A Sky of Spells

CHAPTER TWELVE

Gwendolyn walked through the remains of King’s Court, accompanied by Thor, her brothers Kendrick, Reece and Godfrey, and flanked by Erec, Steffen, Bronson, Srog, Aberthol and several new advisors, the large group taking stock, surveying the damage that had been done to this once-great city. Gwendolyn’s heart broke as she walked through, this city she had been raised in, this city that embodied her childhood. Every corner was haunted with memories, time she had spent here with her father, her brothers, the places she had learned to ride a horse, to wield a sword, to read the lost language. It was the place where she had learned to leave childhood behind.

It was all changed now, a place she barely knew. The bones of it were there, remnants of stone walls, charred by dragon’s breath, crumbling buildings, traces of ramparts. The ground was still littered with corpses, and she held back tears as she walked between them, all the brave Silver and MacGils and Silesians who had died for their country, making a heroic stand against the Empire. She was in awe at their bravery, at what they had sacrificed.

“They all put up a stand knowing it would mean their lives,” Gwen said aloud as she walked, the others listening. “Yet they made a stand anyway. This is the very height of courage. These are the great heroes of the Ring. The unknown and unnamed fallen warriors all around us. It is to them that we owe our greatest debt.”

There came a grunt of affirmation from among the warriors as they walked with her. Gwen was overcome by the honor and courage that ran in her people’s veins, and she felt a huge responsibility to live up to it, to be as honorable and fearless a leader as her people deserved. She hoped she could.

“Our first task must be to bury our dead,” Gwendolyn said, turning to her entourage. “Summon all of our people to collect all of these bodies, and to prepare them for a great funeral pyre, which we shall have tonight. The corpses of the Empire can be discarded in the fields, beyond the walls of the outer ring of our city, where they can be eaten by the dogs.”

“Yes my lady,” one of her generals said, turning and hurrying back to the crowd, dispatching officers immediately to do her will. All around them soldiers broke into action, as they began to collect the dead. Gwendolyn could not look at their faces anymore; she needed the city cleared of them to not be haunted.

They finished circling the perimeter of the inner courtyard, past the toppled statue of her father, past the fountain which no longer bubbled, and Gwen paused beside it. She looked down at the huge stone figure of her father, now lying in several pieces, and was inflamed with rage at Andronicus and the Empire.

“I want my father’s statue rebuilt,” she commanded. “I want the fountains around him bubbling again, and I want this walkway lined with flowers.”

“Yes, my lady,” said another of her men, hurrying off to do her bidding.

“But my lady,” one of her new advisors said, “would it not be more appropriate for there to be a statue of you up here now? After all, this is the center of King’s Court, and this is where the ruler’s statue stands, and you are our ruler. Your father is no longer with us.”

Gwen shook her head.

“My father will always be with us,” she corrected, “and I do not need a statue to honor myself. I would rather remember those whose shoulders we stand on.”

“Yes my lady,” he said.

Gwendolyn turned and saw the approving eyes of all of her men, and her eyes rested on Thor’s. More than anything, she just wanted time to walk with him alone. The two of them never seemed to have enough time alone together, and there was something she needed to say to him. She was burning to tell him about her pregnancy. About his baby. She felt the baby flip in her stomach even as she thought of it.

Soon, she told herself. When all of this was done, all these affairs of state, all settled down, she would tell him. Perhaps even tonight. She felt a rush of excitement just thinking about it.

They continued circling the courtyard, until finally they reached the doors to King’s Castle. Gwendolyn looked up, and felt a pain in her stomach at the sight. It had once been the finest castle in both kingdoms, sung off, praised by poets, even outside the Ring. It had been the seat of MacGil Kings for seven generations, the seat of her own father.

Now there it stood, half destroyed, half its walls standing, the other half open to the sky. She could hardly fathom it, how something of this height and breadth could be damaged. It had always seemed so impervious to her. It felt like a metaphor for the ring: half of it destroyed, and half of it still standing, a foundation on which to rebuild. A daunting task lay ahead of her, not just here but everywhere, in every town throughout the Ring.

Gwen breathed deep as she surveyed it, and she felt inspired by the challenge.

“Let us go inside,” Gwen said to the others.

Her entourage looked at her with a flash of concern.

“My lady, I do not know how stable it is,” Kendrick said. “Those walls, they could collapse.”

Gwen slowly shook her head.

