Chapter 25

25

B y twilight of the fourth evening, they had ridden as far north as Gwendolyn had ever dared venture—deep into Brigantes territory.

According to that map in her father's war room, here they should remain till they reached the Border Esk and the Moorfoot hills. And once there, and they spied Blackhope Scar—the tallest of fourteen hills—they would be halfway to their destination.

Inherited from the Fae who'd once occupied their lands, that map was a representation no mortal could have conceived, much less created. It held the last vestiges of Fae magic and, like the Dragon's Lair above their city, nobody knew how it worked. As a girl, she had marveled over every dip and swell in the painted clay, imagining herself sovereign over all. A physical depiction of Pretania from Land's End to the north seas, it was carved to precision and changed as the land changed. Indeed, during her father's first years as king, when the Great Southern Storm flooded the southern coastlands, razing forests and destroying villages, the map had depicted this change. In fact, the only thing that map did not reveal accurately was the magic hidden at Porth Pool and the truth of the Druid's Crossroads. Those places were veiled even from Gwendolyn's eyes, and perhaps from her father's, too. But if not, then at least she now understood why her father had never felt compelled to see the pool for himself. Although it may have been noted if anyone ever attempted to move the map, it was an inseparable part of the chamber in which it was built. If Trevena were ever to be destroyed, that map would also be lost, and that fate nearly came to pass during the exodus of its makers.

It might be difficult to believe now, because their city was such a marvel, but when her great, great, great-grandfather inherited those lands, there was nothing but ruins—a maze of stone structures half buried, and all that saved it from obscurity was that the old city was constructed upon a granite cliff that bore meager soil, and the sea winds relentlessly blew what was there away.

Even now, Trevena had no true means to produce its own food, and were it not for their port, the people would starve. It was her great, great, great-grandfather who found that map and restored the city, and her father later constructed a palace around it. Gwendolyn counted it to their good fortune that Locrinus did not occupy her city long enough to note how the map altered of its own accord, as though it, too, were a living, breathing form. And yet, even if Locrinus and his brothers did not recognize its magic, Talwyn should have known, and Gwendolyn suspected Bryn's father had had his own designs to rule. For whatever reason, he never felt inclined to share the map's worth, though even without Fae magic, it was still quite the asset. It was fortunate for Gwendolyn that Loc was too arrogant and too faithless to understand its value, and she felt certain that, after finding the Treasury empty, his brothers had abandoned the city too soon—that, or else, like the Dragon's Lair, the map's enchantment was temporarily lost, and with an empty Treasury and a harbor that could not be used, Trevena might have seemed a worthless cause. With Gwendolyn's return to the city, the fire in the Lair was quickly restored, and the map was still changing, though it was no longer so accurate as it was before—a sign that perhaps magic in this realm was waning…

"Art quiet," said Lir, as he drew up beside her. He clicked his reins to gain Gwendolyn's attention, and she turned to look at him, grateful to see his familiar blue eyes. Gods knew, he was the only one amidst this entire crew who had always been forthcoming, and she appreciated that now more than ever.

"Where are Emrys and Amergin?" It wasn't what she'd meant to say, but she didn't believe Lir would know what she really wished to know…

"They've ridden back to speak with Málik."

Gwendolyn lifted both brows. "About what?"

"I do not know," he replied, "Though I suspect my brother is contemplating a departure from our Village."

Gwendolyn's gaze snapped to his face. "Forever?"

He nodded.

For a moment, she merely stared, unable to comprehend the gravity of what he had just conveyed. "Why would he do such a thing?!"

Lir gave a soft chuckle, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth. "He claims it is time."

Gwendolyn struggled to make sense of it all. "And how do you feel about it?"

A sense of panic embraced her, and her heart pounded, thumping against her ribs. If he spoke true, it would be a matter of life and death for Emrys, and Gwendolyn could not imagine what would possess him to abandon the surety of his village. Every moment he spent away from his protected home was a moment closer to his death. This was why she had been so vehemently opposed to his accompaniment on this journey, though she fully intended to see him returned to his Druid brothers in good health. But Lir didn't seem to care—at least not about the risk. Instead, he replied with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "I will miss him, of course."

Gwendolyn furrowed her brow, surprised that he could be so cavalier about something so grim as his brother's demise.

