Chapter 32

32

" Y ou?!"

Blood and bones!

This was Baugh?

"In the flesh," the man crowed. He eyed Gwendolyn with no small measure of disdain. "I must say… you look nothing like your mother… and yet, I should not be surprised by this. You bear that Cornish dog's blood."

He didn't sound angry, but Gwendolyn knew he meant the insult.

She took a moment to peer at Bryn, then Málik, angered by his rudeness, but realizing she must temper her response. "That dog you speak of was my father, and he died for this land—and yours."

"Nay, girl!" His voice thundered through the hall. "Your father died because he was a fool who delivered his power into the hands of Outlanders."

The straightforward proclamation set Gwendolyn back on her heels. She could not argue against that because, in truth, she had come to believe this as well. So had her father's aldermen. During the last Konsel she'd attended before leaving for Loegria, their discontent had been clear. And yet, how dare he belittle what her father had worked so hard to achieve! "It was his greatest wish to unite these lands—in peace. But you never gave him an ounce of respect."

"Respect must be earned," returned Baugh. And then he said nothing for the longest moment, drumming his fingers impatiently upon the arm of his chair. After a moment's consideration, he softened his voice, though it still held a note of contempt. "I know those feckless Trojans he has bargained with, girl. I did you a favor by giving Albanactus a daughter of mine to wed. So there… you are welcome, Dótturbarn . Your cuckolded man now has one less bróeir to fight at his side."

His words dealt Gwendolyn a physical blow for so many reasons. A fresh wave of fury assailed her. For one, she did not know what that word was he had called her, but it sounded like an expletive. She'd already told him once that Locrinus was not her man. And she was not a "girl" although Emrys had warned her he would see her as one. But, truly, Albanactus? Loc's brother had bent the knee to Baugh? Gwendolyn was heartsick to hear this, and yet… not so much for Albanactus' part, considering that she viewed Loc's brothers both as little more than opportunists. But, really, Baugh? He would reward one of those miscreants? Allow him to benefit from her family's misfortune when he was among the traitors behind the Feast of Blades? Forsooth. Gwendolyn wanted to rail at her grandfather for disrespecting her so thoroughly. Alas, she dared say nothing yet. She needed Baugh's help, and she could not afford to alienate him, but she did not like this feeling—to detest a man and still need him so desperately. Málik and Amergin stood behind her, along with Bryn, and Emrys, who was still cradling the Sword in his arms, and considering where they stood, and how many guards were at Baugh's beck and call, Gwendolyn would not say what she wished to say. But neither would she cow. Even now, Borlewen's blade called to her, and she itched to wield it.

"That is not the way a grandfather should speak to his granddaughter!" she rebuked.

"Ppfhht! Can you prove your kinship?" he asked loftily. "I cannot see it." He waved his hand dismissively. "Your hair is too… gold, your skin too… pale. For all your claims, you appear nothing of my blood."

"But I am your blood," Gwendolyn returned hotly. "Unless you would dare to call my mother a harlot?"

The elder man scoffed. "By the bloody gods, nay! I'd never dare!" He scratched with frustration at his black head of hair. " That one would slice the tongue from my mouth!" It took Gwendolyn a full moment to register that he had spoken in the present, but even as her brain was trying to make sense of those words, she heard a voice… so achingly familiar…

"Gwendolyn…"

Gwendolyn spun to find her mother standing at the entrance of one passage—healthy and alive, her smile far more genuine than any Gwendolyn had ever witnessed from her. Modestly dressed, her hair caught back in a single unremarkable plait, her makeup was gone, but most definitely it was her…

"Mother," she whispered, and that was all she could manage before crying out and rushing to embrace her.

Far more expansive than the fogous beneath her uncle's village, Skerrabra was a sprawl of passages, twisting and turning with endless complexity. It was also, Gwendolyn mused, a bit like those passages in the underlands , only here, there was no trace of magic. The walls were formed of roughhewn stone, and the air itself carried the inexorable scent of time. Roots and vines permeated the interior, crawling like veins throughout the walls and floors. One long tunnel spilled them into a cavernous central market where the sun shone down into a vibrant courtyard. Here, the scent of food wafted heavily in the air—roasting hens and meat pies, with their golden crusts and aromatic fillings, making Gwendolyn's mouth water and her belly gurgle. It had been far too long since she'd had a satisfying meal, and she recognized some spices that had once graced their table in Trevena—only now she understood them to be her mother's influence. How wrong her father had been about her mother's people. There was nothing savage about these Caledonians, nor did they appear to want for aught. As it was in Trevena, this was a city no doubt visited by merchants, and the odd but industrious courtyard-market displayed a sea of vibrant colors, with vendors tending booths and customers rushing about, all under a warm, golden sun. It was, for all its strangeness, nearly as busy as the market in Trevena. For so long, Gwendolyn had believed Cornwall the only true center for trade on these isles. Why, then, would these Caledonians have any need to raid the southlands when they had such a bounty of riches?

