Allenach was absent the next morning.
I felt it when I entered the hall, the lord’s absence like a gaping hole in the floor. And there were Rian and Sean, sitting in their usual places at the table on the dais, mopping their porridge up with clumps of bread, too hungry for spoons, as Allenach’s grand chair sat empty between them.
Rian saw me first, his eyes going at once to my bodice, as if he hoped that I might bleed through the fabric. “Ah, good morning, Amadine. I trust you had a good night?”
I sat in the chair beside Sean, smiling gracefully at the servant who brought my bowl of porridge and sliced plums.
“The best sleep I have had in a while, Rian,” I responded. “Thank you for asking.”
Sean said nothing, but he was stiff as a board as the tension between me and his older brother grew taut.
“You have noticed that my father is away,” Rian continued, glancing down the table at me.
“Yes. I see that.”
“He has gone to Lyonesse, to bring MacQuinn before the king.”
I was just raising a spoonful of porridge to my mouth. And my stomach clenched so violently I thought I might heave. But somehow, I swallowed the porridge, felt it clog all the way down my throat to my roiling stomach.
Rian was smiling at me, watching me struggle to eat. “You know what the king likes to do to traitors, Amadine? He cuts off their hands first. Then their feet. Then he gouges out their tongues and eyes. Last, he severs their heads.”
“Enough, Rian,” Sean hissed.
“Amadine needs to prepare herself,” Rian countered. “I would hate for her to think this story has a happy ending.”
I looked to the hall, my eyes going right to Cartier. He was sitting in his usual place with a bowl of porridge before him, Valenians chattering about him like birds. But he was solemn and still, his eyes on me. And then they slid to Rian, and he knew. I watched that Maevan stealth and that Valenian elegance merge, watched as Cartier’s gaze marked Rian as a dead man.
“Did you hear me, Amadine? Or has one of the Valenians caught your interest?”
I set down my spoon and looked at Rian again. “What did you say?”
“I said perhaps I could finish the tour you so wanted yesterday,” Rian said, shoving the last of his bread and porridge in his mouth.
“No thank you.”
“Pity,” he spoke through the crumbs, rising from the table. “I would have loved to show you around.”
Sean and I watched as Rian sauntered from the hall. Only then did I breathe, did I let myself sink deeper in the chair.
“I do hope that your father is pardoned,” Sean murmured, and then he rushed to his feet and left, as if he was embarrassed he had made such a confession.
I forced down a few more bites of porridge and then nudged my bowl aside. My eyes rested on Merei, who was sitting at a table with the rest of her consort, their purple cloaks like gemstones in the gentle light. They were laughing, enjoying the morning, nothing dark on their horizon. And I wanted to go to her, the friend of my heart, and I wanted to tell her everything.
She felt my gaze, looked to me.
She would meet me, if I signaled her. She would come right away, no doubt wondering why I hadn’t met her the night before.
But I had promised that I would not risk her safety, not after I had already endangered her with my wild ploy to fetch the stone. And I was so burdened at that moment, I would undoubtedly tell her everything I shouldn’t.
I rose and quitted the hall, leaving Cartier among the Valenians and Merei among her consort. I returned to my room, so overcome with fear and worry that I lay facedown on my bed. At this very moment, Jourdain was being brought before Lannon in the royal hall. And I had wrought this plan. I had strung it together, using Jourdain as the distraction. But what if I had planned wrong? What if Lannon tortured my patron father? What if he cut him into pieces and staked him on the wall? And what of Luc? Would Lannon punish him too?
It would be my fault. And I could hardly bear it.
My heart beat low and heavy as the hours continued to burn, as morning gave way to afternoon, as afternoon molted into evening. I hardly moved, growing weak with dread and thirst, and then came a knock on my door.
I stood and walked to it, my hand trembling as I swung the door open.
It was Allenach, waiting on my threshold.
I told myself to stand tall, to bear whatever he would say, that no matter what had happened, the mission must continue. We would still storm the castle, with or without Jourdain.
“May I come in?” the lord asked.
I stepped aside so he could enter, shutting the door behind him. He paced to my hearth, stopping only to turn back around, to watch me slowly close the gap between us.
“You look ill,” he stated, his eyes sweeping me.
“Tell me.” I didn’t even try to sound polite or poised.