“It was our father’s castle, and his father’s before him. It has lasted for centuries. It will hold us.”

Gwen boldly stepped forward, and the others followed close behind. They walked through the massive stone and iron gates, one of them intact, the other hanging crooked on its hinges. The portcullis lay burnt and twisted on its side, now but a relic.

The wind whistled through as they walked, no sound heard but that of their footsteps crunching on gravel. They passed beneath a tall stone archway and Gwen expected to find the ancient oak, carved doors that had marked the entrance to the castle. But they were gone, torn off their hinges, stolen. It pained Gwen to see. They were doors Gwen had walked through nearly every day of her life.

They all entered the main chamber, and Gwen felt a draft, and looked up at the gaping holes in the high, tapered ceilings, letting in winter sunlight and gusts of cold. Their boot steps echoed in this empty hall, piles of rubble everywhere. But beneath the dirt and rubble, Gwen could still spot the original marble floors. She also saw that many of the frescoes still remained on the walls, covered by dirt.

They crossed the chamber, a trapped bird fluttering on the ceiling, and Gwen walked up a series of stone steps, wide enough to hold them all side-by-side, its railings gone. The steps felt sure, and she ascended, unafraid.

They continued down corridor after corridor, holes in the walls letting in sunlight and cold. The walls caved in in places, but the structure seemed intact. As they went, they passed scattered corpses of soldiers, men who had fought bravely, hand-to-hand, giving their lives to defend this place.

“Make sure these men are collected, too,” Gwendolyn commanded.

“Yes, my lady,” said one of her attendants, hurrying off to do her will.

One corpse hung over the stone railing, eyes wide open, staring up into the sky. Gwen reached over and gently closed his eyes. She had seen so much death these last few days, she did not know if these images would ever leave her mind.

They continued down several more corridors until finally they reached the main doors to the Great Hall, the hall her father had used, had spent the greater part of his day, surrounded by counselors and generals, making decisions and passing judgments, running the daily business of the Western Kingdom. The grand council table had been destroyed, lying in rubble in the center of the room. But Gwen took heart as she saw the ancient golden doors that had heralded this room were still there. She stepped up, feeling their hinges, running her hand along the ancient carvings on the door, made centuries ago, the handiwork of the first architect of the Ring, one of the greatest treasures of this castle. Gwen felt a burst of hope. She turned and faced her men.

“We shall build a new council chamber around these doors. And around that chamber, a new castle to hold it—and around that castle, a new King’s Court!”

The men cheered in approval.

“We shall find new craftsmen,” she added. “As fine as the man who carved these doors. And he shall adorn every inch of King’s Court. No expense shall be spared. These doors will be a shining symbol for all who come here that the Ring is strong. That it will always be strong. That it can be rebuilt.”

The men cheered, all looking to her with hope, and she could see she inspired confidence. Gwen could feel that they needed a leader at this time, and she was determined to give these great people whatever it was they needed. These people were all like family to her. Maybe her father had been right after all: maybe she had been meant to lead.

They all passed through the doors and entered what remained of the castle chamber, walking amidst piles of rubble, looking up at the broken stained-glass that lined the walls. Some of the windows were intact, Gwen noticed; others were gone forever.

Gwen walked down the center of the hall, right up to the great throne, where her father had sat countless times, and examined it. It was still intact, she was relieved to see, its seven ivory and gold steps still leading up, its wide arms still lined with gold. It was all covered in layers of dirt, yet still it was recognizable.

Steffen hurried forward and wiped the dirt off the seat, off its arms, until the gold shone through once again.

“Please sit, my lady,” he said, stepping aside.

Gwen hesitated, unsure.

“It was my father’s throne,” she replied.

“It is your throne now,” Kendrick said, stepping forward. “The people need a leader. The people need you. Please, sit. Father would want you to.”

Gwendolyn looked to Thor, who nodded back at her.

“Sit, my love,” he said reassuringly. “Sit for all of us.”

Gwendolyn took strength in Thor’s presence, and in the presence of all the others. She realized they were right. It was no longer about her: it was now about something bigger than her.

Gwen slowly ascended the ivory and gold steps, her boots clicking in the empty hall as she went, until finally she reached her father’s throne. She turned and sat on it.

From up here she looked down at all these great men who had accompanied her, and as one, they all knelt before her.

“My Queen,” they all said as one.

“Rise,” Gwendolyn said.

Slowly, they stood.