The villagers all ran about performing their everyday tasks, some wearing simple linen clothes, but many others wearing finely crafted gowns that were made from fabrics every bit as elegant as those her father had procured from Mollequin.

It was clear to Gwendolyn that they did not live from the fruits of their labors alone. Every booth overflowed with goods—some with baskets full of plums, sloes, wild currants, brambles, raspberries, wood strawberries, cranberries, blackberries, heather berries, elderberries, and piles of bread. But there were fruits that were not native to this land. The deep shade of bitter oranges, bright yellows of lemons, and the verdant beauty of leafy greens all mixed to create a veritable feast for the eyes. Beautiful gewgaws graced many a market shelf—pottery in the Phoenician style. Cloth merchants carried wool from Megara and Carthage. And there were various weapons of a curious variety Gwendolyn had never seen—swords that boasted ironwork twisted and hammered into the blade. They were not made to last against Loegrian steel, but beauteous work, and it occurred to Gwendolyn that this, too, was something to be concerned about—yet another worry amidst so many. That Locrinus' army would be fitted with the new alloy, and hers would not. She tucked this away to consider later, unwilling to burden the moment with her trials. She walked beside her mother, elated at seeing her alive and well in her childhood home after believing her so long to be dead. Amidst so much heartache, this was a moment she meant to cherish.

Introducing her to kinsmen, Queen Eseld led her to a booth where an old woman sat weaving baskets made from reeds. Exchanging pleasantries with her before selecting one of her baskets, she then handed the basket to Gwendolyn. "To carry your effects," her mother said with a genuine smile, and then bade Gwendolyn to place the gown she'd been holding into the basket.

Gwendolyn had brought it along only to show her mother how she'd kept it, leaving the Sword of Light with Emrys—not simply because she did not wish to reveal the sword as yet, but she did not want her mother to think she'd used the gown only for wrapping blades. "I'm pleased to see it survived your time in Loegria," she said.

"Barely," Gwendolyn said, choking back a sob. " She stole everything from me, mother—even my dowry chest."

They had already discussed her time in Loc's keeping, but, so it seemed, there was little her mother did not already know—a fact Gwendolyn didn't know how to feel about. All that time she'd spent weeping over her parents' fate, and her mother was here, safe and sound, yet no one ever sent Gwendolyn a message to ease her mind.

Her mother patted her on the arm. "If I could have delivered you, I would have, Gwendolyn. I came here, hoping to convince Baugh to ride to your rescue."

"But he would not?"

Her mother sighed, then shook her head. "I will never lie to you. He refused. He did not believe it was his right to intervene between a husband and wife. My father is a man who venerates the sanctity of marriage. He believes any person—man or woman—who dishonors his vows is no one fit to lead."

That did not bode well, Gwendolyn thought, remembering Baugh's look of disapproval in the glade, and Gwendolyn was quick to explain to her mother that the Llanrhos Druids had dissolved her marriage. She simply didn't confess when they had dissolved it—no one needed to know that.

"But I suppose Baugh has no problem with abuse," Gwendolyn said, though she did not mean to complain about things long done. However, she was speaking to her mother, and a mother should know the things her daughter endured. "He was cruel to me." She lifted a hand to her curls. "Cut my hair… locked me in a fetid room where the stench of his brother's death remained, and he allowed his awful mistress and his mother to abuse me whenever it so pleased them."

The dirk at Gwendolyn's waist screamed for justice, so she also told her mother about Borlewen's blade, how she'd attained it on the night of her wedding, and all of Loc's confessions thereafter. However, she did not tell her mother how she'd found King Corineus' head on Loc's gate. That would serve nothing but to aggrieve her, and Gwendolyn was ashamed she did not right this wrong before fleeing Loegria. It never mattered under what circumstances Eseld had come to her father, Gwendolyn knew by her mother's actions that she had loved her husband truly—far more evident to Gwendolyn than Eseld's complicated feelings for her daughter.

They halted, and Queen Eseld turned to face her. "Please understand me, Gwendolyn, your grandfather cares. Of course he does. But…" She sighed. "That stubborn old fool must be convinced of everything. It took me a long while to prove I'd not forgotten my people. But I am certain you will discover this for yourself."

"I have a sense of it," Gwendolyn allowed.

And she did. So far, Baugh had given Gwendolyn very little cause to feel welcome here, or even that he was in danger of softening. To the contrary. And yet… vexing though it was that he had given Albanactus any favor at all, mayhap that was a small sign he had any love for his granddaughter at all. He had claimed, after all, that he had done it for her—and by the by, she learned that dótturbarn simply meant daughter's child. Said with such distaste, it was as close as Baugh had yet come to claiming Gwendolyn. Still, it was something.

