Chapter 44

44

A bandoned swords littered the ground, and the pyre built to honor the fallen demanded days of labor. Gwendolyn worked beside men whose names she didn't know, bandaging wounds and arranging bodies for the pyre, feeling a camaraderie with all. Indeed, she had always imagined that, after a successful battle, the first thing a warrior might wish to do was to go home. This turned out not to be the case. Together, these men and women had fought and bled together, and no one abandoned the dead or wounded. Exhausted and bloodied, night after night, they gathered about the bonfires that had been hastily lit amidst the carnage, drank from shared flasks, united in the aftermath of this chaos that had unfolded. Their homes awaited, but for now, they found comfort and camaraderie in the sharing of stories under a starlit night. There was laughter amidst tears—for the fallen, and for futures uncertain, but above all, for the end of the tyranny that had withered these lands with Rot. And, it seemed such an irony that Gwendolyn would spend so long presenting her best face, afraid to show herself as anything but strong, and now she was wholly unashamed to weep for those whose lives were lost here—for all were harmed by Loc's short reign.

And most of all, she was not the least bit chagrined that some of her tears were shed for relief that the people she held most dear had come through this battle intact.

As the last embers of the funeral pyre faded into obscurity and wounds healed, they slowly dispersed to make their way home. Amidst those who lingered after were Caradoc and his men to reclaim their home, along with Gwendolyn's grandfather and his troops, who would remain with Caradoc for some time to see him settled and defended. Gwendolyn thanked him profusely.

Málik remained, though without his Fae warriors, who'd all vanished before the first dawn without goodbyes—as though they had never even been there to lend their swords. It was hardly a surprise. For all the time they'd traveled together, Málik's warriors had kept themselves apart, following not Gwendolyn, but their sovereign king. But that was perhaps as it should be, for they were never hers to command.

On the very last night, those who lingered stood before a dying fire, their silhouettes etched against the flames. Seated beside Málik as he gazed at the fire, Gwendolyn felt a wave of melancholy wash over her, sensing that their time had not merely grown short, but as was this quest, it was done.

"Thank you," Gwendolyn said, grateful for all he had done. In the end, once their dead were counted, he had lost a good fifty of his own.

He turned his hand, opening his palm, and a small blue orb burst forth, spitting dull, blue flames, twisting and turning as though it struggled. Gazing up from the Faerie Fire, much diminished from the first flame she ever saw, he met her gaze, and his winterbourne eyes now held a depth of sorrow. He tossed it aside, and then rose to face her, holding Gwendolyn's gaze, drawing her onto her feet, and into his embrace, and she knew before he spoke the first word that he meant to go.

But worse, by the sputtering light of that Faerie flame, she already knew what he meant to say. "When I go," he said, "the last portal will close."

Gwendolyn nodded, understanding. Since the day she first met him, she had witnessed fewer and fewer manifestations of his magic…

It took him another long moment to find his voice again, and he swallowed, drawing her close. "I've asked twice… pride be damned, I will ask once more."

Gwendolyn's heart wrenched painfully. She swallowed the words she longed to say, and, unwilling to hear his plea once more, despite how much she loved him, she shushed him with a gentle touch to his beautiful lips—her answer unchanged…

Her eyes burned as she stared at him, and her hands trembled with the desire to clasp him to her and never let him go.

But she could not go.

These were her people now.

Her chin trembled with emotion, and she bit back a cry of pain as her gaze fixed on his beloved face—a face she would never see again, for she had spoken true every time he'd asked, and her answer could not change now merely because they had won this victory. A new dawn awaited, and with it, the chance to mend this troubled realm.

Already, she was weaving plans…

Málik nodded somberly, peering down between them, his beautiful face a mask of sorrow. But he stepped back, as she once had in the fields before the Druid Crossroads, breaking their connection. Fat tears welled in Gwendolyn's eyes. But there were too many witnesses for maudlin displays of emotion. Nor would he kiss the Cornish queen for all to see, then walk away, but neither would he fail to make his heart known. He fell to his knees before Gwendolyn, bowed his head, thumped a fist to his breast, remaining there long enough that his fealty could not be confused. And then he stood, giving her a nod, before turning and finding his mare. And then he simply left, with his little blue flame trailing after, until it shrank to a pinprick of light.

The last Gwendolyn saw of Málik was the reflection of moonlight against his beautiful silver hair, and the blink of his Faerie flame before it vanished.

Shrouded in silence, the few who'd remained on the battlefield watched him go—the Fae king, who'd dared to bend the knee to a mortal queen.

With trembling lips, Gwendolyn stared at the void, letting her tears fall, unashamed to weep for losing a piece of her heart.

