Chapter 26

26

D ay and night.

Day and night.

Day and night.

The endless rhythm of Aisling's hooves against the hard dirt path lulled Gwendolyn into a bored reverie. Closing her eyes, she allowed her thoughts to drift to summer days spent exploring the hills about Trevena—long before the Rot tore through their lands. The sweet scent of wildflowers and freshly trampled grass wafted through her imagination. Her mouth watered over the remembrance of ripe berries she and Bryn used to forage and eat while exploring the hills. The sweetness of the memory lingered upon her tongue and made her ache for simpler days when the world was bright with possibilities. How she longed to be so carefree again.

Alas, those days felt like an eternity past, a distant dream shattered by harsh realities. And despite this, with every step forward, she dared to nurture a glimmer of hope that her grandfather would greet her with open arms—that he would recognize his blood and agree to champion her against the villain she had wed.

Dare she hope?

With every day's end, they grew closer to their destination, closer to the answers that had eluded her so long.

Was her grandmother still alive? Did they have more offspring whose young now tugged at her skirts? Why did they abandon their daughter to Cornwall? Who was the woman whose beautiful dowry chest she'd been forced to abandon in Loegria?

As yet, the odds were against Gwendolyn, but in her heart of hearts, she knew right was on her side. After all, this was her land, not Loc's, and she knew it well. It was her people whose blood was shed here for a thousand years and more. And Loc… was nought but a greedy interloper, whose fate was only bettered by her father's goodwill.

Soon, Gwendolyn vowed… his body would rot in those fens, and she would dance on his grave. Vengeance would be hers.

Her lips turned as she considered his current garrison. Plowonida would prove to be his tomb. This would be his first wet season in the fenlands and his first winter spent at his precious Troia Nova. Gwendolyn knew enough about those eastern wetlands to know he would have no inkling of how to buttress his new fortress for the winter. Without help from the native tribes—most of whom he'd so eagerly displaced—he would find himself ill prepared for the coming flood tides, and the rotting of grain in his fields. Gwendolyn knew only too well where Loc's priorities lay and it was not in the early planting of crops, nor for the welfare of his people—his certainly, and Estrildis', too, but he would not plan well enough in advance to ensure anyone but himself and his abhorrent mistress were fed or cared for. If luck be hers, he would delay the planting of his crops too late, and they would spoil before the harvest. His troops would spend a harsh winter—mayhap harsh enough that, by the springtime, their bellies would be empty enough to encourage them to abandon his cause, and Gwendolyn would welcome any who cared to join her.

Certes, there were times when she questioned her motives. Did she merely long for revenge against the man who had betrayed and violated her—murdered her family, reviled her? Or was it truly for Pretania she fought?

Doubtless, there was a measure of vengeance she wished to impart—she was no angel—and yet, that she had risked so much to seize back her kingdom should be proof enough. That she would sacrifice love… why else would she do such a thing if it were not for love of her people?

All these long hours of deliberation, alone, without Málik to influence her, were good for her sense of clarity. She was still quite wounded by his readiness to end her life, but she understood now that he'd had no choice, and that he had waited so long to commit the act—until the last moment, betting on Gwendolyn to end his curse—was telling in itself. He could so easily have completed his mission on the first day they'd met. Instead, he'd helped her at every turn, begging her to run away with him, and standing by her even when she'd refused.

And now, before securing his throne, he'd lent her two thousand warriors to aid her cause, and she knew in her heart that he meant to stand and fight beside her until the bitter end, even without the promise of reward.

Even knowing that once her campaign was done, he would be honor-bound to go… and she would be honor-bound to stay.

Given the chance, what would you do with the child?

Esme's long-ago question returned to haunt Gwendolyn unexpectedly, but she still had no good answer. At best, he would be a continual reminder of his demon father.

At worst, he was a threat to her crown.

But fortunately, this was not a decision Gwendolyn must make today. Here and now, she needed only to look to Baugh. He was the key to her success.