“I may be a Queen, but I am merely my father’s daughter. You need not kneel for me. This was my father’s seat: I sit on it only out of duty to him.”

“Yes, my lady,” they said.

“Excuse me, my lady,” Aberthol said, stepping up, “but there are many urgent matters of state that must be attended to. What better time and place than here and now to address them, while we are here in the council chamber?”

“My father never delayed any matter, and I shall not either.”

Aberthol nodded, pleased.

“My lady, first and foremost, you will need to name a new council of advisors. Remember your father’s old council? Most left when your brother Gareth took the throne. Now is a chance for you to start again.”

Gwendolyn nodded, thinking it through.

“I shall honor those who honored my father. Any of his old advisors may join. In addition, Aberthol, you shall be on it; so shall my brothers, Kendrick, Godfrey, and Reece; Thorgrin, you will be on it; and so will you, Erec, Srog, Bronson, and Steffen.”

Steffen opened his eyes wide in shock.

“Me, my lady?” he asked. “I am but a humble servant. I am a simple man, not an important ruler of the Ring. It is not an honor befitting me to sit on the Queen’s Royal Council.”

“How wrong you are,” she said. “It befits you like few others. You shall sit on my Council and advise me on all matters. There are few men I trust more. Do you accept this honor?”

Steffen lowered his head.

“My lady, it shall be the greatest honor.”

Gwendolyn nodded, pleased. It was past due that Steffen had a station befitting his special place in her heart, that his selfless loyalty was rewarded. Given his humility, if anyone deserved to be elevated, it was he.

“Very good, my lady,” Aberthol said, “a most excellent choice of council indeed. Now, the most pressing matter of business is the McClouds. With the Empire gone, the McCloud cities sacked, and the McCloud ruler dead, you are ruler now of all that remains of the Ring, of both kingdoms, of both sides of the Highlands. Surely, the McClouds will look to us to lead, to unify. Never before in the history of the MacGils has there been such an opportunity for unification. No MacGil before you has had the power you now have.”

“They are disorganized now,” Srog chimed in. “Weak. Now might be an opportunity. Now might be the time to attack them, to crush them once and for all and occupy their side.”

Kendrick shook his head.

“We must try to unify the kingdoms peacefully. The Ring has seen enough war. Win their hearts at this difficult time, and you will win their loyalty.”

“The McClouds are a savage people,” Erec said. “No diplomacy, no gestures, will win them. They are who they are, and their nature will not change. They are not us. Pacify them, and they will turn on you. Now is the time to wipe them out. It is the only way to assure true peace in the Ring.”

“The McClouds fought for us when we needed it,” Bronson reminded.

“Yes, but they only did so because they were also under attack,” Erec said.

“Gestures of peace and kindness can be interpreted by some as acts of weakness,” Srog said. “Our kindness to them might embolden them to attack us.”

The men broke out in disagreement, arguing amongst themselves, and Gwen thought it all over quietly as they did. She wondered what her father would have done if faced with this situation. Then she shook her head and realized that did not matter. She was ruler now. She had to trust herself.

Gwen finally cleared her throat, and the room fell silent.

“There is greater might in love than fear,” she said.

The men turned and looked to her, quiet, hanging on her every word. She could see the love and respect in their eyes.

“We must try to make the McClouds love us,” she continued. “We must try to unify the two Rings. If we attack , we may occupy them for a while; but not for the long run. Force is short-lived; the greater strength lies in harmony. Which of you would want to make peace with a kingdom that has slaughtered your wives and children?”

All the men looked down, humbled, silent, realizing she had a point.

“Peace may be the harder course,” Gwen continued, “but it is the course we must embark on. The McClouds may look upon as an enemy still; but they may also be looking to us for leadership. We must assume the best in them until they give us reason otherwise.”

“Yes, my lady,” Aberthol said.

“Bronson!” Gwen called out.

Bronson stepped forward, kneeling.

“You have served our kingdom bravely in our fight with the Empire. I owe you an apology. You should have not been mistrusted due to the deeds of my sister.”

Bronson bowed.

“Thank you, my lady. All is forgiven. I am grateful for your taking me in and giving me a second chance.”

“To reward your loyalty,” Gwen said, “I will give you leadership of the Eastern Kingdom of the Ring. You will rule the McClouds, and you will rule with my name.”

“My lady,” he gasped, shocked. “Are you certain? I am but a simple warrior.”

Gwen shook her head.

