Chapter 36

36

T he very thought made Gwendolyn ill.

She'd not mistaken his tone when he'd assured her she would have babes—only not with him. But she would never take a mortal husband.

Caradoc? Indeed!

He would be better suited to her mother. Eseld was not so old she should forsake her own desires, only because she'd been unfortunate enough to lose a husband through treachery. She had been considering this for weeks now, and the more she thought about it, the more hopeful she became, relishing the thought of little brothers and sisters running about Trevena's halls. She would teach them how to wield a sword, how to ride a horse… and now that she and Málik had begun to heal their hearts, perhaps they too would have children running about Trevena's halls…

Unconsciously, her hand moved to her belly, only considering…

Children of two worlds, who could do what she could not in this mortal coil… unite the Fae and mortal realms.

When this war was over, she would find some way to convince Málik to stay, or, if he could not, she would navigate that portal as often as possible, only to see him. There must be some way for them to do what must be done for the sakes of their realms and still be together…

The first snow fall arrived as they crossed into Parisi lands, but Gwendolyn wasn't concerned. This was a tribe well aligned with the north. Not only did they contribute another thousand men to her cause, they also provisioned them with more food and supplies, and gave them leave to remain on Parisi lands as long as was necessary to prepare for the journey south. With spirits high, they settled for the winter near Petvaria, and there, huddled through the worst of the weather, remaining through December, January and February.

On the first day of March, a small company of warriors arrived, and Gwendolyn was shocked to discover they were led by Caradoc. Numbering little more than two hundred, the troop included Taryn, Kelan… and… Esme, who rode in on a steed as black as Caradoc's hair, trotting straight up to Gwendolyn as though she hadn't a care in this mortal realm.

Gwendolyn watched with arms akimbo as Esme dismounted, holding her tongue despite that she wanted nothing more than to upbraid her. However, as Esme was Esme, she made no apologies, gave no explanations. Nor did she appear the least contrite or uncertain of her welcome. She marched up to Gwendolyn with a toothy grin and gave her a resounding clap on the back.

"What?" she asked as she then hugged Gwendolyn, whispering into her ear. "Did you believe I'd abandon you in your hour of need?"

"Yes," Gwendolyn hissed, because she had feared this.

However, considering the fact that she had by now reunited with her mother and could no longer blame Esme for that, when it was likely she'd expected they would encounter one another without her help. But that too vexed Gwendolyn, because Esme clearly had no qualms over making a bargain that would eventually be fulfilled without her intervention. Tricksy was what she was.

Also, no thanks to Esme, Gwendolyn won her grandsire to her cause, completely without Esme's guidance or intervention. Thus, there was no true reason to hold a grudge… and still Gwendolyn wasn't quite ready to forgive.

"Welcome back," she said, flicking a glance at Málik, then crossing her arms. "What took you so long?"

Esme had the ill grace to laugh it off. "Oh, you know how it is. You mean to do one thing and something distracts you and before you know it, time has flown." She, too, cast Málik a glance, but whatever insouciance she pretended at was absent from that dark look.

Málik shrugged.

Meanwhile, Caradoc swung a thick leg over his pommel and slid to the ground. "No welcome for me?" he asked, also casting a glance at Málik, then teased, "And here I thought My Queen would miss me so desperately she would welcome me with open arms and a smack upon the lips."

"I would love to smack you," said Gwendolyn lightly, embracing him, pleased enough to see him, though she was hardly in the mood to banter. "However, I'm afraid you'll have to beg your kisses from Esme," she said.

"Oh, I tried!" said Caradoc without shame. "That rabid little Elf threatened to bite off my cock, and I am quite fond of it."

Despite herself, Gwendolyn laughed. "Yes, I am certain," she said, and then she turned her attention to Taryn and Kelan, asking after Ely and the babe.

"Any day now," Kelan revealed.

Gwendolyn felt at once contrite for taking him away from Ely when she doubtless had the most need of him, but it was not to be helped. They would need every man and woman they could muster to win this battle.

She hugged Kelan, then turned to Taryn, leaning close. "Did you bring it?"

Taryn nodded, pulling the pack from her shoulders and showing Gwendolyn its contents. Yew poison. Plenty to inoculate full half of their arrows.

Before leaving Trevena, she had tasked Taryn with learning the art of this poisoning from their fletchers, and to gathering what she could from the ancient Yew tree. "We also brought more than a thousand shafts, but they must be made."

"See it done," Gwendolyn said, but she didn't take the satchel.

She'd never told Locrinus about this practice of theirs, and she was glad now that she had not. Their archers would ensure they had fewer men to contend with over the course of the battle.