“Sit down, Amadine.”
No, no, no. My heart was screaming, but I sat, preparing for the worst.
“I won’t lie to you,” he began, gazing down at me. “Your father nearly lost his head.”
My hands were gripping the armrests of the chair, white-knuckled. “He is alive, then?”
Allenach nodded. “The king wanted to behead him. Took the axe up to do it himself. In the throne room.”
“And why didn’t he?”
“Because I stopped him,” the lord replied. “Yes, MacQuinn deserves death for what he did. But I was able to grant him a little more time, to convince the king to give him a proper trial. The lords of Maevana will judge him in two weeks’ time.”
I covered my mouth, but tears began to spill from my eyes. The last thing I desired was to cry, to look weak, but it only brought Allenach to his knees before me, a sight that made the shadows and the light gather close around us.
“Your father and your brother have been taken to a house ten miles from here,” he murmured. “They are on my land, in one of my tenants’ houses. They are guarded and under orders not to leave, but they should rest in safety every night until the trial.”
A sound of relief broke from me and I wiped my cheeks, the tears on my lashes casting prisms about Allenach’s face when I looked at him.
“Would you like to remain here, or would you like to go to them?” he asked.
I could hardly believe he was being so kind, that he was giving me a choice. A warning bell rang at the back of my mind, but my relief was so strong it drowned out my suspicions. Everything I had planned had come to pass. Everything was moving forward as we wanted.
“Take me to them, my lord,” I whispered.
Allenach stared at me, and then he rose and said, “We’ll leave as soon as you pack your things.”
He departed and I rushed to shove all my belongings into my trunk. But before I left the room, before I departed the blessing of the unicorn, I laid my hand over my corset, over the stitches that itched at my side, over the stone that had become my closest companion.
This was truly happening. We were all here. I had recovered the stone. And we were ready.
Allenach had a coach drawn for me in the courtyard. I walked through the blue shadows of evening at his side as he escorted me out. I thought he would grant his good-byes there, on the cobblestones of Damhan. But he surprised me when a groom brought his horse, tacked and ready.
“I will ride behind you,” the lord said.
I nodded, concealing my shock as he shut the coach door. When Cartier realized I was gone during dinner in the hall that night, he would know that I had been taken to Jourdain. I wouldn’t see him again until we converged in Mistwood, and I prayed that he would remain safe.
Those ten miles seemed to stretch into a hundred. The moon had risen over the tree line by the time the coach came to a halt. I broke my manners and let myself out, stumbling over a thick tussock of grass as I soaked in my surroundings by moonlight.
It was a yeoman’s house, a long stretch of building that resembled a loaf of bread—white cob walls, a thatched roof like scorched crust. Smoke dribbled out from two chimneys, tickling the stars, and candlelight breathed on the windows from within. There was nothing else around save for the valley, a gloomy barn in the distance, the white speckles of sheep as they grazed. And a dozen of Allenach’s men, guarding the house, stationed by every window and door.
Allenach’s horse came to a stop behind me just as the front door of the house swung open. I saw Jourdain, etched in the light as he stood on the threshold. I wanted to call out to him, but it hung in my throat as I began to walk, began to run to him, my ankles sore as my feet crushed the grass.
“Amadine!” He recognized me, shoved past the guards to reach me, and I fell into his arms with a sob, despite my promise not to cry again. “Shh, it’s all right now,” he whispered, the brogue rising in his voice again now that he was home. “I’m safe and well. Luc is too.”
I pressed my face to his shirt, as if I were five years old, and breathed in the salt from the ocean, the starch in the linen, as his hand gently touched my hair. Despite the fact that we were under house arrest, that he had almost lost his head that morning and I had been stabbed the night before, I had never felt safer.
“Come, let’s get you inside,” Jourdain said, ushering me to the house.
It was only then that I remembered Lord Allenach, who I had never thanked for saving my patron father’s life.
I turned out of Jourdain’s arms, my eyes seeking the man on horseback. But there was nothing but the moonlight and the wind dancing over the grass, the imprints of hooves from where he had once been.
I cried again when I saw Luc waiting for me in the hall. He crushed me to his chest and rocked me back and forth, as if we were dancing, until I laughed and finally cried the last of my tears.
Jourdain shut and bolted the front door and the three of us stood in a circle, our arms wound about one another, our foreheads pressed together as we smiled, as we silently claimed this victory.