“You are far more,” she said. “You are the son of a king. And you are a McCloud. The McClouds know and respect you. You know them. Who better to lead them? Embark and cross the highlands and act as my emissary. Show them love and peace, and help them rebuild. Unify our armies.”

Bronson nodded quickly.

“As you say, my lady.”

“A most wise and tempered decision, my lady,” Aberthol said. “Your father would be proud.”

He cleared his throat and pulled out another scroll, squinting as he read.

“While we’re on the topic of the McClouds, there is another, more unpleasant, matter that needs to be dealt with. Your sister. Luanda. She has been caught.”

Gwen gasped. So, her sister, who had betrayed them, had survived after all.

“What shall be her fate?” Aberthol asked.

The men broke into an agitated murmur.

“She must be hanged for her crimes,” Srog said.

“She betrayed all of our people,” Erec said.

“She betrayed Thorgrin most of all,” Kendrick said.

Gwen burned as she thought of it. She turned and looked at Thor.

“My lady,” Thor said. “I hold no grudge against her. She is your sister, after all.”

Gwendolyn thought it all through, debating. Luanda had been a thorn in her side her entire life. Her ambition was limitless, she had a streak of ruthlessness in her, and Gwen knew that would never change.

“My lady, if I may,” Bronson said, clearing his throat, stepping forward. “Forgive me, I do not mean to intrude on affairs not my own. But Luanda is more than your sister—she is also my wife. I do not dispute her faults, or her wrongdoing. And yet, I ask you a favor. I ask for your forgiveness, your mercy, on her behalf. If I have done any good to merit it, please forgive her. It is greater for a leader to show mercy when underserved than to punish when it is.”

Gwen paused, debating, seething with conflicting emotions.

“Where is she?” Gwen asked Aberthol.

“She waits outside, my lady.”

Gwen thought long and hard, debating. Finally, she nodded.

“Bring her in.”

Aberthol whispered to an attendant, who ran from the room. Shortly, he returned, accompanying Luanda, hands bound behind her backs with ropes.

The men parted for her as she walked down the center, placed before her sister. Luanda hung her head low, not even meeting her eyes.

Gwen was shocked at her appearance. She looked much aged. She looked broken. Her head was shaved, her face covered in bruises and scratches. She looked as if she had been through hell and back.

Luanda also wore a look that Gwen had never seen: humility. She continued to look down to the floor, her lips bruised and chapped, her cheeks swollen. Despite everything, she could not help but feel some pity for her.

“Forgive me, my sister,” Luanda said, and she dropped to her knees and burst out sobbing. She wept, and as Gwen watched, her heart went to her. She’d always had a rivalry with Luanda—one of Luanda’s own making—yet despite that, she had never wished her harm.

“I am ashamed of what I have done,” Luanda said. “Not just to you, and Thor, but to the entire Ring. To our family. I do not know what overcame me. If I could take it all back, I would. It is your prerogative to have me killed. But I beg your forgiveness. I do not wish to die.”

Gwen watched her sobbing, the room quiet. Gwen sighed, realizing all eyes were on her.

She thought long and hard and realized there was much truth in what Bronson had said: there was more power in mercy than justice. She knew that any good ruler must exhibit both, and weigh both carefully.

“I will pardon you,” Gwendolyn said.

Luanda looked up with shock, and hope.

“But your face is not welcome here anymore. I have dispatched your husband to the Eastern Kingdom, and it is with him that you shall go, not to cross to this side of the Highlands ever again, on pain of execution. Not because of what you did to me, but because of what you did to Thorgrin.”

Gwen thought Luanda would be relieved to have averted a death sentence; yet to her surprise, she seemed dismayed.

Luanda wept again.

“You are my sister,” she said. “This is my home. You cannot banish me. I love you.”

“No you don’t,” Gwen said. “It’s taken me my whole life to realize that. You love ambition. Not your family.”

Gwen nodded, and two of her attendants stepped forward and took Luanda’s arms, and led her away.

Bronson bowed.

“Thank you, my lady, for granting her mercy. I shall never forget this kindness.”

Gwen nodded back.

“Accompany your wife to the Eastern Kingdom,” she said. “Represent me. Our people are counting on you. I am counting on you. A Ring divided will always be weak.”

Bronson bowed, turned, and hurried from the room, and a long silence followed.

As Luanda was being dragged from the room, she resisted, bucking.