She sent Taryn to work with the archers, to show them how to prepare the arrows. And then, giving Esme a pointed glance, she took Caradoc aside to consult with him alone, listening to his news. Then, later, she slipped away to her tent to consider all she'd learned…

Lir had spoken true. The city was returning to its former self. Trade had all but resumed, and it was Ely's idea to hire mercenaries to defend the city so Caradoc and his troops could join Gwendolyn's army. But few that there were—less than twenty—it was not worth involving them in the fight against Locrinus, nor did Gwendolyn have the gold to pay a foreign army when nearly every piece of gold, every gem they owned was now in Loc's possession. The men and women who would fight for Gwendolyn would not fight for pay; they fought for freedom. But it was wise of Ely to trade twenty paid soldiers for twenty soldiers who believed in this cause. To keep them honest, the pay would not be given until Gwendolyn returned victorious, and in the meantime, the city would be in no danger for the same reason Loc and his brothers had abandoned it.

As for the timing of their arrival in Petvaria, they did not learn all that Gwendolyn had achieved until Esme arrived to inform them, though how Esme should know was anybody's guess—probably the same way the Druids learned about Aengus' death. As the Púca once explained, time was not the same in the mortal world. For Gwendolyn's part, she could only account for little more than a sennight after Málik pushed her through that portal, but if she had, in fact, been gone from the village for more than two moons, as Bryn had claimed, that was more than enough time for the Llanrhos Order to have received the news, then make their way to Trevena from Mona, and still arrive in time to celebrate with the Druids in Lifer Pol.

Whatever the case, Locrinus was not privy to this same conduit of information so he should sit there sucking eels with his mistress, none the wiser, since, according to Esme, he still did not know Gwendolyn had a growing army at her command.

"How do you know this?" Gwendolyn had asked.

Esme lifted her fingers to examine her claws. "I have my ways," she'd replied with a smile, and that was as much as she would reveal—aside from the fact that he did, in fact, know that Gwendolyn had retaken Trevena. But in his arrogance, he believed her trembling behind those gates, afeared to leave. Little did he realize. Gwendolyn was not the child-bride he'd wed, nor was she any longer so innocent, and gods save anyone who stood before Gwendolyn and retribution…

"Have you a moment?" came a soft query at the door of her tent, and before Gwendolyn could gather her thoughts to respond, Esme had already entered.

She walked directly to Gwendolyn, drawing something from her shoulder pack, handing it to Gwendolyn… the crown she'd fashioned from Gwendolyn's curls… and then wore on her own brow at her father's court.

"Please," Esme begged. "It is yours," she insisted, but it was a long moment before Gwendolyn could take the crown from her without hurling it back at her.

Finally, she did, though not without some bitterness.

"It is not the crown you seek now, nor, in truth, will it win you Cornwall's throne, but you may someday have need of it." She smiled then, and Gwendolyn still said nothing. She set it aside, laying it down at her own feet, then returned her attention to the sharpening of Kingslayer, as Esme moved to the cot, then sat herself atop it without a by-your-leave. "Do you loathe me now?"

It was a thick-skulled question.

And despite the possibility that Gwendolyn might say yes, Esme did not seem the least bit upset—not truly.

"No," said Gwendolyn, flicking Esme a glance to spy the corners of her lips lifting.

Cursing beneath her breath, Gwendolyn endeavored to ignore her, returning her attention to the care of her weapon, still vexed, though hardly in the mood to fight, when, in truth, she had Esme to thank for so much. And despite this, her pride could not be so easily soothed. She had spent weeks hoping for Esme's return—dying inside because she needed to know about her mother. And not for one moment had Esme considered releasing her from this torment.

Time flew—pah!

Both silent now, they sat together in Gwendolyn's tent, Esme atop that cot, whilst Gwendolyn continued polishing her sword—more vigorously now, wanting to say so much more and unable to speak a single word for fear of losing her temper.

"I knew you would not need me," Esme explained after a while. Gwendolyn said nothing, so Esme continued, "And clearly, you did not. I believe in you, Gwendolyn, and yes, I left my father's court… to grieve. No matter what else he may have been, he was also my father." She did not cry, but her eyes glittered suspiciously, and Gwendolyn's heart softened because Esme must have known what Gwendolyn would be forced to do in order to win her sword, and not for a moment had she considered stopping her. She sighed.

"I loved him no matter, and seeing his…"

Head. Gwendolyn winced, stopping with the polishing of her sword, laying it aside to give Esme her full attention. "I am sorry," she said at last. "I did not consider that. I believed?—"

"I loathed him?" Esme shook her head. "He was not the father he should have been. His bitterness produced a monster, and I know his death was the right thing for everyone. Come what may, I'd never, ever choose him over you… but… still… it crushes… my heart."

Every bit of Gwendolyn's enmity fled at once. She longed to hug Esme, but sat, uncertainly, because she'd never witnessed Esme with tears. "Where did you go?" she asked softly.

Esme shrugged. "For a while… to a place I love…" She smiled then, showing teeth. "And then to Trevena to keep that scoundrel from growing too comfortable in your absence."

