by Rebecca Ross
And then I watched my mother, to see that she began work as soon as she woke and labored until the sun went down, that she worked so hard that it seemed that she could outwork any of my people. I suspected that by working herself into exhaustion, she did not have the time or strength to dwell on certain things.
Again, she humbled me. She humbled all of us.
Perhaps what surprised me the most, though, was Ewan. He was drawn to her, and she to him, and the lad followed her about, learning her language of signals before any of us. My mother was going to teach him how to work, I thought wryly, watching Ewan follow her with the dustpan, follow her with a stack of freshly washed linens, follow her with flour streaked on his clothes.
Within that first week, she only wanted to eat bread and cheese. She did not want meat, or even much ale. She was most excited about having tea again, with honey and a drop of cream. I found that the time I was to have with her was forged in the evenings, when I brought a tray of tea to her in her bedchambers, and the two of us sat—on the floor, mind you—before her hearth, soaking in the fire, bonding over our tea. Because the reality was . . . she and I were as good as strangers to each other. I knew nothing of her, and she knew nothing of me.
It was on such a night that she brought some paper to me, filled with her words.
“Should I read this now?” I asked her.
No. Wait.
I nodded and set it aside, enjoying the rest of my tea with her. But in the back of my mind, I knew that I was supposed to be in Lyonesse that day, witnessing the Lannons’ execution. That Gilroy and Oona had been brought to the chopping block before the queen and her nobles and the people that morning, to kneel and lose their heads.
I was the only lord that had been absent. Isolde had told me not to come, to remain home with my mother. And so I had, because I could not imagine leaving. But what concerned me was the fact that Ewan and Keela still needed to be pardoned, and that I was not there to testify in favor of the children.
Brienna will testify for them, Isolde had written to me. She will testify that Ewan and Keela Lannon saved her life.
I cleared the Lannons from my mind and said, “There is a reason why I knew where to find you, Mother. Her name is Brienna.”
Líle laid her hand over my heart. Ah, she sensed it. Or perhaps heard it in the way I said Brienna’s name.
“Yes, she has my heart. She is Davin MacQuinn’s adopted daughter.”
And his name woke tears in her eyes. She smiled and signed, I want to see him and meet her.
“They’ll be at Isolde’s coronation,” I said. “Will you come with me and the Morganes, to celebrate with us?” I dwelled on the letters I had written to both Jourdain and Brienna, sharing the news with them, that my mother was alive. And as eager as they had been to come and see her, they had understood that she still needed time to reacquaint herself with the Morganes first.
Yes, I will go with you.
I smiled and kissed her cheek, thinking . . . how would I bear this, to see all the people of my heart together, meeting and reuniting?
I left my mother after we finished our tea, taking the papers she had given me. Ewan was already asleep in my chambers, snoring on his cot before the fire. He had worked hard that day, following Líle around with the stonemasons.
And so I quietly sat at my desk with Líle’s papers. I knew this was her account, a portion of her story. I hesitated for a moment, the paper crinkling in my fingers, the candlelight washing over it. I almost felt afraid to read this, but then thought, If Líle is ready to share this, then I must be ready to hear it.
Aodhan,
I know you must be filled with questions, questions as to how I survived the rising battle and my time in captivity. I first want you to know that not a day passed when I did not think of you, your father, and Ashling. You and your sister were always in my heart, even when I was in the darkness, thinking I should never see you again.
Perhaps another night, I can write to you of happier things, such as the day you were born and how your sister loved to get you in trouble. But for now, let me take you back twenty-five years.
During the battle, your father and I were separated. I had a phalanx of warriors behind me, and a sea of Allenachs and Lannons about me, and Gilroy Lannon rode up and severed my hand. My sword went with it. He hauled me before him on his horse and then rode me back to the courtyard, dragging me into the throne room. I knew what he was going to do. Because I had been born a Lannon, he wanted to make an example of me, to behead me at the footstool of the throne.