“I have something to tell you both,” I said, at which Luc quickly covered his mouth with a finger, indicating I should be quiet.
“I bet you enjoyed Damhan,” my brother said loudly, walking to a table that was tucked out of sight from the windows. There was a sheet of paper on it, a quill and ink. He made the motion for me to write, and then pointed to his ear and then the walls.
So the guards were eavesdropping. I nodded and chattered about the grandeur of the castle as I began to write.
I have the stone.
Jourdain and Luc read it at the same moment, their eyes affixing to mine with a joy that made the stone hum again.
Where? Luc hastened to write.
I patted my corset, and Jourdain nodded, and I thought I saw the silver of tears line his eyes. He turned away before I could affirm it, to pour me a cup of water.
Keep it there, Luc added to his sentence. It is safest with you.
I accepted the cup of water Jourdain handed me and nodded. Luc took the paper and set it in the fire to burn, and we sat before the hearth and talked of safer, inconsequential things that would bore the guards who listened beyond the walls.
The following day, I swiftly learned that being under a strict house guard was stifling. Everything we said was capable of being overheard. If I wanted to step outside, the eyes of the guards followed me. The greatest challenge would be the three of us overtaking the twelve of them when it was time to ride to Mistwood in two nights.
So that afternoon, Luc wrote out a plan, which he gave me to read. He and Jourdain had arrived to Maevana completely weaponless, but I still had my dirk strapped to my thigh. It was our one and only weapon, and after I read the plan of escape, I set my little blade into Jourdain’s hands.
“Did you have to use it?” he whispered, tucking it away in his doublet.
“No, Father,” I said. I still had yet to tell him about the stabbing incident. I began to reach for the paper, so I could write it all down for him to read. . . .
There was a knock on the door. Luc jumped up to answer it, returning to the hall with a basket of food.
“Lord Allenach has been quite the generous host,” my brother said, rummaging through loaves of oat bread, still warm from the oven, a few wedges of cheese and butter, a jar of salted fish, and a pile of apples.
“What is that?” Jourdain questioned, noticing a flash of parchment tucked among the bread.
Luc plucked it from the linen as he bit into one of the apples. “It’s addressed to you, Father.” He handed it to Jourdain, and I saw the red wax that held the parchment together, pressed with a leaping stag.
Distracted from writing about the stabbing, I joined Luc, exploring the basket of food. But just as I was unpacking the bread, I heard Jourdain’s sharp intake of breath, I felt the room grow dark. Luc and I turned at once to look at him, watched him crumple the parchment in clawlike hands.
“Father? Father, what is it?” Luc quietly demanded.
But Jourdain did not look at Luc. I don’t think he even heard his son as he set his eyes to me. My heart plummeted to the floor, breaking for a reason it didn’t even know.
My patron father was staring at me with such fury that I took a step back, bumping into Luc.
“When were you going to tell me, Amadine?” Jourdain said in that cold, sharp voice that I had heard only once before, when he had killed the thieves.
“I don’t know what you speak of!” I rasped, pressing harder against Luc.
Jourdain took hold of the table and hurled it over, spilling the candles, the basket of food, the paper and ink. I lurched back as Luc cried out in surprise.
“Father, return to yourself!” he hissed. “Remember where we are!”
Jourdain slowly fell to his knees, that parchment still caught in his fingers, his face pale as the moon as he stared at nothing.
Luc rushed forward to snag the paper. My brother became very still, and then he met my gaze, wordlessly handed the letter to me.
I didn’t know what to expect, what could infuriate Jourdain so swiftly. But as my eyes moved over arches and valleys of the words, the world around me cracked in two.
Davin MacQuinn,
I thought it best to tell you that I extended your life for one purpose, and it has nothing to do with how well you begged yesterday morning. You have something that belongs to me, something that is precious, something that I want returned unto my care.
The young woman you call Amadine—who you dare to call your daughter—belongs to me. She is my rightful daughter, and I ask that you relinquish whatever binds you have on her and allow her to return to me at Damhan. The coach will be waiting outside the door for her.
Lord Brendan Allenach
“It’s a lie,” I growled, crumpling the paper in my hands, just as Jourdain had done. “Father, he is lying to you.” I stumbled over the apples and bread to kneel before Jourdain. He looked as if he had broken, his eyes glazed over. I took his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. “This man, this Lord Allenach, is not my father.”