“No!” she cried. “Don’t do this! This is my home, too!”

The men continued to drag her away. Before she reached the door, she turned and yelled out to Gwendolyn one last time.

“You are my younger sister! When we were young, you would do anything for me. What has happened to you?”

Gwen stared back at her, watching her sister’s face for the last time, feeling much aged herself, feeling, oddly, as if she were her older sister.

“I grew up,” Gwen replied.

The doors slammed behind her, and they all stood there in the long, reverberating silence. Gwen saw the glances of the men, and saw that they looked upon her with a new respect. She had made a hard choice.

Gwen was already feeling tired, older, weighed down by her rule; she heard the distant cheer of revelers, and she wanted to be outside, to be anywhere but here. She could feel the baby turning inside her, and she just wanted to be somewhere alone with Thor.

“Is there anything else that is pressing?” she asked Aberthol, hoping the answer would be no. “I would like to go back out and join our people.”

“Just one more pressing matter, my lady,” he answered. “The fate of Tirus.”

Tirus. It all came rushing back to Gwen—his betrayal. She had been foolish to trust him, and because of her trust, many of her men, good men, had died. She felt ashamed—and determined to set wrongs right.

“He was captured, along with his sons. All of them alive,” Aberthol said.

“He must be executed, my lady,” Kendrick said. “Tirus is a traitor of a different sort than your sister. His treachery is far more insidious.”

“You set an example for all traitors, my lady,” Erec added.

“Consider it all carefully, my lady, before you perform any hasty actions,” Aberthol said. “The Ring will never be truly stable until you put an end to the scheming nature of the men of the Upper Isles.”

“As much as we may detest them, we need the other MacGils. Your father knew that—which was why he tolerated them. This might be your chance, my lady, to make history. To unite the two warring MacGil factions, as they once were,” Srog said.

“We do not need them,” Kendrick said. “They need us.”

Aberthol shrugged.

“That was what your father believed,” he said. “He chose to deal with them by ignoring them. Yet as you can see, that only left time and room for Tirus to revolt.”

Gwendolyn sat there, thinking.

“Where is Tirus now?” she asked.

“He awaits judgment outside this hall,” Aberthol said. “This matter of the Upper Isles, of Tirus, cannot wait. It must be resolved now. For the stability of the Ring.”

Gwendolyn nodded, sighing.

“Bring him in,” she said.

Aberthol sent an attendant, who rushed out the room and returned shortly, several soldiers leading Tirus and his three sons. They were all brought before her.

Tirus was defiant even in captivity, even in his haggard state. He sneered up at her.

“You inhabit my brother’s seat,” he said scornfully to her. “Yet you are but a young girl.”

Gwen was filled with distaste at the sight of her uncle; she always had been.

“I inhabit this seat because I am Queen,” she corrected in a confident voice. “The lawfully appointed Queen. Because my father, your brother, the lawfully appointed king, placed me here. You, on the other hand, stand before me today because you tried to usurp what was not yours. It is not I on trial here, but you.”

Tirus’ three sons looked to the ground, clearly humbled, yet Tirus, still defiant, turned and looked to Kendrick.

“You are the eldest,” Tirus pleaded to Kendrick. “The firstborn of MacGil, and a man, bastard or not. It is you who should rule, if not I. Do something here. Tell Gwendolyn to know her place and get down from that throne.”

Kendrick shook his head, staring back at Tirus coldly and gripping the hilt on his sword.

“Watch your tongue around my sister,” he said. “She is our Queen, make no mistake about it, and she carries the full authority of our kingdom. Insult her again and you will face my wrath.”

Tirus turned reluctantly back to Gwen.

“If it is an apology you want,” he said, “you will not get one out of me. The throne you sit on is rightfully mine. It always has been. I was passed over for your father, who was a lesser man than myself.”

Gwendolyn felt her cheeks redden at his words, but she breathed deep, remembering her father’s advice: never let people know what you’re thinking. And never let emotions sway your decisions. There were so many traps to avoid as ruler.

“You are nothing but an ambitious traitor,” Gwendolyn said, “a disgrace to the MacGil blood line. By all rights of our kingdom I should have you executed.”

Gwen paused, debating, letting her words resonate in the thick and heavy silence.

“But I shall not. Instead, you shall be banished to live out your days back on the Upper Isles, never to set foot on the mainland of the Ring again. Furthermore, you shall be imprisoned there, under guard of my own watch. You shall live out the remainder of your days in a dungeon cell.”

