by Rebecca Ross
I thought she could not be serious. She was about to have us fall to our deaths. But the Halloran warriors had spilled onto the parapet like ants emerging from a mound; they spotted us, two of them charging over.
I would rather jump than be taken by them again. My heart thundered in my chest as I stood on the edge of the battlement with Neeve, Keela resisting behind us.
“Trust me,” Neeve said to the girl. “We must all jump together, and aim for the muck below.”
I tugged Keela up beside me. She looked petrified, and I wanted to smile at her but found that my face had gone numb.
“Now,” Neeve breathed, and the three of us jumped as if we were nothing more than fledglings, casting our wings out to the wind.
The drop felt endless; the darkness seemed to howl at my face until I sank into the manure, all the way to my waist.
And yet my sister did not give me a moment to even catch my breath. She was scampering out of the muck, dragging me with her, and I dragged Keela.
“Stay in the shadow of the wall,” she ordered, and I struggled to keep up with her. We were in the grassy canal of the middle ward, which was eerily empty and quiet, the brunt of the conflict happening in the heart of the holding.
We ran with the inner wall brushing our left shoulder, following the grass. I could hardly breathe, hardly feel my feet. My sister dragged me, kept me moving forward, or else I would have collapsed. We reached the eastern tower. Which seemed to be far busier than the prison tower.
We stood in the shadow, gazing up, listening as the Hallorans seemed to swarm above our heads on the battlement.
“Why are they all here?” I asked, fighting a sudden wave of nausea.
“Because this is the armorer tower,” Neeve replied. “And I do not see forge row. I think Sean was mistaken. . . . It is within the castle, not in the middle ward.”
She turned to me and Keela. “I want the two of you to stay here, in the shadows,” Neeve said. “I am going to—”
Keela let out a startled cry. I didn’t have the strength to turn and see what it was, but Neeve’s eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared as she shifted her gaze. I heard it—the pounding of boots in the grass, the clink of armor, approaching us.
We had nowhere to hide. We would have to outrun them, and I could scarcely keep myself upright.
I braced myself against the wall, trembling. My sight began to blur and dim, but Neeve was like a pillar of light as she withdrew a dirk from beneath her dress. The dirk I had once given her. She stood before Keela and me, the blade in her hand, waiting.
But it wasn’t Hallorans who were rushing along the middle ward. They were Dermotts.
Neeve recognized the sigil on the armor the same moment I did, and she called out to them, desperate. “Please, can you help us find a way beyond the outer wall?”
One of the Dermott warriors slowed, taking us in. I don’t know if she knew who we were or not, but she pointed onward with her sword.
“Keep moving north. We’ve opened the north postern gate to let out the innocent.”
Without a word, Neeve and Keela both grabbed my hands. I struggled to stand, to keep my eyes open.
“Neeve, I cannot—”
“Yes, you can, Brienna,” Neeve ordered, not allowing me the chance to surrender. “Stay with me.” Her grip was like iron as she dragged me in her wake, following the Dermotts. I forced my eyes open. The warriors took the stairs curling up to the armorer battlements, and we continued on the grass, trying to reach this elusive hope of an open gate.
But we found it, a small entrance carved into the outer wall. Several Dermott warriors had the gate wide open, yet there was no bridge. Only the dark lap of the moat water.
“You’ll have to swim across,” one of the Dermotts said after checking our wrists for the half-moon. And then his eyes rested on my face. “Although with her injury . . . she should not be in the water.”
Neeve’s anger flashed in her expression as she growled, “She is my sister and I am taking her to the queen to be healed. So stand aside.”
The Dermott merely raised his brows but stepped out of the way.
But even now that we were here . . . we all three hesitated as we stared at the water. It felt as if we were jumping off another wall, only this time we could not see the bottom.
“Are you sure Lord Aodhan will find my brother?” Keela asked, wringing her hands.
“I am certain,” Neeve responded, although there was a crack in her voice. “I shall jump in first, and then Keela will help Brienna.”
