A Sea of Shields

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Gwendolyn sat in her father’s former study, scrolling through yet another pile of scrolls, wading her way through kingdom business. Gwen loved to spend her time here in her father’s study, where she felt connected to him. She would spend countless days in here as a young girl, its dark walls lined with ancient, precious books he had gathered from all corners of the kingdom, as if keeping her company. Indeed, when she’d rebuilt King’s Court, she had made sure to make this study a focal point, and had it restored to its former splendor. It was more beautiful now than it had ever been, and Gwen would have loved to see her father’s face after she had restored it. She knew he would have been thrilled.

Gwen looked back at the scrolls, and she tried to get back to the work of running her kingdom, tried to force things back to normal. Yet she knew that things were nowhere near normal. She could hardly concentrate, she felt shaky inside and overwhelmed with grief, images of Thor’s departure, or Selese’s death, flashing through her mind.

Gwen finally set the scrolls down. She rubbed her eyes and massaged her temples, sighing, eyes blurred from so much reading. The business of the Ring was endless, and no matter how many scrolls she waded through, there were always more yet to come. It was late in the day, she had been up all night with Guwayne, and she felt more alone than ever with Thor gone. She was not thinking clearly these days, and she needed a break.

Gwen rose from her father’s desk and walked through the tall, open-air arched doorway leading out onto the stone balcony. It was a beautiful summer day, and it felt great to be outdoors as a gentle breeze wafted through, and she breathed deep. She looked down over King’s Court, at all the people milling contentedly below. On the surface, all looked well; but inside, Gwen was trembling.

Gwen looked at the huge banners flapping lightly in the wind, which she had ordered to be hung at half-mast in honor of Selese. The funeral still hung heavily in Gwen’s mind—as did the cancellation of her own wedding. She felt so shaken from her new friend’s death, from her day of joy, which she had been preparing for for moons, being transformed so suddenly into one of grief. Gwen was starting to wonder if anyone would ever stay in her life permanently. She also wondered if she and Thor would ever get married; a part of her wondered if they should just run off and get married alone, somewhere in seclusion, away from the eyes of everyone. She didn’t care about the pomp and circumstance; all she wanted was to be married to him.

Gwen herself did not feel like celebrating. She felt sick, hollowed out, from what had happened to Selese. From her brother’s grief. From the whole tragic misunderstanding. She could already tell that Reece would never be the same, and that frightened her. A part of her felt that she had lost a brother. She had been close to Reece her whole life, had always appreciated his happy, joyous, carefree manner—and she had never seen him so happy as he had been with Selese.

And yet now, she could see in Reece’s eyes that he would never be the same. He blamed himself.

Gwen could not help but feel as if, one by one, people she was close to were being stripped away. She looked into the skies and thought of Thor. She wondered where he was right now. When he would come back for her. If he would ever come back.

Thankfully, at least, Gwen had Guwayne. She spent nearly every waking hour with him, holding him close, valuing so much the precious gift of life. She found herself crying for no reason, feeling how fragile life was. She prayed to every god she knew that nothing bad should ever come to him.

For the first time in a while, Gwen felt shaky, vulnerable, unsure what to do next. Her whole life, these past moons, had revolved around her wedding, and now, without warning, it had all changed. Gwen could not help but feel as if the tragedy with Selese was just the beginning, was foreboding awful things to come.

Gwen flinched as there came a sudden pounding on her father’s study door, the iron knocker slamming into it and sending a jolt through her body, as if confirming her awful thoughts.

Gwen turned and walked back into the study—yet without waiting for her, the door flew open by itself. In rushed Aberthol, joined by Steffen and several other attendants, their faces stark, urgent, Aberthol clutching a scroll as he raced across her father’s study, right for her. Gwen, upon seeing them, felt a pit in her stomach; she knew that whatever it was, it had to be very, very serious. None of these men would enter her father’s study uninvited unless it were a matter of life and death.

