Chapter 33

33

G wendolyn took another step inside the chamber… and froze.

It wasn't the beauty of the room that halted her step—nor the wooden rafters so ornately carved, nor the array of vibrant fabrics strewn about, nor the ethereal light filtering in through the ceiling… The faces peering up from various tasks were… heartrendingly familiar.

Demelza.

Lady Ruan.

Lady Ruan's maid, along with her young boy, who used to run towels. His deep-brown eyes grew round at the sight of Gwendolyn.

All at once, everyone stopped what they were doing, bolting up from their seats, and rushing over to greet Gwendolyn, hurling themselves at her with squeals and sobs of unsuppressed delight. "Oh, Gwendolyn!" exclaimed Lady Ruan. "You've come!"

Wouldn't Ely and Bryn be so pleased? Gwendolyn was suddenly so happy she had insisted upon Bryn's accompaniment.

Demelza, too, came to embrace her, and Gwendolyn scarcely could release her thereafter. She hugged the maid tightly, weeping unabashedly, and wiping her damp eyes on Demelza's bony shoulder as she used to do when she was a girl.

"There, there, Child," said Demelza, patting Gwendolyn's head—and forsooth! Her gentle tone of voice and her epithet never failed to make Gwendolyn feel like a child, in truth. But it also filled her with a sense of wellbeing that she was ashamed to confess did not at once materialize after her reunion with her mother, even as relieved and pleased as she was to discover Queen Eseld alive. All three women meant so much to Gwendolyn—each for different reasons.

At last, she would have a chance to repair her relationship with her mother. But Lady Ruan had so oft treated Gwendolyn as her own kin, and Demelza was the one who'd wiped away her tears. Now, as they stood together on the precipice of so much change, Gwendolyn realized how much they all meant to her—more than the sum of their parts. They were integral threads in the tapestry of her life. Every hug, every tear, every laugh filled her with a warmth that eased her months of agony and longing. Her mother cast her a glance, smiling—the look on her face every bit that of a young girl's, though the years had etched soft lines into her face. She stood back, allowing Gwendolyn to bask in the love, and then, when all the halloos were said, and the hugs dispensed, Queen Eseld drew her away, pulling her over to yet another woman, who stood then, her face as weathered as Baugh's, her eyes as fiery as her mother's.

"Your grandmother," she said, and Gwendolyn found herself tongue-tied, all her words caught by the brambles in her throat.

That evening, in the Feast Hall, the trestle tables were piled high with an abundance of victuals—roasted venison, freshly caught haddock and trout, bread still warm from the ovens. Horns of ale and mead were passed about freely, their contents sloshing as toasts were made and stories told. A few horns made it into the hands of grasping young lads, and they sat in one corner of the hall, clinking horns amongst themselves, pretending at being warriors, with their wooden swords at their feet. Not since her uncle's home in Chysauster had Gwendolyn witnessed such a raucous celebration over dinner, only this was twenty times larger, with plenty enough bawdy jests to paint a permanent bloom in the cheeks, even despite the wee children darting betwixt tables.

"And then," one warrior declared, his voice lifting above the din, "I swung my Long Plum to cleave his shield!"

"Your cock or your sword?" someone jested, and the hall erupted with laughter.

The warrior continued, unfazed, "The look on his face, I tell you, was worth a hundred merks!"

"He said cock," whispered a young girl, slapping a hand across her lips, and then she turned to her sisters and shouted. "Your Da said cock!"

Another little girl said, "Cock, cock, cock, cock!" And then ran away, leaving her elders barking with laughter.

And yet, for all the laughter in the hall, at the head of the lord's table sat Baugh, unsmiling, with his black, braided beard, and his eyes as piercing as a winter storm. With his broad shoulders draped with a heavy fur cloak, he sat frowning, fingering the torc about his neck. Beside him sat his wife, Freydis, wearing her own hefty torc, her hand resting lightly atop Baugh's arm, as though ready to pat him to temper his mood. Baugh's eyes glinted as he studied Gwendolyn, and she sensed he would decide according to how he judged her.

At a nearby table, Bryn sat with his mother, cozy together, no doubt exchanging news. Lady Ruan's brow remained furrowed throughout their exchange, chewing at a thumbnail instead of her food.