My sister tried to gracefully enter the water, but she slipped in with a splash. I watched the darkness close over her fair hair; I watched her break the surface with a gasp, and I knew there was no way I was going to be able to keep my face out of the water.
I didn’t even attempt to ease my way in. I jumped, letting the water rush over me. My face throbbed and burned in reply, and for a moment I seemed to sink, unable to find the surface until I kicked into Neeve. Her hands were strong as she drew me up, and I sputtered and choked and fought the incessant urge to touch my wound.
The three of us swam, the water dark and cold. It felt like leagues of secrets lay beneath us, secrets that could swiftly emerge from the depths and take hold of our ankles. I thought of Cartier as I struggled to swim. Neeve had said he was here, that he was going to find Ewan, and yet when I thought of Cartier, I thought of his mother, and so I had to push them both from my mind. Declan’s words still weighed on me, so heavily they could have pulled me to the bottom of the moat.
We reached the other side and climbed out of the water, our fingers sinking into the soggy loam. Neeve and Keela both dragged me upward to the grass, because I could not do it on my own. I groaned as I crawled upon the ground; all I desired was to lie down and sleep.
“We are almost there, Brienna,” Neeve whispered. “Hold fast to me, sister.”
And before I could collapse, she had me up again, swaying on my feet. We ran together until the grass began to give way, surrendering to a hill. I found the dregs of my strength, willing myself to keep putting one foot in front of the other, willing myself to reach the end. We ran until I could no longer hear the chaos and the fury that brewed in the castle behind me, until the stars hid behind boughs of trees, and the stench that clung to me faded into the sweetness of an orchard. We ran until our breaths were broken and our lungs were heaving, until my fever settled into my joints and every step I took sent sharp pain up my back.
It felt like we ran for years, Neeve and Keela and I.
And I almost collapsed, refusing to go any farther, to insist my sister let me lie down and sleep, when I saw him in the distance.
He was standing in a field, the moonlight limning his armor. And I knew he was waiting for me. That he was waiting to take me home.
Neeve and Keela slowly let go of my fingers, fading away until I wondered if they had even been real.
Jourdain ran to me as I ran to him.
He had not seen my face yet, I thought as he embraced me, his arms coming about me like an unbreakable chain, holding me up.
“I have you,” my father whispered, and I knew he was crying as he stroked my shorn hair. “I have you now.”
When he took a gentle hold of my chin to see why I was bleeding so badly, I jerked away. I fought him, flailing to get free of his arms, to hide myself.
“No, no,” I panted, struggling even though he held me in love. I didn’t want him to look at me.
“What is it? Is she wounded?” Another voice, one I didn’t recognize.
“Brienna, Brienna, it’s all right,” Jourdain whispered, still trying to calm me, his fingers accidentally brushing my wound as I whirled away from him.
The pain was a star exploding in my mind. I dropped to my knees and retched.
“Find the queen!”
“Where is she wounded?”
“Call the wagon. Quickly!”
I could hear the words, circling me like vultures. I crawled a few
paces, and then tried to lower myself into the grass. But Jourdain was there, kneeling before me. I had no choice but to tilt my face up, to the moonlight, to his gaze, to let the blood drip from my chin.
I watched him soak in the severity of my wound.
And before he could say anything, before his fury could devour him, I used the last of my strength to reach out, to take hold of his sleeve and give him a direct order.
“Father . . . Father, take me home.”
THIRTY
WHERE ARE YOU, DECLAN?
Lady Halloran’s Territory, Castle Lerah
Cartier
This would be the last time I hunted Declan Lannon.
I ascended the western tower with that promise clenched between my teeth. I opened every door I came upon—most were unlocked and yielded easily beneath my hand. And I knew that he must be somewhere in this western tower, because every chamber that I opened was dark but furnished, guest rooms draped with sheets to keep off the dust.
The higher I climbed, the more anxious I became, searching, searching. By now, the clamor in the inner ward was evident, even enclosed in tower stone. Declan must know something was amiss, and I predicted that he would run.