"A bit of advice for my daughter, the Queen…" She smiled proudly. "Your grandfather will not tolerate disrespect, but he abhors cowards." She eyed Gwendolyn smartly, then pulled her along again, linking her arm through Gwendolyn's as they continued strolling through the village market. "Stand up to him, but remember your honor. I have every faith you will find the way to convince him that supporting his granddaughter is the right thing to do." And then she whirled and threw her arms around Gwendolyn, weeping quietly as she petted Gwendolyn's matted hair. She drew back suddenly, heedless of her own tears, as she brushed a thumb across Gwendolyn's cheek.

"Your hair," she said with trembling lips. "Though even ravished and filthy, art beautiful, Gwendolyn." Gwendolyn choked back a wave of emotion, tears stinging her eyes. It was nearly too much to bear—so long she'd yearned for words such as these from her mother. If she but knew this, it didn't matter to Gwendolyn if her mother admired Ely's beauty most of all—Gwendolyn did, as well. She only needed to know that she, too, was lovely in her mother's eyes. Only twice in her life had her mother ever spoken to her so affectionately—once on the day she'd gifted her the dowry chest before her Promise Ceremony, and later, on the day of her wedding. This familiarity between them was not something Gwendolyn could ever have envisioned, but it felt so good.

Gwendolyn hugged her back, heedless that they might have gathered an audience, and when they were done with hugs, and continued along the stroll, Gwendolyn felt a strange, new desire to share everything with her mother—everything, as a daughter should. She took this opportunity to tell her mother about her reflection in the Fae pool—and all the other truths she'd learned along her journey, confirming her mother's worst fears… that her child was, indeed, a changeling. There was no trace of surprise in her gaze when Gwendolyn was through. But, once more, her mother seized her by the arm, pulling her aside, and turned her about as though Gwendolyn were a wayward child who needed a scolding. But the look in her eyes was anything but berating, and she appeared rueful as she reached up to push a curl behind Gwendolyn's ear. "You were always my child," she said. "I only needed to know—not for the least of which I needed to understand what your role should be. Truly, Gwendolyn. It is no small thing to be favored by the gods, and if I was stern with you as a child, it was only because I knew your worth and I knew your path would not be easy. I only wished for you to be prepared." She sighed then, allowing her hand to skim Gwendolyn's cheek. "No matter… I was mistaken to believe your destiny was with Locrinus, and I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me for this. But perhaps you may if you also know it was by my intervention your father summoned Málik."

Gwendolyn blinked. "You?"

"With Corineus' agreement," Eseld confessed earnestly. "But who do you think put that notion into his head? He, like every southern man, was fearful of the Druids. But Emrys visited my father on so many occasions and I knew him to be a good and just man. I simply could not say so, because, as you know, it is not the order's preference to engage with the tribes. They leave this dubious honor to the Llanrhos order, and I did not know how to tell Corineus what I knew without revealing how I knew."

Emrys had, indeed, confessed to knowing Baugh, and now she also knew why the Lifer Pol order wished to conceal their village. She also understood that fear was an important instrument for them. However, it occurred to her now that Brutus had no knowledge of their histories and did not come to the bargaining table with the same respect for their customs. Although he'd attempted to educate his son in the Old Ways, Locrinus had only used it to disrespect and vanquish them. Locrinus also used fear to his advantage, and considering everything her mother had told her—everything she had learned previously, she now understood that, sooner than later, it was all bound to lead to war…

Her face fell as she dared to ask, "Were you there… when…"

"Corineus," she said softly, anticipating Gwendolyn's question before it was voiced. She nodded, her eyes again clouding with tears. "I was… yes." It took her a long moment to find her voice again. "You must know, it was Albanactus who took me aside and bade me to go into that hall. I was with Lady Ruan, and when he told me what was happening… I ran to stop it… it was already too late—" Again, she shook her head, her hand lifting to her lips to strangle a sob.

This time, it was Gwendolyn's turn to put the back of her knuckles against her mother's cheek, caressing softly. "Please," she consoled. "Do not weep. If you had not fled with Albanactus, I'd have lost you, as well, and this I could never bear."

Well then… at least she had Albanactus to thank for her mother's life… if only she could wipe the taste of his betrayal from her mouth.

She still did not know what she would do when she came face to face with that man. But at least now, she better understood what Innogen had meant about Albanactus turning his sights to the north—and despite this, that bitter witch had never, for one moment, confessed the truth of this matter, leaving Gwendolyn to worry that he meant to raise arms against Baugh—or worse, turn him against her.

And suddenly, Gwendolyn realized what her mother had said, and she lifted a hand to her breast, her heart leaping into her throat in dread. "Please tell me… it is not you Baugh gave Albanactus to wed?"