Tirus stared back defiantly.

“Then I should rather you would execute me. I choose that over life in prison.”

Gwen smirked.

“You’ve lost the privilege to choose. The choices are mine now. Justice is done, for the Ring, for my family, and for my dead father. Enjoy your time underground.”

Gwen turned to her attendants.

“Get him out of my sight,” she commanded.

They rushed to do her bidding, dragging him away, and Tirus screamed and resisted, forcing them to drag him.

“You shall never get away with this!” he screamed, while being led away. “My people are a proud people! They will never allow this indignity! They will never allow their king to be imprisoned!”

Gwen stared him down coldly.

“Whoever said you were King?”

They dragged him outside, screaming, and finally slammed the door behind them.

The room was thick with a heavy silence, and Gwen could feel the fear and respect for her in the room. She also was beginning to feel tougher, stronger, than she ever had. Finally, wrongs were being set right, and it no longer intimidated her to do it.

Gwendolyn turned and looked over at Tirus’ three sons, all standing there, staring back, clearly afraid. Two of them looked like the father, and appeared equally defiant. The third, though, with long, curly hair and hazel eyes, seemed different than the others.

“He spoke the truth,” one of the sons said. “Our people are as hard as the rocks our island was formed on. They will never abide his imprisonment.”

“If your people take affront at the imprisonment of a traitor, then they are not a people who are welcome in the Ring,” Gwen replied coldly.

“My lady,” Aberthol said, clearing his throat, “I suggest you imprison Tirus’ sons as well. They are clearly loyal to their father, and nothing good can come from allowing them to roam free.”

“My lady,” Kendrick interrupted, “please do not jail the youngest of the sons, Matus. He was instrumental in helping our cause during the war, in freeing all of us and sparing our lives from death.”

Gwendolyn studied Matus, who looked different than the other two: he did not have the dark eyes and features of his brothers, and he had more of a proud, noble spirit to him. He did not look like an Upper Islander; he appeared to look more like one of her own people. He even looked as if he could belong to her own family. She remembered all of these boys from her childhood, these distant cousins they would visit once a year, when their father visited the Upper Isles. She remembered Matus’ always being apart from the others, kinder; and she recalled the other three as mean-spirited and cold. Like their father.

“Release his binds,” she commanded, and an attendant rushed forward and severed the ropes binding Matus’ wrists.

“The MacGil blood flows strongly in you,” she said approvingly to Matus, “I thank you. Clearly, we owe you a great debt. Ask anything of us.”

Matus stepped forward and lowered his head humbly.

“It was an honor, my lady,” he said. “You owe me nothing. But if you ask me, then I shall ask you to release my brothers. They were swept up in my father’s cause, and they did you no harm.”

Gwen nodded approvingly.

“A noble request,” she said. “You ask not for yourself but for others.”

Gwen turned to her attendants: “Release them,” she commanded.

As attendants rushed forward and released them, the two other sons watched with surprise and relief.

Aberthol stepped forward in outrage.

“You make a mistake, my lady!” he insisted.

“Then it is mine to make,” she replied. “I shall not punish sons for the sins of the fathers.”

She turned to them.

“You may return to the Upper Isles. But do not follow in your father’s footsteps, or I will not be so kind the next time, cousins or not.”

The three brothers turned and walked quickly from the hall. As they were leaving, Gwen called out: “Matus!”

Matus stopped at the doorway, with the others.

“Stay behind.”

The other brothers looked at him, then frowned and walked out without him, closing the doors.

“I need people I can trust. My new kingdom is fragile, and has many positions to fill. Name yours.”

Matus shook his head.

“You do me too great an honor, my lady,” he said. “Whatever actions I took were out of love—not out of a desire for position. I did what I did because it was the right thing to do, and because what my father did, I am ashamed to say, was wrong.”

“Noble blood runs in your veins,” she said. “The Upper Isles will need a new lord now that your father is imprisoned. I would like you to take his place and be my regent.”

“Me, my lady?” Matus asked, voice rising in shock. “Lord of the Upper Isles? I could not. I am but a boy.”

“You are a man, who was fought and killed and saved other men. And you have shown more honor and integrity than men twice your age.”

Matus shook his head.

“I could not take the position my father held—especially before my older brothers.”

“But I ask you to,” she said.

He shook his head firmly.

