the keep. Sigel and Silas were shown to rooms on the first floor. Briana made a mental note of the location of Silas’ room. She and Silas exchanged a weary, sad look before he shut the door behind him. She and Cailleach continued to the second floor. Briana’s chamber was right above Silas’, not in the least useful, yet comforting.
“Milady, why don’t you wash up and take a rest while I go see what I can find for you to wear,” said Gael Mulloy, her lady’s maid. “You’re the same size as Queen Eleanor, the king’s mother. I’ll come back in time to help you dress.”
Here we go again, Briana thought. Back to being cared for like a helpless baby. “Gael, before you go, there are a few things we must discuss.” She shared her wishes that she not be coddled or hovered over, and that it was perfectly fine for Gael to call her by her given name, at least in private. The girl looked dubious, but nodded. When she left, she said, “Rest well… milady.”
Briana sighed, then turned her attention to exploring the room. Not a speck of dust rested on the small writing table. The canopied bed looked freshly made. That spell certainly kept everything pristine, she thought.
An armoire stood with the door ajar. Briana peeked in. Empty. Apparently, no one had been staying in this room when Artanin did his nasty deed. A weight of fatigue washed over her. I came back from the dead. That’s got to take something out of you! After unbuckling Nua and settling Dara, she fell gratefully on top of the feather soft bed and was asleep before tears had time to catch up with her.
*
Dusky afternoon light shadowed the room when Gael woke her, lighting candles as she spoke her name. Briana dressed in a simple green linen dress that had once belonged to Brath’s mother. The floor-length gown was modestly cut, with embroidery on its long, wide sleeves and around the moderately scooped neckline.
Gael also produced soft gold slippers and a light cape. “You might wish it later.” After combing out Briana’s hair, she pronounced her ready.
A knock at the door set Briana’s heart racing. It was only Ca
illeach, waiting to go down with her. “How are you?”
Briana shrugged.
The witch nodded. “I recommend one step at a time. At the moment, all you have to do is get through dinner.”
“Cailleach, we need to talk about your sister.”
Cailleach stiffened. “That is a conversation for another time. I’m aware of what happened, but it’s nothing we need to deal with now.”
True enough. The three women, with Dara plodding behind, made their way down the spiral staircase to the first floor. Sigel came out of his room, clean and refreshed.
Briana edged close to him. “Have you seen Silas? How is he?”
Sigel patted Dara’s head absently. “He’s quiet, as I would expect, but he understands and will be fine in time. As you will be.” He put his hand on her arm. “Briana, there have been losses. A few of the older residents didn’t survive the lifting of the curse.”
Cailleach said a little prayer. Briana added, “May they rest in peace.” She paused for a moment, then asked, “Is there anything I’m supposed to do?” Sigel shrugged. “I’m not sure how the king will handle it. Follow his lead.”
They continued out of the keep and across the cobblestoned walkway in silence until they reached the hall. Briana’s breath caught in her throat at the transformation that had occurred in the few short hours they’d been napping. When the heavy oak door opened, she was greeted by the sight of the hall bathed in the soft, warm light of a hundred candles, half of them from an ornate wrought-iron candelabra that dangled from the ceiling in the center of the room. The floors had been scrubbed until gleaming. Hulking logs burned in a massive stone fireplace, chasing off any chill attempting to come through the four small windows, one each wall. The smell of roasted meat, herbs and other delicacies wafted up from long tables for the first feast of a freed Ard Darach. Though magical, the hall was subdued, the sad notes of a harpist honoring those who had passed. King Brath stood at the head of the table, striking in his formal attire, his royal-blue trousers tucked into knee-high black leather boots. A long-sleeved tunic of a lighter blue hugged his powerful torso and was mantled with a sleeveless black fur-lined cape. A mighty broadsword hung at his side. The royal medallion of Uisneach, similar to Briana’s, but larger, swung from a pendant around his neck. No crown, she noted. His luxurious red hair, combed to gleaming, was all the adornment he needed. She recalled, rather sheepishly, her concern that the man she would marry might be hideous. Hideous he was not. Regrettably, Silas, he was also not.