Chapter 28

28

S ilence met her question.

"Bryn?"

"Yes… I… heard you," he said, raking a hand over his bearded face. "And yes. I would have… given the chance."

His usually clear blue eyes were now clouded with confusion and fear. But good. He should fear her—someone should.

"I meant to on the day you disappeared."

"I did not disappear," Gwendolyn was quick to argue.

His face fell. "Yes. I know this now. But as you were already gone, my chance to speak to you also fled, and it wasn't till the following day that Esme confessed your whereabouts to me."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "So, you knew?"

Bryn faltered under her gaze, his cheeks flushing a deep red. "Not until she told me."

Gwendolyn sighed then, annoyed again—at Esme and Málik most of all. "Did you realize she planned to join me?"

A hint of surprise flickered across his handsome face. "Esme?"

"That is who we are speaking of, isn't it?"

It galled Gwendolyn so much that the very day Esme had bargained with Gwendolyn to go with her and leave Málik and Bryn, she'd left Gwendolyn's bower to go straight to Bryn's.

"Nay, I did not."

"But, of course, you know she did not, nor do I now believe she ever intended to. She is a liar?—"

"Gwendolyn…"

"Will you defend her?"

Vexed, Gwendolyn waved him away, not wishing to hear him do so, and unable to speak again for the knot obstructing her throat. However, Bryn shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, his expression a mixture of regret and frustration, and Gwendolyn took pity on him.

"I… am… sorry," he said, and, of course, what more should he say? Although he was not, in truth, to blame for Esme's lies.

Gwendolyn sighed. "I do not know how any Fae can ever claim not to lie. She and Málik are spectacular liars!"

The anger in her tone was unmistakable, and though Bryn opened his mouth to defend them, he closed it again—good thing.

"I've told you, as I've told Málik. A lie of omission is still a lie—it is a bold-faced lie!"

Sensing her fury, Bryn sidled closer, then reached out to place a hand upon her forearm, a gesture that bespoke volumes, his familiarity not entirely unwelcome. For a moment, Gwendolyn couldn't speak for the knot in her throat. He said nothing, and he didn't need to. She sensed his heart in his touch, and she drew in a breath, releasing it slowly. At long last, finding her voice, she spoke plainly, lest he forget she was no longer merely his friend. She was his queen , and that was not something either of them should endeavor to forget. "I'll not tolerate deceit of any kind—not from you, nor from either of them," she said.

"I would no?—"

"But you have," Gwendolyn interjected, on some level realizing that she was taking out her frustrations on Bryn.

"I was trying to protect you," he mumbled.

"Protect me?" she said. "How do you not see the irony in that? You were trying to protect me by deceiving me?"

She softened her voice. "Unintentionally though it may have been, you said you would not mislead me again after Porth Pool, and here we are again—not the least of which, you are cavorting with Esme in a manner to complicate everything. It is not only your life at stake, Bryn." She looked away, staring out over the wooded land stretching endlessly before them.

"I understand," he said earnestly.

"Do you?" she challenged, her gaze returning to his.

She sounded resentful, and perhaps jealous, she realized, and did not mean to, so she made clear her feelings. "Bryn… I wish you happiness. I do. If Esme is the one for you… you will have my blessing, but please… do not lie to me ever again. And please…"

What? Do not leave me?

The very thought of begging him was piteous, and Gwendolyn would never do so, nor did she wish to, no matter how lonely it might leave her in the end. "Please… do not be diverted until our campaign is done, and then you may do as you please."

"Gwendolyn…"

She lifted a hand. "Stop," she said, but this was not meant to castigate him for his feelings or for speaking with such familiarity when they had been this way their entire lives. Still, he must understand the weight of her position. Nor, in truth, did she wish to hear him confirm the worst of her fears.

His next words gave her a measure of reassurance. "I understand," he said. "I am sworn to you, Gwendolyn—I am your Shadow. Everything I have done, I do for you… everything, including…" His voice darkened, and Gwendolyn knew he was thinking about his father—and, in truth, he would have slain Talwyn for her sake, but she had known that, and that was why she'd stepped in to claim him for herself. She would prefer he blamed her—if he were so inclined—than to blame himself.

"I know," said Gwendolyn. "I know."

Hardly in the mood to lose Bryn as well, she was not above bribery. "At any rate," she said. "Effective immediately, you are no longer my Shadow."

"Gwendolyn!"