Gwendolyn's lips quivered on the verge of a smile. "Thank you."

"I am so proud of you," Esme said, her smile growing wider, revealing all her porbeagle teeth. And even now, it was a smile that was frightening—despite knowing that Gwendolyn herself was Fae.

"I suppose you know…"

Esme tilted her head. "Know?"

"Well… that I know everything ," Gwendolyn said, and at hearing this, Esme replied, "Do you?" Her eyes once again glinted, but this time not with tears.

"Yes," Gwendolyn said. "I know I am Fae. I know you kept that truth from me, and I know you are the one who gave me my… gifts… dubious though they might be."

"I was only trying to help. But I did not decide alone," argued Esme.

"Nay," Gwendolyn allowed. "But I know that as well, and I am grateful for all the sacrifices she made for me, no matter that we did not share the same blood."

They were speaking of Málik's mother now—and Gwendolyn still did not know her name, but she understood well enough that to ask a Fae to give their name was the greatest form of disrespect, even if they no longer lived.

Esme's eyes shone. "She did it for Málik… and in part… for me."

Gwendolyn's brows drew together. "For you?"

Esme nodded. "You could not know this, but I loved you fiercely, Gwendolyn, and I would have done anything for you—anything!" She sighed, then continued, "It is also why I risked Málik's wrath to meet you in the Druid village, to gift you that sword." She hitched her chin at the sword Gwendolyn had been polishing. "It is also why I was so willing to betray him by revealing his true name… and I would have given you mine, too."

"But you do not have to," Gwendolyn said, and Esme stood, then came to where Gwendolyn sat, reaching down and taking Gwendolyn by the hand, drawing her up to stand before her. "Is the name Gráinne familiar to you?"

Gwendolyn shook her head.

"It should be." She smiled half-heartedly. "Shall I reveal yours?"

"Mine?" Gwendolyn blinked now, gazing into Esme's beautiful green eyes, only beginning to glean a sense of… something .

Esme squeezed her hand. "Sweet Curcog," she whispered. "Manannán entrusted me with your true name, but I never revealed it. He sent you to Court as Niamh of the Golden hair, and only Málik and I knew this."

"Why?"

"Because, Gwendolyn…"

Gwendolyn swallowed convulsively as Esme bent to kiss her upon the cheek, then drew away, with tears sparkling in her lashes.

"On the eve of your greatest trial, I cannot allow you to go on without baring my heart—without speaking our truth." She pulled Gwendolyn to the cot, begging her to sit, and once they were seated together, she again took Gwendolyn's hand, and said gently, " You are my sister." Gwendolyn's eyes widened, then stung, and Esme reached out to swipe a finger across her cheek. "It is true as the grass is green, and the sky is blue, Gwendolyn. You are my true-blood sister. Our mother was Ethniu. You are her daughter with Manannán, my father was Aengus óg."

Gwendolyn stared unblinking at Esme's face, wishing with all her heart that she could remember only a fraction of this life they had shared.

"Do you remember none of this?"

Gwendolyn shook her head.

Esme smiled sadly. "What I did to separate you from Málik, I did at my father's behest. I gave him a potion to turn his heart from you, not because I loved him, but because I loved you , and did not wish for him to seek you."

"But why?"

She tilted Gwendolyn the most tender look. "Because… I will always choose you, Gwendolyn. I did not trust Málik to do the same. Aengus was enraged when Málik asked for your hand, and you were already so weak. I feared the worst, and, at the time, Málik was still his bootlicker." Her lips turned. "So I offered Málik a potion and took him for my own. Only when he discovered my ruse, he reviled me, left me, and went to seek you. Alas, I should have known a potion without true love would never last, and still I tried… for you. This is the secret I withheld from my father—the place we hid your soul."

Gwendolyn's thoughts spun. This story seemed impossible, even surreal. And yet, looking into Esme's earnest green eyes, she felt a sense of the truth.

"I was mistaken, perhaps. Alas, though, if I had it to do all over again, I would like to say I would have told Málik the truth, but I am sure I would not have, because… my father knew his true name, and for that alone, I'd change nought." More tears welled in her eyes, but they did not fall.

Gwendolyn nodded and squeezed Esme's hand. "I… will need time to consider all you have told me," Gwendolyn said after what felt like an eternity had passed, and Esme nodded understanding.

"Take the time you need," she said, releasing Gwendolyn's hand as she rose from the bed, turning to leave the room when Gwendolyn called to her.

"Esme…"

Esme turned to look at her.

"Thank you… for telling me the truth."

With a smile and nod of acknowledgement, Esme started back out of the tent, but then turned once more to say, her voice coy as ever, "By the by… I really do not intend to make it a habit to bed the men who love you, Gwendolyn, but am I to believe that for Bryn, you might approve?"

Gwendolyn nodded, smiling, and without another word, Esme ducked out of the tent.