She vowed the loss would not be in vain.

Gwendolyn's return to Trevena was bittersweet.

Far from her worst fear, not only did Caradoc not lock the city gates against her, he'd presented the keys to her with a procession to honor her return. And then, once matters of governance were resolved, he took his Catuvellauni kinsmen, including his son, Ely, and their newborn child, and returned to the fenlands to reclaim his village.

After a tearful good-bye with Ely, Gwendolyn returned to the business of Trevena, disbanding her old Konsel, creating a new type of congress, offering positions at her table to the chieftains of each of Pretania's tribes—twelve altogether, including three to represent the tribes of Cornwall, one to represent all of Westwalas, one to represent Prydein, and the rest to the remaining seven tribes. True to her word, she would leave all the tribes to govern themselves, but she intended to give them a seat at her Konsel table so they could represent their own interests to Cornwall. For all matters that did not concern the tribes at large, she created a separate body for the administration of Cornwall and its territories.

Naturally, she returned her mother to the dawnsio , and this time, the tribes were far more welcoming of the institution. Queen Eseld also lured two of her younger, unmarried sisters to Trevena, along with Lady Ruan, to help produce her dawnsio . One took the veil and left to join the Gwiddons . The other took her mother's place when, unexpectedly, after one of their Konsel meetings, she returned to Lundinion with Caradoc—all without Gwendolyn's intervening. But she and Ely were meant to return together, twice every year to help as Gwendolyn's closest counsel.

Of course, Baugh returned to Skerrabra, but it wasn't long thereafter when word arrived that he had abdicated his thanehood , leaving Albanactus to lead in his stead. He perhaps remained another year to provide counsel… but then, one day, Gwendolyn received word that he, too, had vanished.

No explanation.

Gone—as was Málik's father.

Rumor had it that Baugh had traveled north to a place called the Rhipaion valley, to join the Arimaspoi tribe. Another claimed he took himself and his wife and traveled east to Freydis' homeland. Alas, no one could say for sure.

Yestin earned himself a chance at redemption, but instead of remaining in the city, he abandoned Trevena with another lover to live a quiet life in the Cod's Wold, raising sheep for wool.

Merlin, rest his soul, died happily one day beneath their Yew tree. They discovered his old body prone beneath it, with his staff in one hand and a silly grin on his face. He was the only Druid Gwendolyn ever saw again, and once he, too, was gone, no one ever again found the Isle of Mona. It, too, vanished, as did Baugh. But the Gwiddons claimed the isle would return once more before the end of the Druid's age. Just to be certain, Gwendolyn traveled north to the Druid's Crossroads, to see if that village was still there, but all that remained were the carved, blooded stones and a ruined cairn. It, too, was gone.

Taryn healed her leg well enough to serve beneath Bryn as captain of Trevena's army, and she, along with Ely, Eseld and even Demelza, helped Gwendolyn to determine a fair settlement for women whose lives were not meant to be, or no longer, tied to men.

The Iceni rebuilt their village, and along with Cantium, made peace with Lundinion, trading daughters as one might pottery.

Alas, not all things transpired for the better. Despite her query about Bryn, Esme did not remain in Trevena and Bryn did not follow her to the Fae realms. His place, he had insisted, was in service to Cornwall—even after Gwendolyn reassured him he had her blessings to go.

In time, it became clear that he and Taryn had formed a certain friendship, and when Esme departed one evening, never to return, it freed Bryn to ask for Taryn's hand in matrimony. Of course, Gwendolyn said yes, and the two were married at the festival of Calan Mai in the year of the long-haired star.

Loc, of course, was as dead as a man could be.

She burned his ashes on a pyre before the city he had stolen, along with that of his mistress, whose lifeless carcass was discovered down in the fogous beneath Lundinion.

With his elder brother's once-great army disbanded, Kamber returned to Loegria, defeated and grateful for his life. Gwendolyn summoned him to Cornwall to see him bend the knee, but seized his army, along with all their wheals, and their treasury. As a matter of honor, Gwendolyn was forced to give both of Loc's brothers seats on her Konsel. She did not relish dealing with either, but though Kamber had been stripped of his lesser provinces, he was still king of Loegria and Albanactus was her grandfather's heir.

As for the recipe for Loegrian steel—stolen from the Fae—this was returned, along with every sword, every axe, and every blade that had made use of the alloy.

And this was the most unbearable of all… for Gwendolyn.

When Málik left the realm, he never returned.

Every night thereafter, Gwendolyn climbed to the parapets to watch the dying light in their Dragon's Lair, fading day by day.