“My lady,” Aberthol said, bowing with the others as he came close, an urgency to his voice. “Forgive my interruption, but I bring news that bears the most urgent haste.”

He paused, and Gwen could see that he was hesitating, and she steeled herself for whatever it might be.

“Out with it,” she said.

Aberthol swallowed. He held out a scroll with a shaky hand, and Gwen took it.

“It appears that Tirus’s eldest son, Falus, has been murdered. He was found dead on his ship this morning. And all facts attest to his murder being by your brother’s hand: Reece.”

Gwen felt her blood run cold as she heard the news. She clutched the scroll and stared back at Aberthol, not needing to open it, not wanting to read one more scroll. Slowly, his words sank in, as did the ramifications.

“Reece?” Gwen asked, trying to process it all.

Aberthol nodded.

She should have known better. Reece was mad with grief, desperate for vengeance. How stupid of her not to rein him in.

Gwen’s mind spun with the implications. Tirus’s eldest son dead. She knew that his sons were beloved by the Upper Islanders. She realized that word had probably already spread to them. Who knew what actions they would take? She knew it would not be good, and that whatever followed, it would ruin her efforts to unite the two MacGils.

“There’s more, my lady,” Aberthol said. “We have received reports that revolts have erupted on the Upper Isles. They have destroyed half of your fleet, my lady. And Tirus has been freed.”

“Freed?!” Gwen asked, horrified.

Aberthol nodded.

“It’s worse, my lady. They have ambushed Srog’s castle, and Srog has been gravely wounded. As we speak he is being held captive. They have sent word that they will kill Srog and destroy the remainder of your fleet, if we do not make amends for the death of Falus.”

Gwen’s heart was pounding; it was like a nightmare unfolding before her.

“What amends?” she asked.

Aberthol cleared his throat.

“They want Reece to come to the Upper Isles, and to apologize to Tirus personally for the death of Falus. Only then will they release Srog, and make peace.”

Gwen involuntarily slammed her fist on her father’s table, the same gesture her father used to make when he was upset. She was burning with frustration; all her carefully laid plans were now laid to waste by her brother’s impulsive murder of Falus. Now Srog, her trusted emissary, was wounded, captive. Half her fleet destroyed. They were her responsibility, and she felt the guilt weighing on her.

And yet, at the same time, Gwen recalled Argon’s prophecy of the invasion of the Ring, and she knew she could not abandon the Upper Isles. She needed a place of refuge, now more than ever. What Reece had unleashed was the worst thing to happen at the worst possible time.

Gwen could not abandon Srog, either. Or her fleet. She had to do whatever it took to make amends, to bring peace to her kingdom. Especially if it only required an apology.

“I want to see my brother,” Gwen said coldly, hardening.

Aberthol nodded.

“I knew you would, my lady. He waits outside.”

“Bring him in,” she ordered. “And the rest of you, leave us.”

Aberthol and the others bowed and hurried from the room.

As they walked out, Reece came in, alone, his eyes bloodshot, looking cold and hard and mad with grief, looking nothing like the brother Gwen had known her whole life.

“Close the door behind you,” Gwen commanded, the voice of a Queen, not of a sister, as cold and hard as Reece’s features.

Reece reached out and slammed the arched oak door to their father’s study, and Gwen walked forward as he walked over to greet her.

As they neared each other, Gwen, furious with Reece for getting her kingdom into this mess, reached up and smacked Reece hard across the face. It was the first time in her life she had done so, and the sound echoed in the room.

Reece stared back, shocked.

“How dare you defy me!” Gwen said to him, fury in her voice.

Reece stared back, and his shock morphed to anger, his cheeks turning red.

“I never defied you!”

“No?!” she cried out. “Do you think that killing our cousin—a royal MacGil, Tirus’s son, one of the de facto leaders of the Upper Isles—was something that you were at liberty to do freely, without my command?”

“He deserved it—and more!”

“I don’t care if he deserved it!” Gwen yelled, her face burning with anger. “I have a kingdom to rule! There are many men who deserve to die each day whom I don’t kill. You have that luxury—I don’t.”