Were they discussing Talwyn's betrayal, or was it because of Ely's news—that she'd wed a Catuvellauni son? Gwendolyn supposed there could be cause for displeasure over both. If Bryn's mother did not know about her husband's betrayal, the news would be dreadful. But neither was it overly pleasant to discover one's daughter was not only betrothed, but duly wedded and expecting her first and only grandson. Then again, neither was it terrible news, and Lady Ruan must be eager to return to the city. Gwendolyn would see to it as soon as she could.

Fortunately, whatever ill-will her mother had once harbored over Gwendolyn's attachment to Málik, it appeared to be finished. Her deference for Málik was wholly evident—not the least for which he now came with a crown, a fact Queen Eseld was quick to tell her father at the table, and Gwendolyn was glad of it because she wanted Baugh to know she did not come to this negotiation empty handed.

As for Málik… he sat next to Gwendolyn, his demeanor much changed from the aloofness he'd displayed in the Druid's Hall. Indeed, tonight he was mellow, if not affectionate, and the memory of their recent passions had perhaps thawed the ice in his veins. His pale-blue eyes twinkled with warmth, and now that she was aware of it, Gwendolyn could still scent his musk.

Clearly, so could he. Now and again, he leaned close, his nostrils flaring as though seeking her scent, and Gwendolyn shuddered with remembered desire.

Not to spare her own life could she find a moment's regret for what had transpired between them in those woods.

Not even knowing that her grandfather had caught them in the throes of passion.

But it no doubt warmed her cheeks.

Queen Eseld watched them closely, her dark eyes glinting as Málik lifted Gwendolyn's glass, eschewing his own—as he once had at her uncle's table. He sipped from it boldly, grinning as he noted Gwendolyn's blooming cheeks—and of course she was chagrined. Only the memory of the taste of his mouth cast this meal a paler shade and left her squirming in her seat. She would not disrespect her grandfather's home, nor her mother by sharing Málik's bed whilst in this village, but that wouldn't stop her from seeking it the moment they departed.

Tonight, Gwendolyn's aunts were all absent—eight altogether, she'd learned. They kept their own homes now and were wed to vassals of her grandfather—of which, there were apparently many, because he had more than thirty grandbairns. Evidently, her aunts had been quite busy providing suitable heirs.

To the left of Baugh sat the Druids, Emrys and Amergin. And, truly, it was difficult to say which of them clamored more jealously for his attention, although Baugh's attention remained fixed upon Gwendolyn. As the night wore on, she watched him watching her, biding her time. Foremost in her mind was that time was of the essence, and if she did not have to spend an entire winter here only to secure this alliance, her campaign would be stronger for it.

Neither would Baugh see her hesitation as strength, and for each day she waited, shrinking from this task, the less chance there was that he would call his banners on Gwendolyn's behalf. To gain his support, she felt she must do more than simply make herself known to him and ask for help. Though she would prefer to reveal the sword in private, Baugh did not appear to do—or say—anything that was not well considered. And in observing him with his men, it became entirely clear that those he most favored were those who tested him, if respectfully. Those who did not hold their own with him, he gifted with eye rolls. Indeed, if he had given Albanactus one of his daughters to wed, it was not because he believed the man spineless. To the contrary. His first inclination might have been to reward Albanactus for saving his eldest daughter, but that could not be the only reason, and Gwendolyn took her mother's counsel to heart. After all, she was asking a lot—Baugh's sword, and perhaps even his life. Therefore, she must be bold enough to show him she was ready to fight for it. But she wasn't fool enough to disrespect Baugh by bringing Kingslayer to his table, nor even Borlewen's blade. However, she'd dared bring Claímh Solais . Now bound only in its protective cloth, it lay concealed beneath the table, waiting for Gwendolyn to work up the nerve. It was Baugh himself who gave her the first opportunity…

He stood, raising his horn. "Tonight, we celebrate!" he roared, his eyes sweeping over his hall, but Gwendolyn noted he skipped her. "Let this feast be a testament to our kinship!" he said, and Gwendolyn dared to challenge him.

"I only wonder, grandfather… does this grace include your granddaughter?"

The hall fell silent, and her mother tugged gently at her sleeve. But Gwendolyn did not cow, even when Baugh turned his dark gaze upon her. He mumbled something unintelligible beneath his breath, then whispered heatedly to her grandmother, and then to Emrys. Emrys shook his head, and Gwendolyn stood.