She cracked the tiniest hint of a smile. "It is not as though you have been doing your job… so long at Málik's side, but don't you worry, it is not what you fear." She softened her voice entirely. "Indeed, I have been meaning to elevate you as mester at arms. This is the position you deserve—more than your father ever did."

"Gwendolyn—"

Once more, Gwendolyn lifted a hand. "You needn't say aught but yes and thank you." She peered at him, smiling. "And, really, the only thing you must do from here forth is keep your oath to me, remain loyal, serve Cornwall."

She gazed at him warmly. "And… if it happens, I lose my wits… then for the sake of Cornwall, you will have my permission to take my head."

He twisted his lips. "What would I do with that?"

Gwendolyn shrugged, giving him a flourish of her hand. "Whatever you wish. Put it on a pike," she said, and then, recalling Loc's gruesome handling of her poor father's head, she rescinded the remark. "Perhaps not that."

"Dastard," he whispered, frowning, and they shared a look, remembering the day of their arrival in Loegria—finding her father's head with crows pecking at his eyes.

"Well, my father made his bed," she said more soberly. "He should never have relinquished so much power to Brutus. But I know he did what he thought best—as must we. Cornwall is your priority, as it is mine, Bryn. I know you will do what is necessary for the good of it." For a moment, he rode silently beside her, saying nothing, only listening, looking bemused. Gwendolyn was quite certain that he had never imagined himself as mester at arms. That was never the path from Shadow. Indeed, once a Shadow, always a Shadow, but she did not speak lightly—he deserved this position far more than did his traitorous father.

Lest he deny her, she endeavored to convince him. "More than anything, you deserve this, Bryn. You've been a loyal, dedicated servant. You, too, have lost so much, and I would see you have something in return." He was more than capable of fulfilling this role. All jesting aside, bribery as well. This was the appointment she should have given him long, long ago—on the day she slew his father.

He finally replied, his tone solemn and respectful. "I promise you faithfully, I will do what is necessary for Cornwall, and for you. You are my queen and liege. I'll not fail you."

His tone was rife with emotion, and Gwendolyn nodded. She expected his loyalty and dedication, knew he would rise to the occasion, but for the last time, she would not tolerate duplicity. "However… my grace does not come without consequence. I will have your sworn oath you'll not lie to me again—for any reason."

He nodded somberly.

"I will hear you swear it," she commanded.

"I swear it. I give you my word, Gwendolyn."

She longed to make him also swear he'd never leave her, but that she would not do to him. Once the battle with Locrinus was over, if he wished to go with Esme, Gwendolyn would not expect him to betray his own heart.

As it must be with Málik, she would release him.

"There is much I've yet to tell you," she said. "But I don't know where to begin…"

His boyish grin returned, his blue eyes twinkling as he gave her that all-too familiar tilt of his head. "What would Demelza say?"

She laughed then. "Begin at the beginning," she said, her lips twisting ruefully, and together they laughed, making Gwendolyn long to embrace him, and if they were not on horseback, she might have. "Very well then…" She took a deep breath, steeling herself to recount the events that transpired since they last spoke heart to heart. Nervously stroking Aisling's mane, she stole another glance at her childhood friend. His shining, black hair fell into his eyes, and he pushed it away with the back of his hand. So like that young boy she'd always admired. "Alas, though, I never once imagined myself caught in such a tangled web," she allowed, her voice barely above a whisper.

He turned to her, his gaze searching. "We all bear burdens, Gwendolyn. It is how we carry them that defines us."

"Another bit of wisdom from Demelza?"

He shrugged. "Did she never stop talking?"

Gwendolyn laughed again, missing her mother's meddlesome maid.

"Very well, then… so I begin at the beginning…"

First, she told Bryn the news of her marriage's dissolution.

"That's incredible!" he said.

Gwendolyn's smile unfurled. "I am free," she said. "His suit has been dismissed, so he can give away that gaol cell he was keeping for me—to his mistress, one can hope."

He lifted both his brows. "I am told she abandoned her son to Innogen?"

That child again…

Esme's question still hounded her. Though, in truth, Gwendolyn still didn't know what Habren's fate should be. She sighed. "I heard that as well. She is no mother to the boy. Innogen will raise him, and he'll never know Estrildis' name."

