The Queen's Resistance

by Rebecca Ross

“Lord Morgane,” she said, still distracted.

  Lord Morgane. Not Cartier. Not even Aodhan.

  She was putting that distance between us, and I tried not to reel from it.

  “Did you see Isolde’s coronation?” she quickly added, and I realized she was just as nervous as I was. “I looked for you.”

  “I was there. I saw you give the vows.” I waited for her to meet my gaze again. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to mine. The silver brooch at her heart caught the light. I smiled at her, unable to conceal my pride, my awe. “Queen’s Counselor.”

  A smile warmed her face. I could hardly bear it, the beauty of her.

  “Ah, yes. I meant to write and tell you about that but . . . things have been quite busy here.”

  “I can imagine. Although I trust you have been able to enjoy your time in Lyonesse?”

  We spoke of the past few days and weeks. Brienna told me of the executions, the pardons for Ewan and Keela, the planning. And I told her briefly of Líle’s return. In some ways, it felt like Brienna and I had been apart for years. So much had occurred since the last time we had seen each other. But the more we conversed, the more relaxed she became, the more she smiled.

  “And what is this?” I asked, indicating the ribbon she continued to hold in her hands.

  “I was looking for a partner.” She glanced away from me, into the crowd, like she was about to pick a random stranger to join her.

  “A partner for what?”

  “A game you would hate, Cartier.” Her gaze returned to mine, but only to grant me a wry look, one that said she knew me well.

  “Should we find out, then?” I challenged.

  “Very well.” Brienna began to walk, and I followed as if I was already tethered to her. She glanced over her shoulder at me and said, “But I warned you.”

  She brought me to the game lawn. And I saw with horror that this was one of those racing games, where two people were fastened together by the ankle, subjected to running around ale casks, and made to look like absolute fools.

  Brienna had been right. I inwardly balked at the notion, but I did not stray, I did not move away from her. Even when she cocked her brow at me, expecting me to protest.

  Merei appeared, flushed and smiling, her flower crown beginning to slip from her hair.

  “Hurry, the two of you!” she urged before she ran across the green, where Luc was impatiently signaling her.

  I took the ribbon and knelt. Brienna lifted her hem, so I could wind the ribbon about our ankles. I knotted it fiercely, so nothing could break it. And when I rose, she smiled at me, as if she knew my thoughts. She wrapped her arm about me, and we awkwardly walked together to the starting line.

  We stood with Luc and Merei, Oriana and Neeve, Ewan and Keela, all who seemed to be thrilled about the prospect of three-legged racing. I stared at the casks we were supposed to charge about, disgruntled, until Brienna whispered, “What will you give me if we win?”

  My eyes shifted to hers. And yet I had no time to answer her. The race began, and we were the last off the line, but Brienna and I were evenly matched. We gained on Ewan and Keela, chasing after Luc and Merei. Neeve and Oriana were in the lead, unsurprisingly. But some fool had placed the third cask on a slope, and my foot went into a burrow. I lost my balance, taking Brienna with me. We were a tangle of limbs, of blue and lavender, as we rolled down the hill into the shadows.

  I heard something shred beneath my knees. I dug my hands into the soil to stop us, Brienna beneath me, and I struggled to gain my breath, to discern her face in the starlight.

  “Brienna?”

  She was shaking. I thought she was hurt until I realized she was laughing. And I sagged against her, feeling her laughter spread from her chest to mine until I had tears in my eyes, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so happy.

  “I think I ripped your dress.”

  “It’ll be all right.” She sighed, meeting my gaze.

  For a moment, we didn’t move, but I could feel her breathing against me. And then she tilted her face away again, to hide her scar in the shadows.

  I gently took her chin to draw her eyes back to mine.

  “Brienna, you are beautiful.”

  And I wanted to bow to her. I wanted to know her, explore her. I wanted to be loved by her. I wanted to hear her say my name in the dark.

  But I waited. I waited for her to lift her hand, to touch me. Her fingers traced my face, slowly twining into my hair.