"Sit!" Baugh demanded, his gaze shifting to Gwendolyn, but she shook her head.

"I will not sit. You speak of unity… and I stand humbly before you?—"

"Humble?" he scoffed, though Gwendolyn ignored the taunt. "Your mother clearly has not taught you that words and actions must walk hand in hand."

Gwendolyn glanced at her mother, noting the paleness of her cheeks. But it was too late to turn back now. Ignoring her grandfather's insult, she continued. "Humbly, I stand to ask you to join me and mine, to defeat a foe who threatens not only Trevena and Cornwall—nor even the southern lands—but all of Pretania!"

"Your fight is not mine," Baugh said dismissively, but Gwendolyn did not back down.

"Whatever you may think of him, my father held you in considerable esteem. He took your daughter to wife because he had a dream?—"

"And you share this dream?" Baugh interjected, his words laced with derision. His black eyes glittered fiercely, but though he narrowed his eyes at Gwendolyn, she stood taller.

"What I believe is that we must all join our banners for this cause, but I do not intend to force anyone to bend the knee to Cornwall."

" You do not intend… to force ?"

He guffawed, and his ensuing roar of laughter reverberated throughout the hall.

No one else laughed.

Gwendolyn stood firm. "I would have each tribe stand true and strong, with the surety that Cornwall will aid them, but never yoke them."

"Pretty words from the daughter of a Southern King ," he spat. "Do you know, granddaughter … we do not consider ourselves kings here in the north. We are elected by freemen. We need no crowns, or jewels, or gowns! No dawnsio, scholars, or priests! You'll find no palaces here. We are simple folk, and our word is our bond."

" My word is my bond," Gwendolyn allowed. "And, yes, I am queen of Cornwall, but I come as your equal, not your queen."

"My equal?" Once again, he barked with laughter and said to the room at large. "She comes as my equal, she says."

Much nervous laughter filtered through the hall, but Gwendolyn noted that her mother did not laugh, and the joy had dimmed from her grandmother's eyes.

Had she misjudged him?

Had she dared too much?

Baugh shook his head suddenly, glaring at Eseld. "By the eyes of Lugh! I stand corrected," he spat. "You do not look like her , but you behave like her! " And then he cursed profoundly. Blood and bones. This was not going as Gwendolyn had hoped, but it must be now or never. She pushed aside plates, then bent to drag out the cloth that bound the ancient sword, careful not to hold it in any manner that would appear she intended to threaten Baugh. Gently, she laid it upon the table, and then cast a glance up to meet Baugh's gaze before drawing aside the cloth.

Even bound with rags, the blue steel shimmered with a soft sheen. Etched along the blade glimmered the runic inscription: Claíomh Solais .

All eyes fell upon the sword—Baugh's as well, and he was half smiling, though it was a dangerous smile. "Will you dare threaten me with that blade?" he asked, and at once, two of his warriors rose from the table, moving to his side.

"Gwendolyn," her mother hissed in warning.

"Nay. I do not threaten," Gwendolyn said, ignoring her mother, her eyes flashing with an inner fire that rivaled the gleam of her sword. "I simply present a choice."

The tension in the room grew palpable, and Gwendolyn knew one wrong move would set off a violent confrontation.

Beside her, she sensed Málik's growing tension and noted the hand that moved beneath the table.

Across the room, Bryn's face was a mask of terror—no doubt understanding that if her grandfather moved against her, he and Málik were only two against so many.

Emrys and Amergin were little help, and neither appeared willing to rise to Gwendolyn's defense against her grandfather.

Slowly, purposefully, Gwendolyn unlaced all the ribbons that bound her sword, letting the cloth fall away before lifting it straight up by the hilt for all to see.

Baugh's guards moved to seize her, but stopped when the steel flickered, then roared to life—like a dragon awakened from slumber. The flames danced and swirled along the length of the ancient blade, its brightness illuminating the entire room, a white glaive of light that was terrifyingly beautiful.

More gasps, then whispers followed.

Gwendolyn's hand trembled as, for the second time, she held the sword aloft, feeling its fire coursing through her veins. "If you will not respect my mortal father, mayhap you will appreciate my Fae father more— Manannán, Lord of the Sea!" Her gaze never wavered. "But I am also the rightful heir of Cornwall and if you would toss scraps to the Usurper's brother, you owe me more!"