My only consolation was there was but one way down this tower and I was claiming it, stair by stair. Eventually, Declan and I would chance upon each other.
Where are you, Declan?
I finally opened a door that exposed a lit room. A library. There was a host of candles to light the space, and I could see books were sprawled along one of the tables, a plate of scones nearby. Someone had just been here, I could sense it, and I wondered if it was Ewan. I was going to step deeper into the room when I heard a clatter overhead. A door being slammed. The distant murmur of voices.
I knew it was him. And I continued my ascent, soundless, following the curve of the stairs, stepping through darkness and torchlight, my breaths ragged by now. I could feel the burn in my legs, my muscles straining and taxed, and yet I pulled in deep breaths, keeping myself calm and sharp.
He would have the advantage of his strength, but I would have the advantage of the surprise.
The voices were growing louder. I was nearly upon them. Another door opening and slamming, a shudder in the stones.
I reached a landing. It was circular, the floor set with a mosaic that glistened in the firelight. There were three arched doors, all of them shut, but I could hear the hum of urgent voices. Which one was he hiding behind?
I made toward the one on the left, halfway there when the middle door unexpectedly blew open.
Declan saw me and stopped upright, narrowing his eyes at me.
Of course, he did not recognize me. I was wearing Halloran armor, and I still had the helm on my head.
“What do you want?” the prince barked at me. “Where is my escort?”
Slowly, I lifted my hand to remove my helm. I exposed my face, letting the brass helmet fall to the floor, a hollow clatter between us.
And Declan could only stare at me, as if I had just risen from the gleam of the mosaic, as if I had conjured myself here.
He recovered from his shock, chuckling. “Ah, Aodhan. You have finally caught up to me.”
I took a step closer to him, my gaze locked on his. I saw the twitch in his cheek, the slight shift of his body. He was about to bolt.
“It was only a matter of time,” I said, taking yet another step to him. “I had to merely follow the trail of stench you left behind.” And here I stopped, because I needed to say this to him before he fled from me. “I want to break every bone in your body, Declan Lannon. I won’t, however, because I am far more than you. But know this: when I pierce your heart with my sword, I do it for my sister. I do it for my mother. I do it for the Morganes.”
Declan smiled. “Do you want to know what really happened that night, Aodhan? The night your sister died?”
Do not listen to him, my soul raged, and yet I continued to stand, waiting for him to continue.
“Yes, my father gave me an order,” Declan said, his voice dropping low and hoarse. “He ordered me to begin breaking your sister’s bones, beginning with her hands. I took up the mallet, and yet I could not do it. I could not follow his orders, because your sister was looking at me, sobbing. And so my father said to me, ‘You already begged for one life, so you must now take one, to show yourself strong.’ His hand encircled mine, and he broke your sister’s bones through me. And it was the moment my soul fractured, watching her die.”
He is lying, I thought, almost frantically. Aileen had told me something different. She had not said Gilroy took Declan’s hand beneath his, controlling the blows.
“When I found your sister hiding in a cupboard,” he went on, “I didn’t think my father would torture her. So that is why I brought her to him. Because I thought we were going to take Ashling back to the castle, for her to live with us, to raise her as a Lannon. If I had known he would kill her, I would have left her hiding.”
He was trying to confuse me. He was trying to weaken my resolve, and it was beginning to work. I felt the hilt of my sword slide in my hand, in my sweaty grip.
“Yes, I am the darkness to your light, Aodhan,” Declan said, now the one fully in control of our interaction. “I am the evening to your dawn, the thorns to your roses. You and I are bound together as brothers through her. And she lives because of me. I want you to know that before you kill me. She lives because I love her.”
Who did he speak of? Brienna?
I had endured enough. I would not listen to any more of his poison.
He lunged back into his chamber, trying to bring the door between us. But I caught it with my foot, kicking it open, watching the wood swing and smack Declan in the face.
The prince stumbled back, the first blood drawn, dribbling from his lip. He reached out to restore his balance on a round marble table, where he had been eating dinner. The pewter rattled; a cup of wine spilled, but Declan’s moment of surprise was over. He chuckled, and that sound woke the darkness in me.