  I kissed her, and her lips were cold and sweet beneath mine. She held me close to her, and somewhere in the distance I could hear the music and the laughter of the celebration. I could feel the tremble in the earth from the dancing and smell the fire and the wildflowers, and yet it was only her and me lying in the grass, gilded in starlight.

  There was a sudden rumble.

  I pulled back to look at her, to see she was trying not to laugh again. And I might have been mortified had I not realized her stomach was growling.

  “I’m so sorry,” she breathed. “But I haven’t eaten since dawn.”

  I only smiled and stood, helping her up. Brienna brushed clumps of grass from her dress, and I saw that I had, indeed, torn her skirts. I unknotted our ribbon and we walked back into the firelight, where another round of races had begun.

  Our friends were waiting for us by the ale station; Oriana and Neeve had won, and Ewan was pouting about it until I hefted him onto my back, and together we meandered to the food tables to fix our plates.

  “I need to find Líle,” I said to Brienna after we had gone through the line.

  “She’s with Jourdain,” Brienna replied. And she led the way to a long table, where I found my mother was sitting beside Jourdain. And beside her was Thane Tomas. And on the other side of Tomas was Sean.

  My eyes roamed the table, at the people gathered here. MacQuinns. Lannons. Morganes. Allenachs. Valenians. Even a few Dermotts. People who had once been enemies were breaking bread and giving toasts.

  I sat across from my mother, sharing a smile with her, listening to the conversations and the laughter that graced the table. And I thought, This is what I have longed for. This is what the queen brings to our land, to our people.

  Brienna was at my side, engrossed in conversation with Oriana and Merei, when Ewan tugged on her sleeve. And I could not scold him, not on a night like this. I watched from the corner of my eye as he asked, “Mistress Brienna? Will you dance with me?”

  Brienna was up before I could breathe, rushing with Ewan to the dancing green. And then half the table followed them, unable to resist the siren call of the flutes and drums. I turned about on the bench so I could watch, and amid the blur of colors and movement, my eyes never left her.

  “My sister is very beautiful, is she not?” Neeve said, sitting beside me.

  “She is.”

  Neeve and I continued to watch in companionable quiet. And then she whispered, “A word of advice, Lord Aodhan.”

  I glanced to her, intrigued.

  Neeve stood but met my gaze before she joined the dancing, mirth alight in her eyes. “You would do well to remember my sister is a MacQuinn.”

  And I didn’t grasp her words, not until well after midnight, when I was in my castle chambers. I was preparing for bed when I found it in my pocket. Slowly, I withdrew it, the ribbon that had bound Brienna and me.

  And that was when I understood.

  I thought of the Morganes; I thought of the best of my House.

  I thought of Brienna, a lord’s only daughter.

  She was a MacQuinn. And there was only one way to prove myself worthy of her.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  TO MEET THE LIGHT

  Lord MacQuinn’s Territory, Castle Fionn

  Brienna

  A fortnight after Isolde’s coronation, I decided that it was time for me to write my story down. Because there were some mornings when I rose at Castle Fionn and some evenings when I stood with Isolde in the throne room, and I wondered how this all came to
be.

  I sat in my chambers in glorious solitude, pushed my desk before my windows, and I began to give my past a shape, ink on paper, page after page, beginning with my grandfather, and then about the girls I had grown up with and loved as my sisters at Magnalia House.

  I wrote about Master Cartier, and how afraid we used to be of him, because he never smiled until the day I coaxed him to stand on a chair with me, the day I first heard him laugh.

  I was almost to the moment when I met Jourdain and learned of the revolution, the first snow beginning to fall beyond my window, when Luc knocked on my door.

  “Dinner, sister.”

  And I realized that I had not eaten all day, and so I set down my quill, tried to wipe the ink from my fingers, and meandered down to the hall.

  Jourdain smiled at the sight of me, and I sat at his left while Luc sat on his right. Keela was sitting with the weavers, tucked next to Neeve.

  I thought about how much I loved this place and this people, and poured myself a cup of cider.