Her mother laughed. "Oh, I am certain Alba would not have considered that a reward!" She grinned. "Nay, my dear, he is wed to my younger sister. But I beg you, Gwendolyn… find some way to forgive Albanactus. None of us would have been spared were it not for his mercy. He saw us through the gates and made excuses to Kamber to see us north."

Gwendolyn softened perhaps, knowing her mother spoke true and imagining the same fate dealt to her as Locrinus had seen fit to deal her father—she couldn't have born it. Eseld smiled encouragingly at her, and Gwendolyn took a deep breath and nodded. Thereafter, they abandoned the market. Arm in arm still, they toured the entire village, with Gwendolyn in awe as she took in the sights. For all its idiosyncrasies, Skerrabra was a hidden gem of a village thriving in the depths of the earth—a wondrous labyrinth of passages and courtyards. Indeed, one could easily lose oneself amidst the winding passages, which were illumined by torches and lanterns. Arched doorways led to various living chambers—small but cozy, with wooden doors and thatched roofs.

They walked by what appeared to be a blacksmith's forge, where vats of liquid metal were being shaped into weapons. "This is where we forge our weapons," she explained. "We are, as you may have guessed, dependent upon trade for much of our provisions, but we make our own weapons in the Skraeling fashion, so we are well prepared for any threat. As you can see, it is not Loegrian steel, but a proper longsword will do a fine job of lopping off a head."

This was a topic Gwendolyn was waiting to broach, so she jumped at the opportunity to ask. "What of your armies?" Foremost in her thoughts was that she would need more than fifty warriors to join her cause. As yet, she had seen no proof that her grandfather had a proper garrison. If she was mistaken to place so much hope on her grandfather's non-existent armies, all was lost.

"Most do not live in the village. They are stationed about the isle, and more on the mainland… to guard against any who approach by sea."

"But I did not see a harbor. We came by the beach?"

Her mother laughed. "What need is there for a harbor when the entire isle is a port on the sea? You would be surprised, Gwendolyn. We do not receive quite the variety of merchants we did in Trevena, but we welcome more than our share."

Gwendolyn waved her hand at their surroundings. "Why does this village rest beneath the earth?"

Her mother shrugged. "It is quite temperate here, but the winds are relentless! Only witness my father's face!"

Gwendolyn laughed then, understanding, wondering for a moment—privately—if this was the reason her mother had gone south so willingly, for the sake of her vanity.

They continued on throughout the various chambers until finally arriving at a large central hall similar to the room where Gwendolyn had first met with Baugh. Only this one was far more grand, with a large, raised dais at the back, upon which a stone-carved seat was held. "This is the Feast Hall—not so elegant as your father's audience hall in Trevena, but it is the safest location in the village."

"And the other one… whence we entered?"

"Purely an entrance hall… to greet guests. We'd not bring anyone so deep into our village unless we trusted them as friends." Her mother drew up and patted her hand. "Now, please tell me of Trevena. How does our beautiful city fare?"

Gwendolyn told her mother as much as she could remember during the rest of their stroll—about how Loc's brothers had left the city undefended, how she, with Caradoc's help, broached the city again through the conduit to the bathhouse. How she'd discovered Talwyn in the King's apartments, and how Bryn came to her defense, and then, only to save Bryn from having his father's blood on his hands, how she slew Talwyn herself. "It was Yestin who provided the means," Gwendolyn confessed. "Although I believe him rueful of his actions."

Her mother sighed heavily. "Yes. No doubt. He was ripe for the plucking. He was ever so contentious with me, and I believe he longed for… something more."

"He did it for a lover."

Her mother nodded at that, considering, but her thoughts shifted abruptly from Yestin to the city itself. "You know… in retrospect, I believe our arrogance was our worst enemy. Remember that in future, Gwendolyn. We thought our wonderful Trevena impenetrable, but nothing is impenetrable. All it takes is a bit of ingenuity." She smiled sadly. "Now tell me more… what of you and Málik?"

For a moment, Gwendolyn considered denying her feelings for him, but her mother knew her. She did not wish to lie anymore—not when she loathed it so much that others had lied to her. "What do you wish to know?"

"Firstly, do you love him?"

"I do," Gwendolyn confessed, and she was well aware of how much her own features softened when she said, "Madly."

"And does he love you?"

Gwendolyn sighed. "I am sure he does, but…"

Tears pricked at her eyes, and her mother patted her hand again. "There, there… Let us speak of it another day," she said as she brought Gwendolyn to a large door. She paused for a moment to allow Gwendolyn to dry her eyes, splaying her hand over the door. "The women's solar," she said, as she pushed it open to reveal another large chamber in which the roof lay open to the afternoon sun. "It is the women of this village who truly make it thrive. This is our Konsel."

Eager to see it, Gwendolyn stepped inside, but her mother tugged her back, and said softly, "It is well and good to cry…"