Chapter 37

37

B lood and bones.

All her life Gwendolyn had lived as an only child, with a mother and father who'd cared for her, no matter how it once appeared. Now, she had a sister, two fathers, two mothers, and an entire life she had no memory of.

It was so confusing to live with the echo of another life, but more than that, she was torn between her two selves—the mortal who, though taught from her first breath to fight like a man, was primed only to support a man; and the Fae creature whose blood gave her the key to Claímh Solais. Despite everything she had accomplished, Gwendolyn did not yet feel she'd proven herself well enough for these men to fight to the death on her behalf. Up to this point, it had proven a relatively simple task to rally troops to this cause. But they followed Gwendolyn only because she had convinced Baugh, or persuaded Caradoc, or simply because she could wield a burning sword. But she knew it would take far more than mere acquiescence to win a fight against Locrinus, who still held the advantage.

It would take fervor for the cause—a devotion born of faith, not fear, and Gwendolyn was coming to appreciate how difficult this was to win.

No wonder Locrinus ascribed to the politics of fear.

This morning, as she knelt by the pond, she peered hard into the undisturbed water, scrutinizing the human visage staring back. Here and now, she longed to spy that changeling with the porbeagle teeth… But the face was her own—and lest anyone mistake this; it was Gwendolyn of Cornwall, daughter and heir to King Corineus, not the daughter of Manannán and Ethniu. She had the same golden curls, but this was indubitably the face of a mortal, without pointy ears or fangs, and the lines that had etched themselves into the corner of her eyes and mouth spoke to a vulnerability she would be foolish not to consider when death was a very real possibility of the battle she would soon engage.

Gwendolyn sighed.

Having left everyone to the breaking of the fast, she had slipped away to find a moment's respite, half expecting Málik to follow. But it was Bryn who came to find her—and perhaps that was a good thing because Gwendolyn was thoroughly confused. She didn't know how to feel about anything right now—not Málik, nor Baugh, nor Manannán, nor Esme.

Most certainly not the battle to come.

With only a few more days to travel before reaching Iceni lands, they were nearing the end of this campaign, and despite all her recent accomplishments, she had only one more tribe to seek before facing Locrinus—one small tribe, and she worried how they would receive her.

What if Loc had already convinced them to ally with him?

What if they refused her?

What then if the Brigantes had also joined him, and her army faced an army fifteen-thousand strong?

"I did not see you break your fast," said Bryn as he approached.

"I… wasn't hungry," Gwendolyn confessed, and she reached down to scoop up a handful of cool water to splash upon her face. It was icy against her cheeks, but she welcomed it, hoping it would clear the fog in her head.

And the storm brewing in her heart…

"Art troubled?" Bryn examined her with knowing eyes and Gwendolyn studied him a long moment before deciding she might as well confess… in part.

"I had hoped to conscript another thousand warriors," she said, and he gave her a look that said he wasn't the least concerned. Yet Gwendolyn was.

"With Iceni and Cantium, there should be another fifteen hundred. That would bring us closer to ten."

Unlike Bryn, Gwendolyn wasn't so certain the Iceni would pledge their own, much less urge Cantium to join Gwendolyn's cause. "Those tribes were fiercely opposed to my father's rule," she pointed out, and, indeed, it was for that reason she had left them for the end of this campaign, because she had hoped to face them with an army far greater than Loc's. As yet, she could not, in good conscience, claim such a feat.

She sat, then turned to face Bryn, commanding him to sit down beside her, patting the ground. He obeyed at once, and for a long while, the two of them sat silently, merely enjoying the quietude of the forest.

The days were a little warmer now.

The trillium ready to blossom.

The trees were filling with new leaves, and the sky was half concealed by the canopy of green. Spring had come, but the gruesome scene that had been playing before her eyes since last night was not this beautiful forest, but the rivers of blood that would flow before justice could be served.

It weighed heavily upon her.

"Gwen…" he began, his voice hesitant, perhaps because he'd dared to address her so familiarly. "I trust you'll find the way."

She heard his hope, and the last thing Gwendolyn wished to do was infect him with her doubt, so she offered a smile. "I am sure you speak true," she said.

And then, with a note of good humor, she added, "I've Claímh Solais , haven't I? How could we lose?" In jesting, she dared to find some solace in the sword's promise—after all, wasn't it said that he who wielded the Sword of Light could not lose? She would soon enough test that, but unfortunately, this would hold no promises for the rest of her army, nor any of the people she loved—Bryn, for one.

She sighed again, plucking up a blade of grass, pulling it between her fingers, realizing that this could well be the last chance she and Bryn would ever have to sit alone and reminisce, and the reality of this truth was a bitter draught.

She smiled, this time fondly. "Do you remember that day we found the Giant's House near Fowey?"

Bryn's eyes twinkled with mirth. He laughed, and the sound was rich and deep—the voice of a man. "You mean that fortress we ‘stole from Gogmagog'?"

Gwendolyn giggled. "How we used to play at make-believe," she said, then added. "I believe it was Demelza who told us that the house was built by a tribe of giants hurling stones in a game of Quoits."

"Quoits," Bryn said, chuckling low. He drew up his knees, put his arms around them, and nodded disbelievingly over the memory.

"How ludicrous this now seems," Gwendolyn agreed.

His eyes crinkled. "You were an attentive audience," he said. "No matter how outlandish her tales, you took them as truth."

Indeed, some of what Demelza had told her had turned out to be more true than Bryn could know, but some of it was certainly tall-tales. She inclined her head. "Yes… well… I suppose I did." A wistful smile played upon her lips. "I am so pleased we found her alive and well—your mother, too."

Bryn shook his head. "Me too. Ely will be amazed. I encouraged my mother to deliver a message to tell her sooner than later."