  That was when the doors of the hall blew open, and Cartier rode in on the most beautiful horse I had ever seen.

  I don’t know what surprised me more: the fact that he boldly rode a horse into Jourdain’s hall, or that he was looking at me and no one else.

  I forgot that I was pouring cider; it overflowed from my cup.

  He took us all by surprise. I knew it because my father was just as frozen as I was, and Luc’s mouth was gaping. Neeve was the only one who did not look flustered. My sister was trying to hide a smile behind her fingers.

  Cartier walked the horse all the way to the steps of the dais, and there he came to rest, his passion cloak draped down his back as if he had captured a piece of the sky, glistening with snow, his face flushed from his ride, his eyes fixed on me.

  “Morgane?” Jourdain stammered, the first of us to recover.

  Only then did Cartier look to my father. “I have come to present myself as a suitor for Brienna MacQuinn. I bring the best of my House, a Morgane horse, bred for endurance and speed, should she accept my offer.”

  My heart was dancing, pounding, aching.

  Jourdain turned to me, wide-eyed. “Daughter?”

  And I knew I must set the impossible challenge upon Cartier.

  Slowly, I rose from my chair and looked at Cartier.

  He returned my stare; I saw the fire burning within him, that he would do this my way because he wanted to, that he would search for however long it took to find the golden ribbon.

  “Bring the tapestry, please,” I said, and watched as the weavers departed to bring it forth. They returned to the hall with the infamous tapestry, and the men worked to string it up from its four corners, so both sides could be seen.

  Dillon offered to lead the horse to the stables and Cartier stood, patiently waiting until the tapestry was up, every eye riveted to him.

  He looked to me as I looked to him.

  “Within every MacQuinn tapestry lies a golden ribbon that the weaver has hidden among the wefts,” I said to him. “Bring me the golden ribbon that hides within this tapestry, and I will accept your horse.”

  Cartier bowed and then proceeded to stand before the tapestry, searching it methodically, beginning with the very bottom right corner.

  Thirty minutes passed. Then an hour. But Cartier didn’t rush. He took his time, and when Jourdain realized this, he sat back in his chair and motioned for his new chamberlain.

  “Bring out some more ale and a batch of honey cakes. This is about to be a long night.”

  And it was a long night.

  Eventually, Ewan appeared, bright eyed and flushed, and I knew he had run all the way here, terrified of missing the drama. He sat beside Keela and bit his nails, brother and sister quiet as they watched Cartier look for a ribbon that did not wish to be found.

  MacQuinn’s people were also fairly quiet. Every now and then a conversation would spark, but no one left the hall. Everyone watched the lord of the Swift. Some people laid their heads down on the table and fell asleep.

  Eventually, I was so weary of standing that I resumed my seat, and I could only imagine what Cartier was feeling, standing and searching before a vast audience.

  The eastern windows blushed with sunrise when Cartier finally found the ribbon.

  My eyes had never left him that night, and I watched—hardly breathing—as his graceful fingers uncovered the ribbon’s edge, as he gently tugged until it came free, a thin shimmer of gold.

  He turned to me and knelt on the dais stairs, holding the ribbon between his hands.

  “Before you decide anything,” Cartier said, “let me say a few words.”

  Luc, who had been snoring in his chair, perked up. As did Jourdain, who linked his fingers and propped his chin on them, trying to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  I nodded, my voice captive in my chest. But a song was rising in me, a song I knew Cartier heard as well, because his eyes gleamed as he looked at me.

  “I remember the day you asked me to instruct you, like it was yesterday. You wanted to become a mistress of knowledge in only three years. And I thought, This is a girl who will do something with her life, and I want to be the one who helps her reach those dreams.”

  He paused, and I worried he was about to cry, because I also felt the tears build in me.

  “The day I left you at Magnalia, I wanted to tell you who I was, to bring you home with me to Maevana. And yet I was not the one to bring you. You brought me home, Brienna.”

  I was weeping now; I couldn’t hold back the tears as I listened to him.