“Why did you keep this from me?” Jourdain asked, ignoring my impassioned statements.
“I kept nothing from you!” I cried. The anger bloomed in my heart, crowding it with thorns. “I have never seen my blood father. I do not know the man’s name. I am illegitimate; I am unwanted. This lord is playing a game with you. I do not belong to him!”
Jourdain finally focused on my face. “Are you certain, Amadine?”
I hesitated, and the silence pierced me, because it made me see that I was not at all certain.
I thought back to the night I had asked the Dowager to conceal my father’s full name from Jourdain. . . . She had not wanted to, but yet she had, because I insisted upon it. And so Jourdain had believed—as I had—that my father was a mere servant beneath the lord. We had never entertained the idea that he might be the lord.
“Did you tell him that you hail from his House?” Jourdain asked, his voice hollow.
“No, no, I told him nothing,” I stammered, and that’s when I realized it. How on earth would Allenach know to claim me?
This cannot be. . . .
Jourdain nodded, reading my painful trail of thoughts. “He is your father. How else would he know?”
“No, no,” I whispered, my throat closing. “It cannot be him.”
But even as I denied it, the threads of my life began to pull together. Why would my grandfather be so adamant to hide me? To keep my father’s name from me? Because my father was a powerful, dangerous lord of Maevana.
But perhaps, more than anything . . . how did Allenach know who I was?
I stared at Jourdain. Jourdain stared at me.
“Do you want to know why I hate Brendan Allenach?” he whispered. “Because Brendan Allenach was the lord to betray us twenty-five years ago. Brendan Allenach was the one who plunged his sword into my wife. He stole her from me. And now he will steal you from me as well.”
Jourdain rose. I remained on the floor, sitting on the backs of my heels. I listened to him retreat to his bedchamber, slam and lock the door.
I was still holding the letter. I shredded it, let it fall around me as snow. And then I stood.
My gaze strayed to Luc. He was staring at the mess on the floor, but he lifted his eyes to mine when I approached him.
“I am going to prove that this is a lie,” I said, my heart pounding. “I will ride with d’Aramitz to Mistwood.”
“Amadine,” Luc whispered, cradling my face. He wanted to say more to me, but the words turned to dust between us. He gently kissed my forehead in farewell.
I hardly felt the ground beneath me as I left that house, as I stepped out into the afternoon rain. There was the coach that Allenach had promised, waiting to cart me back to Damhan. I walked to it, my hair and my dress drenched by the time I sat on the cushioned bench.
As the rain pounded the roof and the coach bumped along the road, I began to think of what I should say to him.
Lord Allenach believed that I was his illegitimate daughter.
I did not believe such, yet the lingering doubt was worse than the blade Rian had pierced me with. Most likely, the lord was taunting his old enemy and using me to do it. So I would walk into his hall tonight and let him believe that I was pleased with his claim on me. And when I asked for proof, which he would be powerless to give, I would deny his claim.
It took me ten miles, but by the time I arrived to Damhan’s courtyard, I was ready to face him.
I stepped out into the rain, lightning flickering overhead, splitting the night sky in two. As am I, I thought, walking into the castle corridor. I am Brienna, two in one.
I followed the music, Merei’s music, to the light and warmth of the hall. The Valenians were gathered at their tables for dinner. The fire was roaring, the heraldic stags gleaming from their carved places in the walls. And so I walked the aisle of the great hall, my dress dragging along the glazed tiles, leaving a trail of rain behind me.
I heard the men go quiet, the laughter ease as the Valenians noticed my entrance. I heard the music painfully end, Merei’s strings clang as her bow jerked. I felt Cartier’s gaze, like sunlight, but I did not respond. I felt all of them watching me, but my eyes were only for the lord who sat on the dais.
Allenach noticed me the moment I had entered. He had been waiting for me; he watched me approach him, setting his chalice down, the ruby on his forefinger glittering.
I walked all the way to the dais stairs, and there I came to rest, standing directly before him. I opened my palms, felt the rain drip from my hair.
“Hello, Father,” I said to him, my voice soaring like a bird up to the highest rafters.
Brendan Allenach smiled. “Welcome home, Daughter.”