I was in such great pain, and despite all of our efforts, I knew we were going to lose the battle. And yet even as I knelt, waiting for him to bring down his sword on my neck . . . I wanted to live. I wanted to live for you and Ashling, and yes, your father, whom I loved. But out from the darkness came Declan. Out from the darkness came his voice, screaming at his father for mercy, to let me live. And then he laid himself over me, claiming if Gilroy killed me, he would have to kill Declan as well.
But perhaps I need to tell you more about Declan.
When Declan was seven, he asked me to teach him how to paint. He had seen some of my art, and he wanted to learn. His father, of course, thought art was a waste of time. But I saw the value in this arrangement, that I could draw Declan away from the castle, where I knew a great evil was flourishing beneath Gilroy and Oona. I could try to protect the future king, to raise him up to be a good man, not like his father. But, of course, Gilroy wanted something in return for this. He wanted me to show my allegiance to the Lannons by betrothing Ashling to Declan. Ashling was only a year old, and I absolutely balked at this. Until your father said to me, “If you can teach Declan to paint, you can mold the future king. And our daughter will be queen at his side.”
And so I agreed to it.
Declan came and stayed with us many weeks out of the year, learning how to paint. And while I came to love him as a son, I began to see the darkness in him. Little by little, year by year, he grew harder and more violent, and I realized that I could not save him. I could not redeem him. It filled me with such despair, that I failed him in some way, and yet he still loved me. He was trying, for me, to be good.
But soon, I was not only afraid for him, I was afraid of him.
I broke the betrothal. And your father and I began to plot a coup, because we had witnessed enough of Gilroy and Oona. You already know the rest of the tale.
So in the throne room, Declan begged for my life.
Surprisingly, Gilroy agreed to it. He sent me to the lowest level of the dungeons, and there I was chained, in agony, for months. He waited until my wrist had healed, and then he cut out my tongue, so I could no longer speak. That first year was the hardest. The pain never seemed to ebb, and all I could wonder about was if your father had survived, if you and Ashling had been harmed. I knew nothing, and could not ask the guards what had happened.
But then, one of the guards took pity upon me. Yes, he was a Lannon, but he cared for me. He brought me the best of the food, the cleanest of the water, and herbs to help me heal. He told me what had occurred after the failed coup. He said you and your father had escaped with Davin, Lucas, Braden, and Isolde. That the Morgane people had been given to Lord Burke. That my father, a Lannon thane, had tried to incite a second revolt and had failed, that Gilroy had destroyed all of my family because of it. And I wept to learn of this—the death of my family—but to also know you and your father had survived. That gave me the hope I needed to stay alive, to play my cards. I would defy the Lannons by living, and I would be ready when you and your father returned.
I was locked in the dungeon cell for five years. Declan would often come and visit me. I cannot even describe how sad and terrible these visits were, not because he was cruel to me, but because I knew he was drifting further and further away, that all the goodness and virtue I had tried to plant in him had withered and died. But he began to bring me paper and ink and a quill, so I could speak to him in writing. He
kept telling me to drop Morgane from my name, to completely deny my House and your father, because if I did, he could bring me up from the dungeons. He could find me a place in the castle.
Nearly every day for a month, he came to my cell and waited for me to write my denial.
And when I didn’t, the more frustrated he grew with me. “Don’t you desire to live, Líle?” he would shout at me. “Don’t you want to live in comfort? I can protect you. I can give you a much better life than this.”
And yet I refused to give up the Morgane name.
So he refused to visit me for what felt like a year. During that time, the Lannon guard tried to help me escape. He told me of the underground river, that it opened up into the bay. We plotted and planned, and then when the day came, he snuck me from my cell, leading me to the river. But it is difficult to escape a Lannon-run dungeon. We were discovered by none other than Oona herself. She had always hated me, because she knew Declan loved me more than he loved her. She had me whipped, and the guard tortured to death.