“Will you then sacrifice what is just for what is political?” he asked.

“Do not speak to me of justice,” Gwen said. “Many of our men—good men—died on the Upper Isles today because of your actions. Was that justice for them?”

“Then we shall kill the people who killed them, too.”

Gwen shook her head, frustrated beyond belief.

“You may be a good warrior,” she said, “but you do not know how to rule a kingdom.”

“You should be taking my side,” Reece protested. “You are my sister—”

“I am your Queen,” Gwen corrected.

Reece’s face fell in surprise.

They stood there, facing off in the silence, Gwen breathing hard, feeling sleep-deprived, feeling overwhelmed with conflicting emotions.

“What you have done affects the state, affects the Ring, affects the security of us all,” she continued. “Srog is wounded. He is held now at the point of death. Half of my fleet has been destroyed. That means hundreds more of our men have been killed. All for your hasty actions.”

Reece reddened, too.

“I did not start this war,” he said, “they did. Falus had it coming. He betrayed me; he betrayed us all.”

“You betrayed you,” Gwen corrected. “Falus did not murder her. He merely brought her news. News which contained a partial truth, due to your actions. It may have been duplicitous, and deserving of punishment, or even death, but you must acknowledge your role in this. And you must realize that punishment is not yours to mete out—certainly not without checking with me.”

Gwendolyn turned and stormed across the room, needing to clear her mind.

She reached her father’s desk, leaned over, and threw off all the books, sending them down to the floor with a great crash, a cloud of dust rising up. She shouted in frustration.

In the tense silence that lingered, Reece not moving, watching her, Gwen sighed and marched to the window, looking out, taking a deep breath, trying to remain calm. A part of her knew that Reece was right. She hated the MacGils, too. And she loved Selese. In fact, a part of her admired what her brother had done. She was glad Falus was dead.

But as Queen, what she wanted or admired did not matter; she had to balance the lives of many.

“I don’t understand you,” Reece said finally, breaking the silence. “You loved Selese as much as I. Didn’t you, too, crave vengeance for her death?”

“I loved her as a friend,” Gwen replied, calmer. “And as a sister-in-law.”

She sighed.

“But as a Queen, I must balance vengeance with judgment. I do not kill one man to have hundreds of other men killed. Nor can I allow you to do so—brother or not.”

She stood there, leaning over, lowering her head, her mind swarming.

“You have put me in an impossible position,” she said. “I cannot allow Srog to be killed—or any of my other men. What’s more, the rest of my fleet are valuable, and I cannot abandon the Upper Isles, which I need now, more than ever, for reasons you do not know.”

She sighed, thinking it all over.

“I am left with only one solution,” she said, turning to her brother. “You will travel to the Upper Isles at once and apologize to Tirus.”

Reece gasped.

“I will NEVER!” he exclaimed.

Gwen hardened.

“YES YOU WILL!” Gwen shouted back, twice as loud, her face bright red. It was a shout that terrified even her, the voice of a hardened Queen, a powerful woman. It was the voice of her father coursing through her.

Yet Reece, her brother, carried the voice of her father, too. They stood there in their father’s study, each facing off with the strength of their parents, each equally strong-willed.

“If you do not,” she said, “I will have you imprisoned for your illegal actions.”

Reece looked at her, and his face fell in disbelief.

“Imprison me? Your brother? For executing justice?”

He stared back at her with a look that pained her, a look that said that she had betrayed him.

“You are my brother,” she said, “but you are my subject first. You will do as I say. Leave my sight. And do not return to me until you have apologized.”

Reece, mouth open in shock, pain and anguish etched across his face, stared back, speechless. She wished she could summon compassion for him, but she had too little of it left to go around.

Slowly, Reece turned, walked to the door as if in a trance, opened it, and slammed it behind him.

Gwen stood there in that echoing silence, wishing she were anywhere in the world but here, and wishing she were anyone else in the world, anyone, but Queen.