  “I love the heart that is within you,” Cartier said, smiling as his tears fell. “I love the spirit you are forged from, Brienna MacQuinn. If you were a storm, I would lie down and rest in your rain. If you were a river, I would drink from your currents. If you were a poem, I would never cease to read you. I adore the girl you once were, and I love the woman you have become. Marry me. Lead my lands and my people, and take me as yours.”

  I stood and wiped the tears from my eyes, laughing and crying and feeling like I was about to unravel from his words. But then I breathed, steadied myself, and looked at him, still kneeling in wait, still holding the golden ribbon.

  I came to stand before him. The hall was quiet, so quiet I do not think anyone dared to move in that moment.

  “Aodhan . . . Aodhan,” I whispered his true name; I explored the rise and fall of it, and he smiled to hear it.

  I reached down to accept the ribbon from him, to take his hands and bring him to his feet. I wove my fingers in his hair and I breathed against his lips, words only he would hear. “I love you, Aodhan Morgane. Take me, for I am yours.”

  I kissed him before my father, my brother, my sister, my people. I kissed him before every eye in that hall. Cheers swelled around us like a mist, until I felt the celebration move through my body, until I heard the pounding of cups on the tables, to usher a toast for MacQuinn and Morgane coming together, until I heard Keela shouting for joy and Ewan telling her, “I told you so! I told you it would happen!”

  And when Aodhan’s mouth opened beneath mine, when his hands pressed me to him, I forgot about all others save for him. The sounds and the voices and the laughter faded away until it was only me and Aodhan, sharing breaths and caresses and planting secret promises that would soon bloom between us.

  Eventually, he drew back to whisper against my lips, so only I could hear:

  “Lady Morgane.”

  I smiled, to hear the beauty of such a name. And I thought of the women who had worn it before me—mothers, wives, sisters.

  I claimed it as my own.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Writing this sequel was a magical but challenging experience, and it could not have happened without the love and support of so many people.

  First, to my incredible agent, Suzie Townsend. Suzie, you changed my life with an email back in 2015. I sometimes can’t even believe it: that I now have two books publishe
d because of you. Thank you for the love and passion you have given to my stories, for being there to lead me through the highs and the lows, and for helping me reach a childhood dream.

  To the team at New Leaf Literary—Kathleen, Mia, Veronica, Cassandra, Joanna, Pouya, and Hilary. I am so blessed to have such an amazing group of people behind me! Thank you for all the magic you have created for TQR, here in the United States and overseas. Also, to Sara, for reading this sequel at its first draft, and to Jackie and Danielle, for warmly welcoming me into the New Leaf family.

  To my wonderful editor, Karen Chaplin. You have brought my writing to the next level, and I am so grateful for the time and love that you have poured into my books. Thank you for fearlessly diving into my world and helping me polish it until it shined. Also, thank you for the suggestion to write Cartier in first person. I did not think I could do it until you believed I could.

  Rosemary Brosnan, thank you for loving this story and believing in it from the very beginning. I am so honored to be a part of your incredible team, and I cannot thank you enough for your guidance and support. Many thanks to everyone at HarperTeen who have helped shape both of my books into beautiful things: Bria Ragin for your wonderful notes and insight, Gina Rizzo for all of the amazing opportunities you have given me in interviews and travel, Aurora Parlagreco for creating not one but TWO absolutely stunning covers that still bring tears to my eyes, my sales team (thank you for helping me title the first book!), my publicity team, my marketing team, my design team, and my production editors. I am so honored to have your expertise and support in bringing my books to life. Also, a huge hug and thank-you to Epic Reads, for all the love, pictures, and videos that you have created and shared with readers.

  Thank you to Jonathan Barkat, for taking such beautiful photographs for my covers, and to Virginia Allyn, for the jacket illustration and for creating the exquisite map of my world.

  Aly Hosch—where would I be without you? Thank you for taking my author photo and making me look good despite the drizzle. Your enthusiasm for my books has been a ray of light. Thank you for helping me spread the word about TQR, and for being at my side throughout this entire publishing adventure.