"In truth," he continued. "I will be well comforted by the certainty that he'll be honored by the Fae. In their care, he will live longer than we."

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Gwendolyn said, "Blood and bones!" Relieved, she nodded with sudden comprehension. Of course, he would go to the City of Light.

But then another thought occurred to her. Would Bryn follow Esme? Leave Gwendolyn? The very thought gave her an awful kick to the belly, and no matter, she admired Lir for seeking his brother's wellbeing above all else. The bond between these two brothers no doubt ran deep, forged through more than seven hundred years of trials. Conversely, her friendship with Bryn spanned but nineteen short years. If Lir could let his brother go, so, too, could she. "Would you join him?"

He let another soft chuckle. "Me?" He seemed genuinely surprised by the question. "Oh, nay," he said, shaking his head. "I'm afraid this would not be possible."

"Why not?"

He paused for a moment before answering, a hint of sadness clouding his otherwise bright eyes. "In all these ages since Amergin joined the Fae, no Druid has ever been invited to even visit the Fae lands, much less to live amongst them—not even Amergin's brothers or sons."

Gwendolyn peered back over her shoulder to see if the old man had returned, seeing him with entirely new eyes, only considering the sacrifice he'd made—to leave behind a wife and sons in service for all… noble, but heartbreakingly lonely.

And really, even if he had returned to visit his family in the Betwixt, it wouldn't be long against Fae years when he would have witnessed their ageing and eventual death. "Men have gone," Gwendolyn argued.

She had seen this proof with her own eyes—and she had gone. However, she didn't wish to reveal that she'd spied bones in Arachne's lair.

"It is one thing to trespass, another to be welcomed, and I must believe that will not be my destiny. Alas, My Queen, my skills are best served in Lifer Pol. My destiny remains there."

Gwendolyn nodded, understanding. "As healer?"

"Not simply." The young Druid smiled without regret. "As I've said, I've made it my life's work to know the laws of men and Fae. It will be my burden for the gift of this knowledge to use it where it will serve both realms."

"That is… quite… noble," Gwendolyn allowed. And it was. Truly. She understood what a sacrifice it would be.

Even now, with only a few leagues between them, she felt Málik's absence acutely, and if she must live apart from him, she didn't know if she could bear it.

Their conversation lapsed for a moment into pensive silence, and then Gwendolyn said, "I know you, more than Emrys, have always been enamored of the Fae."

"As you," he said, and Gwendolyn smiled, remembering their long hours of discourse en route to the Druid village, where she had confessed so much to him. It could be said that Lir knew more of her innermost thoughts than even Ely or Bryn.

"My brother has sacrificed so much already. The candle of his life teeters at the brink of extinguishment. How can I not pray Málik will embrace him as his father once embraced Amergin?"

Gwendolyn nodded, thinking it so odd that, for mortals, those Fae tales seemed to have transpired in another age, and yet, for the Fae, only a breath had passed. Indeed, Gwendolyn had yet to grow accustomed to this thinking that her history was still their present. "So it was Málik's father who welcomed Amergin?"

"As I understood, Núada first embraced him, but upon his death, Málik's father extended the honor. Quite the distinction, wouldn't you allow?" Lir's smile was genuine, and Gwendolyn's thoughts brightened. That was the gift of this man. He seemed to know how best to make her smile.

"You're a good man, Lir. I am proud to know you."

"Then you will not plan to send me home?" he jested, laughing, reminding her she had once so vehemently refused to travel with him.

Gwendolyn laughed softly. "Rest easy, my dear friend. I will not." She gestured toward his mare. "After all, you are astride Sheahan, are you not?" Less jovially, she added, "At any rate… you are not the one who's wont to fall behind." She was speaking of Málik, of course, although Gwendolyn wasn't inclined to explain that. " You are a joy to me. And, in truth, if others were so inclined to such charity, Cornwall would not now be suffering the stink of Rot."

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Has no one told you?"

Gwendolyn's gaze narrowed . "Told me what?" She could not tolerate yet another secret.

Undeterred by her dark expression, the Druid grinned unabashedly. "The southern lands have begun to heal!"