“It would sully the honor of what I did. I did not do what I did to gain position, or power. Only because it was the right thing to do. I am indebted to you and humbled for the offer. But it is an offer I cannot accept.”

She nodded, studying him.

“I understand,” she said. “You are a true warrior and you do the MacGils much honor. I hope that you will at least stay close to court.”

Matus smiled.

“I thank you, my lady, but I must return to the Upper Isles. I may not agree with all the people there, but nonetheless it is my home. I feel it is where I am needed, especially in these tumultuous times.”

Matus bowed, turned, and walked out the council doors, an attendant closing them gently behind him. As Gwen watched him go, she had a feeling they would meet again; he almost felt like another brother to her.

“Srog, step forward,” Gwen said.

Srog stood before her.

“The Upper Isles still need a lord. If you are willing, there are few men I trust more. I need someone who can tame these Upper Islanders. You have ruled a great city in Silesia, and I have no doubt you can keep them in order.”

Srog bowed.

“My lady, truth be told, after all these wars, I dearly miss Silesia. I ache to return, to rebuild. But for you, I would do anything. If the Upper Isles is where I am needed, then it is to the Upper Isles that I shall go. I shall rule in your name.”

Gwen nodded back, satisfied.

“Excellent. I know you shall do a fine job of it. Keep Tirus imprisoned. Keep an eye on the sons. And get these stubborn people to like us, will you?”

Everyone in the room laughed.

Gwen sighed, exhausted. Matters of court never seemed to end.

“Well, if that is all, then I would like to go and participate—”

Before she could finish the words, the doors to the hall opened yet again, and Gwen was shocked to see two young girls enter, perhaps twelve and ten, followed by Steffen, who nodded to them with encouragement. They were beautiful, simple, proud, and they walked right into the hall of men and stood before Gwen.

“My lady,” Steffen said. “Our men were approached by these two young women, who insist they have an urgent message for you.”

Gwen was impatient, baffled, feeling pain in her stomach and wanting to leave this throne.

“We haven’t time for young girls’ games,” she said, exasperated.

Steffen nodded.

“I understand, my lady,” he said. “Yet they seem very serious. They claim it is a matter of the utmost urgency, and that the entire kingdom is at stake.”

Gwendolyn raised one eyebrow, wondering what it could be. The expressions on their faces did indeed seem earnest.

She sighed.

“I do not know what matter could be of such vital importance, that it cannot wait, coming from the mouths of two young girls. But they have survived this war, and that says something. I am sure they know the consequences of wasting the Queen’s time. If they remain determined, let them come forth.”

The girls turned and looked to Steffen, afraid, and he nodded back with encouragement. They turned back to Gwen and stepped forward.

They looked exhausted from the war, wearing soiled clothing, emaciated, clearly starved from rationing. Gwen could see from the looks on their faces that they were serious girls and bore serious news. As they came close, she also took an immediate liking to them. They reminded her of herself as a young girl.

“My lady,” the eldest said respectfully, curtsying and prodding the other to curtsy with her. “Forgive us, but we bear news which cannot wait.”

“Well, out with it then,” Gwen said, impatient, exhausted, sounding more curt than she’d wanted.

“I am Sarka and my sister is Larka. We live in a small cottage outside the city, with our mother. Some time ago, a man crashed into our home and held us hostage, until we captured him and my father brought him to the authorities. The Empire killed my father, though, and took the prisoner.”

The girl took a deep breath, clearly nervous, as if reliving the trauma.

“Some time later, while playing in the fields, I spotted this same man. I would recognize him from anywhere. I am sure it was your brother, my lady. Gareth.”

Gwendolyn’s heart stopped at the word, and her eyebrows arched in surprise.

“Gareth?” she repeated.

“Yes, my lady.”

“My brother? Gareth? The former King?” she asked, in shock, trying to process it all. She had not expected this. Gareth’s name had been so far form her consciousness, with everything else going on, that she had nearly forgotten about him. If she had thought of him, she merely assumed he’d been killed in the war.

“We know where he is,” Sarka said.

Gwendolyn stood, her body electrified.

Gareth. Her father’s assassin. The man who had tried to kill her; who had thrown her brother Kendrick in jail. The man who had escaped justice for far too long, who her father’s spirit cried out for vengeance. The man who had stolen the Sword, lowered the Shield, who had set the entire Ring in a tailspin. The man whom they owed all this calamity to.

It was time for vengeance.

“Show me.”