I was back in my cell, in utter agony, when Declan returned to visit me. He had not realized I had tried to escape, that his mother had nearly whipped me to death. “Do you want me to kill her?” he asked me, so calmly I at first thought he was teasing. But Declan was serious. He was only sixteen years old, and would have killed his own mother for me. That is how dark and corrupt their family was.
He brought me up from the dungeons to recover in his private quarters. I think he was hoping that I would drop the Morgane name, now that I could recover in comfort. He was afraid—all of the Lannons were afraid—that you and your father, Kane, Davin and Lucas, Braden and Isolde would return with vengeance. And Declan wanted reassurance that I would choose him over you in the event that you did return.
I could not give him such reassurance, and that angered him. He scarred my face and sent me back to the dungeons. I did not speak to a human for five years. It was only myself in the darkness.
And I hate to write this, but those five years finally broke my spirit. I had been a captive for ten years total by this point. If you did return to Maevana, Aodhan, you would only be eleven years old. And I began to pray that Kane would keep you away from this darkness, that he would raise you up in a realm that was safe and good. And perhaps Kane had even remarried, for he believed I was dead, and so you would be raised by another woman who loved you. I thought of this so much that I began to believe it.
When Declan finally came back to visit me, he was now a man, and I was now crushed. I gave up the Morgane name. I wanted to take Hayden as my surname, but Declan said the Haydens were all dead and I needed to be a Lannon.
I became Líle Lannon.
Declan veiled me and brought me up to the castle to serve as his wife’s chambermaid. No one but him and Gilroy and Oona knew who I truly was. And things were fine for a few years—I kept my head down and was silent so that they hardly noticed me anymore—but when Declan began to beat his wife, I confronted him, told him I knew he was better than this. And all Declan did was laugh at me, laugh as if I had lost my mind. It was even harder now, because Keela and Ewan had been born and were mere children. I could not protect all three of them—Declan’s wife, his son, and his daughter. When his wife died, Declan sent me back to the dungeons. I think he believed I would try to run away with his children.
He kept me in a cell for a year, and then decided to let me loose, to sweep up the bones in the tunnels. I finally ceased keeping track of time. I didn’t know the day, the year, or how old I was. When the coup finally happened and the Lannons were imprisoned . . . I didn’t know what to do. I had been a captive for so long, I continued sweeping up the bones, too afraid to try and pass through the dungeon gate, up to the light.
And then I saw you, Aodhan. You and I nearly collided in the tunnels, and I thought my heart would burst. I knew it was you. And yet I was too afraid to reveal myself to you, even when Declan shackled me in his cell and you saw me yet again, with Davin and the queen. I was ashamed that I had given up my name. I did not know what was best for you, so I remained where I was, in those tunnels, in the darkness.
Until you returned for me. And I will always wonder what it was that brought you back, how you knew it was me.
One day, I want to hear your story, about all the years that I missed. I want to know where your father raised you; I want to know the places you have seen and the people you have known and loved. I want to listen as you tell me how you planned to return to Maevana, to put Isolde on the throne.
But for now, I think it is enough for me to say that I love you. I love you, Aodhan, my son, my heart. And I am so happy you came back for me in the darkness.
THIRTY-THREE
THE DRAGON AND THE FALCON
The Royal Castle at Lyonesse, Lord Burke’s Territory November 1566
Brienna
“Have you spoken to Aodhan?”
Isolde’s question brought my eyes to hers. We were sitting in her solarium at the castle with all the old records, planning her coronation for next week. And I did not desire to tell her how overwhelmed and distracted I was, because all of us were exhausted. But I could not deny that I was overcome with thoughts of Cartier and his mother, thoughts of Keela and Ewan, thoughts of my healing.
I no longer wore my bandage. I chose to formally cast it off the day before, at the Lannon executions. I had watched Gilroy and Oona both kneel and lose their heads on the scaffold with my face exposed. I had felt the sunlight and the wind and the gazes of hundreds, tracing my scar. But it had not stopped me from standing before the people of Lyonesse to make my case for Ewan’s and Keela’s pardons.