The Rot was healed, but the magic of Porth Pool was lost. The will-o'-the-wisps were found nevermore. Jakk Frost was never seen again. The piskies were gone from Porth Pool. The Age of Magic was done.

Three years later, when Innogen came calling, and dared to ask after Málik, Gwendolyn was heartsick to confess she did not know his whereabouts.

But she did.

She knew.

And even as she sat upon her throne of wood in the mortal realm, she knew Málik sat upon his throne of gold.

However, when Innogen arrived, she came with a small child hanging on her hand, a boy child that bore an aspect of Málik's countenance—tiny and silver-haired, with a mouth filled with very human teeth that bore the sharpest of canines. Gwendolyn nearly sent the woman away, but if she had, she would never have known…

His existence changed everything.

Given the chance… what would you do with the child?

Age had perhaps softened Innogen's heart, because when she led the child into Gwendolyn's audience hall, she dropped to her knees, though not before gently urging the child to his. The tiny figure, outfitted in a simple tunic and leather breeches, hesitated only a moment before awkwardly bending his knee on the cold stone floor in deference to Gwendolyn. The faintest of smiles played upon Gwendolyn's lips, but her heart clenched with an unbearable sense of longing. It was no doubt a child of Málik's blood—his great-grandchild with Helen of Troy.

The resemblance was uncanny.

Gwendolyn had only once ever met the child, as a wee babe, when his mother sauntered into her prison chamber to flaunt her husband's love child, but Gwendolyn in her fury had not looked closely enough at his features.

Now, putting aside her enmity for the sake of the child, she cleared her throat. "What brings you to my court?"

Innogen, her eyes brimming with tears she was too proud to shed, glanced briefly at the child before looking Gwendolyn straight in the eye. She did not yet rise to her feet, and neither did she encourage the child to do so.

"The boy," she said.

"What about him?" Gwendolyn asked, forcing the question through a throat that had grown too thick with emotion. Without being told, she understood who and what he was.

"You were not the only one visited at your cradle. This child was, too," she explained. "I witnessed this myself, and I've… come to understand that his place is not with me…"

Gwendolyn's heart pounded as she stared at the pate of the child's head. He knelt so quietly beside his grandmother—a woman who had once reviled Gwendolyn and mistreated her so cruelly. But there was something different about her now… softer, mayhap wiser. Certainly kinder. And she was also the one who let Gwendolyn go, and she would not be here today if it were not for her.

That alone must count for something.

"I beg you to consider taking him as your own," Innogen entreated.

"And deal with you the rest of my life?" she asked at once, though her question was not, in truth, meant to be malicious. Nor did she wish to part the child from the only family he had likely ever known.

And yet, could she bring a child into her house whose very mind would be poisoned against her?

It was as though Innogen had read her mind, because her eyes brimmed with tears as she said, "I am so sorry for the treatment we gave you in my home. I beg your forgiveness, My Queen, and I swear to you I have only whispered kind words into this child's ears."

Gwendolyn wavered, her heart softening against the thought of raising this child, despite fearing the worst. "How can I be sure?"

"If you do not believe me, ask of the child what you will. He is still young yet. You may still mold him in your image."

"And you?"

"I will…" Tears spilled down her gaunt cheeks. "I plan to return to my people… because I am not long for this world."

Gwendolyn's eyes stung now too—not merely for Innogen's sacrifice, but for so long now she had been struggling with her line of succession, and having determined that her heart was forever lost to one she could never have, she knew her womb would wither and die without babes.

But this child…

Given the chance… what would you do with the child?

Gwendolyn motioned for Innogen to rise. But instead of calling the child onto the dais, she herself rose from her throne and went to the pair, still kneeling at the steps. It was only then that Innogen rose, and in her eyes, Gwendolyn spied her two souls—the one who'd once tormented her and another whose heart spoke true, whose sorrow was genuine, whose loss was real. Her heart softened a little more, and she knelt beside the child, lifting his still bowed chin with a finger. "Halloo Habren," she said with a smile.

"Halloo."

"Do you know who I am?"

The child nodded shyly. "My papa's wife. My nain says you will be my new mama, and I should listen to all you say because you know best."

The boy's eyes, too, sparkled with unshed tears, and he peered up at his nain , and said innocently, "Did I say it right, nain ?" Laying a hand on the child's shoulder in comfort, Gwendolyn turned her attention back to Innogen and Innogen's smile trembled as tears fell unchecked down her cheeks. But before she could embarrass herself further, or give Gwendolyn the chance to refuse her, she slapped a hand to her breast and turned and ran out the door, leaving the child in Gwendolyn's care.