"One can pray it will be so… and yet, I warrant, Innogen's influence will not be benevolent. She raised Locrinus, after all, and what did he do? He murdered his father and mayhap his brother…"

It was Innogen who'd Murdered Urien, not Locrinus. Estrildis had confessed as much, but Gwendolyn still didn't have any proof. "No doubt, she'll poison him," Gwendolyn said. "Poor boy." But his brand of poison will not be the same as she'd dealt Brutus' eldest son—the man Gwendolyn should have wed, though she was glad she had not.

"If I ever face that monster again, I wi?—"

Her gaze snapped to his, knowing exactly who he meant without hearing him using Loc's name. "You will do nothing," she demanded. "His life is mine to end!"

Bryn nodded, conceding, and appeased, Gwendolyn told him everything else—all about her adventures with the Púca, her chance meeting with the fat trolls, her Fae reflection in the pond, about her introduction to Arachne, and the gift of Arachne's cloak. She confessed the fear she'd felt during her subsequent arrest and her imprisonment in the Fae court. And she told him in great detail about the court itself and the City of Light, with all its strange denizens. She described the sordid ball she'd attended and shared the keen sense of betrayal and envy she'd felt when Esme and Málik appeared upon the King's dais—the bone-jarring fear she'd felt when Málik unsheathed his sword at the King's command…

"He wouldn't have done it," Bryn said, with certitude. "I know him."

"And I do not?" Gwendolyn lifted a brow, snapping her rein gently. Indeed, she knew him better than anyone, and she knew in her heart that Málik would have done exactly what he was compelled to do.

"He'd slice his own throat before harming you," Bryn persisted.

"So you believe," Gwendolyn allowed. But he did not see what she saw—the purposeful swing of his blade, the look in his eyes as he'd advanced upon her. Gwendolyn so desperately wished to believe Bryn spoke true, but her memories of that moment in Aengus' Court were still too fresh in her mind. Málik had hesitated, true, but he'd raised that sword, preparing to strike. "I would like to believe it," she whispered, but she didn't, and Bryn leaned closer to her, his eyes boring into her.

"Well, I do. And I hold to this belief," he said. "Málik would not harm a lock on your head." Gwendolyn thought wryly that perhaps they had evidence to that, because she'd not soon forget the look on his face as Esme presented him the knife to snip her hair. Only looking back at that moment, Gwendolyn wondered if his hesitancy had more to do with the fact that he already knew he would face the inevitable truth. He loved her—she knew he did.

So why was he avoiding her? Was he guarding his own heart, or hers?

Together, she and Bryn rode in silence for a while before he spoke again, hitching his chin at her. "So tell me more about that cloak Arachne wove. Was she really a spider?"

"She was!" Gwendolyn nodded. And then, reaching up, touching the silken fabric that lay draped over her shoulders, she explained, "I believe it may be a cloak of anonymity, to veil my true self."

"That could be useful."

"Oh, believe me, it was," Gwendolyn allowed with a rueful smile, recalling how she'd used it to hide from Aengus. "That fool gave me the means to end him, and did so in the last moment, when I thought my life forfeit."

Bryn listened quietly as she told him about how she'd recognized Aengus, and then how, in the end, she had determined the way to slay him—her blood bond with Manannán. "I think he is… my… father," she said.

And then, just as quickly, she denied it. "But I do not know this creature, and King Corineus will always be my true-blood sire."

"How can it be that you have two fathers?"

Gwendolyn shook her head. "How can I know? All I know is that I am born of two worlds. Queen Eseld is—was—my mother, even as both Corineus and Manannán are my sires." She had a moment's deliberation about who might be her mother, but this was not something she remembered.

Bryn peered behind him at Emrys and Lir, both still chatting quietly with Amergin. He spoke low, so they could not hear. "You know… I always knew there was something.… odd about you," he allowed. "But I believed it only because you strove to be so annoying." He snickered, and Gwendolyn reached out to smack him on the arm.

"I confess I did, too… only now I wonder if the reason so many people viewed me so… differently… is that some saw my Fae spirit, others my humanity?"

"It could be." Bryn nodded. "Makes sense. Although, for my part, I only ever saw a maddening little puck, who liked to poke me in the arse with her wood sword."

Gwendolyn couldn't help but laugh at his ignoble description. "Still, it confuses me," she allowed, intent upon her thoughts. "Because why should so many who knew me so well—you and Ely included—not see me as Fae? And why, should those whose virtue was left wonting, see my Fae countenance?"

Bryn lifted his shoulders. "A warning, perhaps? Or mayhap the answer is much simpler than that, Gwendolyn. It was a test of their loyalty—an attestation that was meant for you more than for them?"