I was so honed in on him that I almost missed it. From the corner of my eye came a blur of light on steel, a sword being thrust toward me.
I pivoted, angry that I had to divert my attention from the prince. I caught the blade with my own, just before it would have sunk into my lower abdomen, and I slung my new opposition back to the wall.
It was Fechin.
Fechin’s eyes widened, to feel the brunt of my parry, to realize it was me. The guard struggled to regain his composure, scrambling, but I progressed on him, disarming him with fluid ease.
I took Fechin by the hair and said, “Do you know what I do to men who are foolish enough to break Brienna MacQuinn’s nose?”
“My lord,” he stammered, choking on his fear like they all did when caught. “It was not me.”
I spat in his face and pierced his stomach with my sword. He shuddered, his eyes glazing as I withdrew my blade, letting him slump to the floor.
When I lifted my eyes, the room was empty.
The chamber was divided by a series of three steps; one side of the room led to the balcony, whose double doors were still locked, the glass fogged from the chill of the night. But the other side of the room possessed a wall carved with four arched doors, all yawning with darkness.
I took up a candelabra from the dinner table. Bearing sword and light, I moved toward the first door, my eyes straining in the darkness.
“Where are you, Declan?” I taunted, each of my steps measured, calculated. “Face me. Do not tell me that you are afraid of little Aodhan Morgane, the boy who slipped through your fingers by hiding in the muck pile.”
I entered the first room despite its darkness, my sword ready, my light raised so it would not blur my vision.
It was a bedchamber, the floor scattered with husk dolls and a tangle of ribbons. Keela had been staying here. And it was empty.
I quietly retreated, progressing to the next door, stepping over the threshold.
The heavy sil
ence was broken by a whimper, and my attention sharpened, my gaze cutting through the room to see Declan was sitting on a stool with Ewan before him, holding a dirk to the boy’s throat.
Ewan was violently trembling, his eyes glittering with fear as he looked at me.
My heart all but broke in that moment. I had to fight to steady myself, to keep my composure. But a piece of my assurance broke away; I had the first taste of loss on my tongue, that I might not be able to get myself and Ewan safely out of this encounter.
“Not another step closer, Morgane,” Declan warned.
I did not move. I only breathed, looking to Ewan, trying to reassure him with my gaze.
“Drop your light and sword, Aodhan,” the prince said. “Or else I’ll slit the lad’s throat.”
I swallowed, struggling to conceal my trembling. I had never imagined I would concede my weapons to him, that I would lay them down before him, that he would defeat me. But all I could think was I must keep Ewan safe and whole, and I did not doubt for a moment that Declan would slit his own child’s throat.
“You would end your own flesh and blood?” I asked, only to try and buy myself more time.
“Oh, but he isn’t mine anymore,” Declan said sardonically. “Last I heard, Ewan was a Morgane. Isn’t that right?” He tightened his grip on the boy, and Ewan flinched.
Please, please, I wanted to shout at Declan. Let the child go.
“I asked you a question, Ewan,” Declan pressed. “Which House are you?”
“I . . . I am a . . . a . . . Lan . . . Lannon.”
Declan smiled at me. “Oh. Did you hear that, Aodhan?”
“Ewan, did you know that my mother was a Lannon?” I spoke calmly, still trying to give him a morsel of courage, to ready himself to run. “I am half Lannon, and half Morgane. And you can be too, if you want.”
“Don’t speak of Líle,” Declan snarled at me, the ire of his response taking me aback.
“Why don’t you let Ewan go,” I replied, “and you and I can finally end this rift, Declan?”
“Don’t test me, Aodhan. Drop your sword and light and step back to the wall.”
I had no choice. I lowered the candelabra and my sword to the floor. As I stepped back to the wall, I thought about how to proceed. I still had my dirk concealed at my back, but I didn’t know how fast I could draw and successfully wield it against a long-sword in Declan’s possession.