This was my face now. It testified for me, more than words, of what I had come through. And I was relieved when the people now saw it—saw me—that my brothers had seen it, my sister, my father, all the nobles of the realm. All save for Cartier, for he had not come to the executions.
I had not seen him since the day I had told him of his mother, nearly two weeks before. And I could not deny it, despite the courage I found day by day. He had not seen my scar.
“Only in letters,” I replied. “He says his mother is doing well.”
“I am happy to hear that,” Isolde said, falling quiet. She had met Líle Morgane. The queen had been waiting for Cartier to return from the dungeons that night. Isolde had been one of the first to speak to her, to embrace her.
I wanted to ask more about Líle, but the words were too heavy to rise. And though it seemed that Isolde could read my mind—she knew I was worried about seeing Cartier again—I chose to cast my attention back to the coronation.
Isolde wanted her coronation to be as the queens before her—a celebration entwined with tradition—and yet she wanted it to also be illuminated with progression. Maevana was emerging from a very dark time, and so I tried to write down all of Isolde’s desires, wondering how I was going to fulfill all of this for her in a mere seven days.
“What else do we want?” I asked, taking up my quill again.
“There should be music, of course,” Isolde said. “Plenty of dancing and plenty of food.”
“I believe everyone is to bring their own food to share,” I said, sorting through the ancient papers that had miraculously survived Gilroy’s reign. “Ah, yes. It says here that every House brings their best dish.”
“Then that should be included on the invitation,” the queen said.
Invitations. Right, I thought, scrambling through the ledgers to see if I could find an old sample of one.
“I want the invitations to be beautiful,” Isolde said, almost dreamily. “They should be drawn by a calligrapher, with red and gold ink.”
Saints above, I thought. How was I to execute all of this? Was there even a calligrapher in Maevana? Had Gilroy allowed for such beauty?
“Very well, Lady. I shall see what I can do,” I replied. “Do you want to invite every House?”
Isolde slanted her eyes to me. “Do you mean do I want to invite the Lannons
and Hallorans? Yes. They are part of this realm, no matter what the nobles of their Houses have done.”
I finished adding to my vast list of things to accomplish, and when Isolde grew quiet, I glanced up to see she had set a small box before me.
“What is this?” I asked, wary of surprises. It was a small wooden box, handsomely carved. I gently opened it to find a silver brooch within, nestled on red velvet. It was crafted as a dragon and a falcon, one facing the west, one facing the east, their wings brushing. At first, I did not realize its significance, until I met Isolde’s gaze, to see she was smiling at me.
“I want it to be known that I rise with a counselor,” she said. “And that is you, Brienna, if you would choose it.”
I was at a loss for words. All I could do was trace the beauty of it with my thumb. The dragon was her, the Kavanagh queen. But the falcon was me, the daughter of MacQuinn.
“Well, my friend,” Isolde murmured. “What do you say?”
I pinned the brooch to my shirt, just over my heart. “I say, let us rise.”
Isolde smiled, and I was surprised that she actually looked relieved. “Good. I know I have overwhelmed you enough for one day. But there is a surprise waiting for you in your room.”
“Ah, Isolde. I dislike surprises.”
“You will like this one,” she said, taking the list out of my hands and guiding me to her door. “No more work for the day either.”
I gave her a quizzical look but let her usher me out of the solarium.
My chambers were not far from hers, and I slowly walked toward them, wondering what she could surprise me with. I opened my door almost shyly, my eyes sweeping my receiving chamber.
“Brienna!” Merei was on me before I could so much as blink. She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed so tightly that I let out a burst of laughter, struggling to hold us upright.
“How did she sneak you past me?” I cried, pulling back so I could look at Merei’s face, my hands tangling with her purple passion cloak.