Chapter 20

20

I t wasn't long after Bryn left Lir came stumbling into the stables. As awful as he appeared, Gwendolyn took pity on him, too, and gave him leave to remain with his Druid brothers. She was heartily relieved when he refused.

He was an accomplished healer, and they would surely have need of him before the campaign was over. But, more than that, Gwendolyn had also grown accustomed to his smiling face. His mood was ever a constant, even when hers was not, and she sorely needed his temperament amidst so much uncertainty. She told him about Bryn, sent him to tend to their crapulousness, and when he returned, he insisted upon tending to his own mount. He stood beside Gwendolyn, mimicking her ministrations, awkward at first, but learning by watching her.

It was only then that Gwendolyn realized how little opportunity these Druids must have had to learn what she would consider mundane tasks. His time in the Druid village must have sheltered him from so much of everyday life.

"Did you never leave the Druid village before joining me?" she asked curiously.

"Never," he said, his tone bright despite the injury he'd done himself last night.

"What made you learn the art of healing, then, when your village defies even death?"

"Merely because we do not age does not mean we do not die," he allowed. "You see how close my brother came, and it was not the spriggans what got him."

"True," Gwendolyn relented, with a grimace over the memory of the spriggan attack. And no matter that it had not been the spriggans themselves, it had been their poison—a dart filled with it, though, as yet, no one knew who'd shot him. Gwendolyn once believed Harri was responsible, wanting to dispose of Emrys for his own political gain.

Lir eyed her curiously. "As you well know, even the Fae are not immune to death." Oh, yes. Gwendolyn knew. Of course she knew!

Even now, it was not her own life's end that troubled her.

They would face trials ahead, and Málik was not unsusceptible. How would she feel if something happened to him before they had the chance to make amends? Worse yet, what if they never made amends? What if his heart was lost to her now and evermore? "I was told the Fae had eight lives. What do you know of this?"

More to the point, Gwendolyn now wondered whether Aengus could return, and Lir must have sensed her question, because his answer both relieved and saddened her. "They do, but there are ways to slay them so they cannot… return."

Gwendolyn nodded, understanding. "Remove the head," she said low, and then she wondered darkly what retribution she would earn from the gods for the life of a divine creature.

"Remove the head," he agreed. "So long as they remain whole, their bodies may regenerate… to a point."

"So then…" She wondered aloud. "It is not definitively eight lives?"

Lir shrugged, sweeping his brush over Sheahan's flank, and Gwendolyn frowned, because Málik had never actually told her how many lives he'd spent…

Nor for that matter, how many times Gwendolyn had perished by Aengus' hand… But did that matter now that she was mortal?

"It will be odd to travel without Esmerelda," Lir said, filling the silence.

Gwendolyn agreed, but didn't wish to speak of Esme yet. She was still quite vexed that "Esmerelda" had so quickly forsaken her, but if she dared to nurse that anger right now, it would force her to think of her mother, and Gwendolyn was not in the mood to dwell upon her losses. "Esme will return when it suits her," she heard herself repeating Málik's words. And it was true, after all. No one could tell that mutinous little Faerie to do aught she didn't wish to do.

"How true," said Lir. "How true." And he continued brushing Sheahan whilst Gwendolyn completed her ministrations for Aisling, leaving Gwendolyn to battle with her own thoughts. For now, she opted not to think at all, and once through with the grooming, she retrieved the Sword of Light, placing it within her horse's scabbard, with the hilt still carefully wrapped in cloth, so it wouldn't touch her thigh and burn. She didn't know how the sword worked, but she had not touched it since the moment she'd wielded it against Aengus. Eventually , it would serve its purpose, but she didn't wish to wield it until it was time.

Borlewen's blade she would keep in her boot. And, if she could manage it, Gwendolyn would rest easier in the end if she could find some way to bury that blade into Locrinus' ignoble heart—for the sake of her cousin. The things he had done to her family were unforgivable, but Gwendolyn did not wish to imagine what more he had done to poor Borlewen before stealing her cherished blade.

Unbidden, came a vision of Locrinus in their wedding tent, snicking away at her curls, his unbridled temper after discovering Gwendolyn's hair was only hair, not gold… And then, revealing the blade he'd stolen from Borlewen before hurling it into their bed—a bed Gwendolyn thanked the Fates she had never shared with him. How ghastly to imagine his odious body in the same way she continued to think of Málik's…

She made her final preparations, and then, when her saddlebags were packed, and she was ready to go, she charged Lir to guard the sword and marched back up to the Druid's Crossroads to climb atop the roof of the cairn so she could better see the fields. And, yes, of course, she was looking for Málik, but the sight of his troops once again stole her breath. A sea of gold and silver shimmered before her. In all her life, she had never witnessed so many warriors in one place, and all geared for battle.

Not even her father's army had compared.

And truly, they'd never had a need for such an army. For all the years after King Brutus arrived on their shores, her father had been too complacent, allowing a stranger to shore up his army to defend Trevena.

And yet, even during her time in Loegria, she had never spied these numbers. All those days Locrinus spent in training before her window, Gwendolyn had only ever glimpsed a small portion of his army, and, even now, she couldn't imagine how he could have gained a force five times as large as this… but somehow he did, and the thought of it made her swallow, hard.

Ten. Thousand. Men.

Ten thousand practiced warriors who had willingly fallen beneath his yoke…

For a moment, as she considered the weight of that, Gwendolyn was undone. She felt light in the head and weak in the knees. Falling to her rump in dismay, she drew up her knees, resting a moment with those thoughts and remembering the day she'd first encountered the blood-painted stones of the Druid's Crossroads…

So much had changed since that day… and today, her true journey began in earnest… Soon—very soon—she would know for certain whether Baugh would support his granddaughter. And if he would not, she had no hope of convincing the rest.

"There you are," said Bryn.

Gwendolyn mustered a smile. "You look refreshed," she said.

"I feel better." But his look remained dour. "I came to tell you that, whilst I was down at the stream, a messenger came searching… for you."

Gwendolyn blinked. "For me?"

Bryn nodded. "I am told your presence is requested in the Máistir's hall." His voice sounded odd. "It sounded important."

Gwendolyn furrowed her brow. "Right now?" She had intended to visit Emrys before leaving, but the tenor of Bryn's voice seemed dark. He nodded once more, his blue eyes intent upon hers, and Gwendolyn asked, "Did they say why?"

Bryn shook his head. "Only that you should come at once."

Responding to the urgency in his voice, Gwendolyn slid down the roof of the cairn. "Very well," she conceded. "In the meantime. Will you prepare your horse to ride? Lir will show you which mount is yours."

"I will."

"Go, pack," she said, but then she laughed when he said, "What have I to pack?"

True. They'd brought so little, and no doubt, everything Bryn had arrived with was still sitting within his saddlebags, joined now by fresh provisions. He might not like trading his horse for Esme's mare, but Gwendolyn felt certain he would see her reason.

"Oh," she said, before leaving him. "Please relieve Lir of the task of guarding my sword. I'd not leave it overlong without protection, and Lir would not swat a fly." To gain that sword, she had shed too much blood, and if she lost it again, she would kill again to retrieve it. She did not want that to be so.

"As you wish," Bryn said, and Gwendolyn watched only for a moment as he made his way back to the stable before starting up the ramp to the Druid village.