Gwendolyn considered that a moment. Certes, the sentiments of others had been too-easily revealed through their actions—if not at first, always in time. So, the gift might only appear to have been a cruel jest, and her golden mane only further corrected Gwendolyn when her own perceptions went awry—as with Locrinus. On the night of their wedding, when he'd clipped her hair, she saw him for exactly what he was—a monster, a fiend, greedy only for her name.

"And my mother?"

"It is hardly my place to say, and who knows what Queen Eseld saw in you, but I would say that a mother knows her own babe."

In all Gwendolyn's years, her mother had never actually mistreated her beyond trying to appease her curiosity. But she had been relentless in her search for the truth.

"What matters most is that she loved you," said Bryn. "Fault her for her methods, but I never once saw her do ought to injure you."

Gwendolyn's brow furrowed. "What would you call subjecting me to endless probing, only to prove my humanity?"

Bryn turned to her, lifting a brow. "What would you do if you discovered a changeling in your child's crib? What mother would not call a thousand physicians to heal a sick babe?"

"But I was not sick," Gwendolyn argued. "I was?—"

"Fae," he said, shrugging. "Perhaps she feared you?"

How sad for a mother to fear her child, Gwendolyn thought.

"Or perhaps not you, but your fate?"

"Perhaps," Gwendolyn allowed. "Whatever the case, it will remain a mystery," she said. "One I may never be fortunate to have answered. My mother is dead—or if not, her whereabouts may never be known to me."

Left unsaid was the blame she heaped upon Esme, and she would spare him her anger, knowing how he felt about her.

They rode on in silence for a while, both lost in their own thoughts. But, over the course of the day, Gwendolyn told Bryn everything she could remember to reveal, including Esme's revelation about Málik's assignment from his king. She gave him the side-eye. "Knowing this, do you still believe he'd never harm me?"

"He has not yet, has he?"

Gwendolyn lifted a shoulder. "At the moment, I know only that he has lied to me… but, so did you," she allowed, her tone darkening.

"To my regret. I'll never do so again."

Gwendolyn nodded. "Then I have something to ask of you, and I will have you answer me truthfully."

"Ask me anything, Gwendolyn."

Gwendolyn had hoped he would bring it up himself—whether Esme had told him the truth about her mother's fate, although as yet, he'd not implied that he knew anything, and she was reluctant to bring it up only because of his own mother. "Did Esme tell you about my mother?"

He appeared confused.

"That she… lives?"

"She's alive?!"

Gwendolyn shifted in her saddle, biting her lip. "Well, in truth, I do not know," she said. "I was only hoping she had spoken of this to you, and… it was simply one more thing you meant to tell me?"

He shook his head. "Nay. I willingly admit I kept much from you, but that is not something I would dare."

Good , she thought.

But, then again, not so good because it likely meant that Esme had lied to her… and her mother was dead. Gwendolyn tried to remember the way it was presented—Esme's precise words. But, alas, she could not. The memory of that evening remained a blur, clouded by the chaos and confusion that soon followed. And now Gwendolyn wondered if Esme intentionally misled her, using the claim to gain her compliance.

What a tricksy, tricksy Fae!

Bryn sighed deeply, his eyes distant. "For what it's worth, I hope it is true," he said, sadly, and Gwendolyn knew he was thinking of Lady Ruan, who, to this day, was also missing after the butchery of the Feast of Blades.

Gwendolyn was staring at him, he noted, when he lifted his gaze, and he said, "I swear, Gwendolyn, if I knew anything of this, I'd have told you. Esme told me nothing. She is not particularly… free-spoken."

Yegods. Esme? Gwendolyn would like to disagree. Esme spoke too freely! But she knew what Bryn meant. "And you do not know where she's gone?"

"Me?" he asked, aghast. "Why would she tell me?"

"Because…" Once more, she lifted a brow, gazing at him meaningfully.

"No," he blurted, his cheeks blooming. "She said nothing, and I know nothing," he maintained.

"And this you swear on your mother's name?"

"I do," he said soberly, and Gwendolyn peered from one corner of her eyes.

"So then… you love her?"

"I do," he said, without even asking who she meant, and Gwendolyn saw the truth on his handsome face—and more, his growing concern that Esme might never return.

"Alas," she said. "It is no simple task to love a Fae."

And Gwendolyn should know.