"Will your mother remain in Skerrabra, or will she return to Trevena, did she say?"

He nodded. "I believe she would like to return… for Ely." He tossed a hand out to indicate their surroundings, and said, "For obvious reasons, I'd not see her travel yet, but when the war is over, I will fetch her myself."

"Of course," Gwendolyn said, and Bryn nodded, then lifted a dark brow.

"I was… surprised to hear she never loved my father and that she grieves not at all."

"And you?" Gwendolyn dared. "Do you?"

Bryn seemed to consider this question for a long moment, then shook his head. But the silence lengthened between them, and she wondered if he was thinking of that night they'd found Talwyn in her father's chamber—the cruel words he'd spoken. Gwendolyn knew Bryn had forgiven her for his father's death, and she was grateful for it. But she was still having a difficult time of it herself—not simply Talwyn's, but Aengus, as well. And these were but two lives she had ended. Although she felt differently about the men she'd put down in Brigantes, these were all still lives taken, and before the battle was done, she would extinguish many more.

It was a terrible weight to carry when she understood that, except for Locrinus and Estrildis, every one of those men who would fight against her was doing what they thought was just and right. She had done the right thing to ask Freydis to keep those prisoners as long as she could. When the war was over, and Locrinus was gone, she had every faith that they would reconsider their loyalties.

Peering at Bryn, she lifted a brow. "I suppose I should tell you that Esme has sought my blessing…"

He feigned at surprise, his shining black hair falling across his eyes. "For what?"

Gwendolyn lifted her chin, then a second brow, because, truly, she did not know what Esme was asking blessings for—to love Bryn?

To bed him?

To what?

Bryn's cheeks turned red. "And what did you say?"

"Nothing," Gwendolyn admitted. "Esme will do what Esme will do."

Bryn pressed her. "But how do you feel about it?"

Gwendolyn tilted him a sideways glance. "I've told you true, Bryn. I only wish you to be happy, and if Esme is the one who will make it so, I wish this for you."

His shoulders relaxed then. "I believe she might be the one." He smiled hopefully, and in that moment, Gwendolyn vowed to support any decision he made, including following Esme into the Fae realms. If, like Emrys, Bryn should wish to join her there, Gwendolyn would never stand in his way.

"Good," she said, and then, unwilling to foster any more secrets, she confessed everything else Esme had revealed—everything.

"Sisters?" he said and whistled. Lifting a hand to his head, he rubbed like a nervous little boy. "Do not detest me for saying so, Gwendolyn… but I can too easily believe this…"

Gwendolyn laughed, shoving him with the pad of her hand, because she knew him well enough to know it wasn't intended to be flattery, no matter how he might feel about Esme.

"Alas," he said. "One cannot be queen without a bit of hubris, and you've more than your share." He made a face, and Gwendolyn smacked him again.

"And truly," he persisted. "As I've said, I always knew there was something… odd… about you."

"Art hoping I will kill you now, so you needn't worry about the battle?" She smirked.

"No. But really," he added. "I am so proud of you, Gwendolyn—this is why I intend to follow you till my dying breath, and Esme will as well. I promise you, I did not know about any of the things Esme revealed, but I knew she loved you." He ducked his head, embarrassed. "It is the thing we bonded over."

"That and more," Gwendolyn teased. "Alas," she said, her mood darkening again. "You well may follow me to the grave. A most impressive sight they might be, but we are still very much outnumbered."

"No matter," said Bryn, grinning. "You have Esme on your side." He laughed and shook his head. "Truly, she alone will fell a hundred!"

Another length of silence fell between them, and when Bryn spoke again, Gwendolyn could hear the pride in his voice. "Have you seen her wield a blade?"

Of course, Gwendolyn had—in the Brigantes' woods when they were set upon by Loc's brigands—but Gwendolyn didn't have the chance to remind him of that because he continued sober as an alderman.

"Only consider this… you've two thousand Fae warriors in your company. If each one fells a hundred men, you've still the advantage. They alone give you the strength of twenty thousand!"

Gwendolyn lifted her brow. That was puffery, at best, but she didn't have the heart to deny him that hope. "From your lips to the gods' ears," she allowed, and then she slapped herself on the thigh and rose.

"Come, now. Let us return. Before they come searching." She offered him her hand, dragging him to his feet, and together they made their way back to camp. But as they neared, and the clanking of armor and the sounds of soldiers training filling Gwendolyn's ears, she squared her shoulders.

"There you are," said Taryn, rushing to greet them. "Thank the gods! You'd best stop those two eejits —your grandfather and Caradoc will kill each other before Locrinus has the chance!"

Gwendolyn rolled her eyes. "Excellent," she said.

The two old fools had begun sparring weeks ago, after Caradoc joined them in Petvaria, and they were a bit too evenly matched. Now, they appeared intent upon proving their superiority, at the expense of losing two valuable warriors. And then suddenly, Gwendolyn knew how to settle their dispute and perhaps how to ease her own disquietude as well—put to rest any lingering doubts about her own worth. It was one thing to take a man's head by surprise—even a king's—still another to face him evenly and best him. And this was perhaps at the heart of her malaise over leading these men into battle.

"Where are they?" she asked.

Taryn hitched her chin toward the glade and said, "There."

Bryn's voice filled with misgiving. "Blood and bones! Art planning to do what I believe you are? You should not, Gwendolyn! The last thing we need is for Baugh or Caradoc—either—to abandon us before the fight."

Ignoring Bryn, Gwendolyn nodded to Taryn, veering towards the glade, her stride purposeful. Those men needed a good lesson and though now was not the time to test the Sword of Light—lest someone call her a cheater—it was as good a time as any to test herself and them as well.