"But… I thought… your brother… he said?—"

Lir waved a hand in happy dismissal. "Emrys would have said anything to join this quest. Word of the Sword has traveled swiftly. The Llanrhos Druids came from Trevena to report the city's garners are full."

Gwendolyn's heart surged against her ribs—joyful over the news, but…

"So it appears this year's harvest will be better than the last under your father." He winked. "The Catuvellauni chieftain has made himself quite useful in your absence. Who'd have thought?"

Wonderful, Gwendolyn mused .

Lir did an eager little head jiggle, and Gwendolyn longed to laugh, despite that this news also put a most definite crease in her brow, even as it pleased her. No doubt, this was great news, but it was none of her doing, nor could she escape the tiniest bit of envy that it would be the stranger in their midst who would return a shred of normalcy to her beloved city. A man. "That is… wonderful ," she offered.

And then, as though she were attempting to convince herself that she meant it, she said, "Yes, it is." And it was—it was—so why now did Gwendolyn feel as petty as Locrinus, wanting such an accomplishment for herself?

Trevena was a thriving city and Loegria well established, but those were not Loc's achievements. His decision to relocate was done purely for pride. He coveted a city built in his own name—but of course, why should he care for the triumph of others? He cared nothing for Pretania, only for himself, and this greed would be his undoing.

But she was not Loc. She was pleased. Gwendolyn loved her city and her people. And she was grateful to Caradoc for doing precisely what she had hoped he could do in her absence. When Lir did not continue, she asked, "Any more news from Trevena?"

The Druid shrugged. "None that I know of, but I must assume this pleases you?"

Gwendolyn smiled, because she knew her response confused him—wily Druid that he was. "Of course," she allowed. "I am well pleased."

"Good," he said, and it was. She had made the right decision for her people, leaving Caradoc in charge, with Ely, his son and Taryn to support him. And this, she understood intuitively, was the true mark of a worthy leader. It would be impossible for Gwendolyn to do everything herself, even if she always knew the right thing to do, which she most certainly did not.

"Thank you, Lir."

"For what?"

Her smile widened, and this time entirely without pretense. "In your usual manner, for speaking the truth when no one else will."

"Heh," Lir chuckled. "Someone's got to do it."

Gwendolyn added, "And for being the steadfast friend I so desperately need in these uncertain times." Her voice was soft with gratitude. "And for reminding me of my place."

"Oh," he said. "I'd never presume such a thing!" Still, his blue eyes sparkled, and Gwendolyn laughed. "But now," he said. "I must thank you ."

"For what?"

"For being the queen our people need, even when the weight of your crown is heavy. For leading with grace and wisdom, even during times of uncertainty."

Had she done that?

Gwendolyn felt a swell of gratitude wash over her at the kindness of his words. It was rare to receive such heartfelt praise amid so much chaos and doubt. She reached out, clasping his hand in hers, squeezing gently. "Thank you, my friend," she said again, her voice thick with emotion. "Your loyalty and friendship mean more to me than you may ever know." And she would have offered him a place in her Konsel right then and there, but she knew he'd not accept it.

A flicker of pride warmed his eyes. "It is my honor to serve."

Gwendolyn gave him a flourish of her hand to end the maudlin discourse. "And now, my friend, have you any desire at all to hear of my travels in the Fae realm? I've been dying to speak of it!"

Lir's face brightened. "Oh, please!"

Gwendolyn nodded, grinning. "You were entirely correct," she said, with an exaggerated whisper and a hand to her mouth. "The City of Light is spectacular!" She kissed her fingers. "There are towers that twist like vines, with spires that bloom, and meanwhile, throughout the entire city, rivers of light…"

Much to Lir's delight, Gwendolyn continued, regaling him with all the sights of her journey. But, unexpectedly, as she gave him such a detailed account, she grew saddened, wondering if she would never again see those marvels. There was a part of her that longed to go there, as well—even if she could not yet confess it. And how wretched that she should witness such wonders during this time of strife, when she could not fully appreciate their worth. Gwendolyn found herself envious of Emrys, even as she was grateful to know he would spend the rest of his days surrounded by beauty and magic, and she hoped Málik would approve his request… only to realize… again… that so long as Málik was king… he, too, must remain in the Fae court. Whether it be a cruel king intent upon keeping them parted, or fated destinies… their love seemed cursed.