Baugh's eyes fixed upon the sword. " I owe you nothing," he argued, though the curiosity in his eyes told Gwendolyn he was considering her words…

But no less the sword.

"You above all should know what it means to be favored by the gods. I have seen your island and your village, and you live here against all odds through the gods' favor. If I bring a threat, it is only this… Who is to say your favor will endure if you ignore the gods' choice?" She held the sword higher. " I am Chosen, and if you doubt my words, you need only look with your eyes!"

Beside her, Málik spoke but did not stand, nor did he adjust his cocksure slouch. He spoke softly, though with conviction. "She speaks true," he said, with his one finger on his temple and his thumb beneath his chin, his knuckles on his cheek. "That sword she wields does not burn for me, nor for the One she slew. It burns only for her."

Across the room, the fire from her blade twinkled in Baugh's eyes.

Málik continued quietly, "She did not shrink from the man who violated her, nor did she give up when they murdered her father, then seized Trevena. They left her with nothing but rags on her back, hunted like a beast, and still she did not relent till she took back her city, and in doing so, won the respect of a Catuvellauni chieftain—an enemy who now bends the knee to your granddaughter… because he believes in her… as I do."

A muscle ticked at Baugh's jaw, but he listened quietly.

"She met the Catuvellauni as strangers, saved them, took them in and sheltered them, and did not hesitate to seek the Druids, when stronger men would have cowed."

Hearing him speak so effusively of her, Gwendolyn's throat grew thick with emotion. More than anything, she wanted to turn to him and thank him.

"And," he continued. "It cannot go unsaid that I have lent your granddaughter two thousand of my finest warriors." And then he smiled unabashedly, showing all his porbeagle teeth, and gave a nod to Gwendolyn's grandmother. "So it appears, like you… I cannot resist a fearless woman."

Baugh, too, glanced at his wife and Freydis smirked. Thereafter, there was a long, unbearable moment of silence, and then he stood, his eyes shining. "You speak well of the girl," he said, and then he turned to Gwendolyn. "And you… I know what that is you hold." He took a menacing step towards Gwendolyn, then another, every thud of his boots against the stone floor making Gwendolyn's heart beat faster and faster, until he stopped in front of her and reached out his hand. "May I?" he asked, gesturing towards the sword.

Gwendolyn hesitated only a moment before handing the sword to him. Its flames extinguished the instant he took it, and he held it with both hands, lifting it up to study its length, then moving it experimentally through the air, studying its weight and balance in his hands.

Eventually, satisfied with his inspection, his gaze shifted from the sword in his hand to Gwendolyn's face, no trace of malice or judgment in his eyes, only curiosity and perhaps a newfound admiration. "So it seems… your mother spoke true," he said. "Art a changeling." And then he handed the sword back to Gwendolyn before turning away and the moment she held it, it flared to life again.

Baugh gave her a single backward glance on the way back to his seat, and a knot of apprehension twisted in Gwendolyn's belly as he turned to face her again. But this time, though he did not smile, his words made her knees weak with relief.

"I do not deny you. If the gods have chosen my granddaughter, who am I to oppose her? Indeed, I will lend you my sword to put down that cankered mongrel who pisses on our lands!"

At his declaration, his warriors raised horns in celebration. "Sk?l!" they shouted, and their voices reverberated from the high beams.

Gwendolyn peered down at her mother. "What does that mean?"

"A toast," she said, smiling, her relief shining in her eyes. "My kin are descended of the Northmen who live to the east. And you, my dear, have inherited your father's lunacy. I'd not in a thousand years have dared call myself a queen in Baugh's presence, but you…" She shook her head with a look of marvel.

Málik leaned behind Gwendolyn to whisper to her mother. "I would say your daughter is stupid… or… the bravest soul I've ever known." And when he lifted his gaze to Gwendolyn, his eyes shone with love and admiration. "I will call her brave."

"Hear, hear!" whispered her mother, lifting a cup.

Her grandmother's voice, too, lifted in praise. "May the gods continue to favor us!" she declared. And, with that, the celebration resumed with vigor, and Gwendolyn stood only a moment longer, with the sword still burning in her hand, uncertain what to do with it now…

Lay it down?

That would seem feeble, no?

When the musicians struck up a chord, and a few from the lower tables rose to dance, Gwendolyn quietly returned the sword to its cloth, wrapping it gently and pushing it aside to finish her meal…