The Queen’s Resistance

“We never said anything because we did not know of the other’s involvement,” I said. “In the planning meetings, you called Cartier Theo D’Aramitz. I didn’t know who that was. And then you called me Amadine Jourdain, and Cartier didn’t know who that was.” I shrugged, but I could still feel the shock of the revelation, that heady moment when I had realized Cartier was Lord Morgane. “A simple misunderstanding caused by two aliases.”

A simple misunderstanding that could have destroyed our entire mission to restore the queen.

Since I had known where my ancestor had buried the Stone of Eventide, I had been sent to Maevana, to seek Lord Allenach’s hospitality while I covertly recovered the stone on his lands. In addition, Jourdain’s rebel group had planned for Lord Morgane to masquerade as a Valenian noble visiting Castle Damhan for the autumnal hunt. His true mission was to prepare the people for the queen’s return.

“And who told you about it?” I asked Luc.

“Merei,” my brother said, taking a quick sip of ale to hide how his voice softened when he spoke her name.

Merei, my best friend and roommate at Magnalia, who had passioned in music and had also known Cartier for what I had always believed him to be—a Valenian master of knowledge.

“Mm-hmm,” I said, relishing the fact that my brother was now the one to flush beneath my scrutiny.

“What? She offered the truth to me after the battle,” Luc stammered. “Merei said, ‘Did you know Lord Morgane taught Brienna at Magnalia? And we had no idea he was a Maevan lord?’”

“And so—” I started, but was cut short by Jourdain, who suddenly rose to his feet. At once, the hall fell quiet, every eye going to him as he held his chalice, gazing over his people for a few moments.

“I wanted to speak a few words, now that I have returned,” he began. “I cannot tell you how it feels to be home once more, to be reunited with you. For the past twenty-five years, I have thought of you upon rising, and upon lying down at night. I spoke your names in my mind when I could not sleep, remembering your faces and the sound of your voices, the talents of your hands, the joy of your friendship.” Jourdain paused, and I saw the tears in his eyes. “I have done wrong by you, to abandon you as I did that night of the first rising. I should have stayed my ground; I should have been here when Lannon arrived, seeking me …”

A painful lull overcame the hall. There was only the sound of our breaths coming and going, the crackle of the fire burning in the hearth, a child cooing in its mother’s arms. I felt my heart quicken, as I had not expected him to say this.

I glanced at Luc, whose face had gone pale. Our eyes met; our thoughts united as we both thought, What should we do? Should we say something?

I was one moment away from rising myself when I heard the steady footsteps of a man approaching the dais. It was Liam, one of Jourdain’s remaining thanes, who had escaped Maevana years ago to search for his fallen lord and who had eventually found Jourdain in hiding, joining our revolution.

We could not have fully revolted without Liam’s insight. I watched him now ascend the steps and set his hand on Jourdain’s shoulder.

“My lord MacQuinn,” the thane said. “Words cannot describe what we feel to see you return to this very hall. I speak for all of us when I say that we are overjoyed to be reunited with you. That we thought of you every morning upon rising, and every evening as we lay down to sleep. That we dreamt of this very moment. And we knew you would return for us one day.”

Jourdain stared at Liam, and I saw the emotion building in my father.

Liam continued. “I remember that dark night. Most of us here do. Coming around you in this very hall after the battle, bringing your lad into your arms.” He glanced to Luc, and the love in his eyes nearly stole my breath. “You fled because we asked and wanted you to, Lord MacQuinn. You fled to keep your son alive, because we could not bear to lose the both of you.”

Luc rose, walking around the table to stand on the other side of Liam. The thane set his right hand upon my brother’s shoulder.

“We welcome you both back, my lords,” Liam said. “And we are honored to serve you once more.”

The hall came alive as everyone stood, holding up their cups of ale and cider. Cartier and I stood as well, and I held my cider up to the light, waiting to drink to my father’s and brother’s health. “To Lord MacQuinn—” Thane Liam started, but Jourdain abruptly turned to me.

“My daughter,” he rasped, extending his hand for me.

I all but froze, surprised, and the hall fell silent as everyone looked at me.

“This is Brienna,” Jourdain said. “My adopted daughter. And I could not have returned home without her.”

I suddenly was flooded with the fear that the truth from Castle Damhan had spread—Lord Allenach has a daughter. Because I had certainly announced myself as Allenach’s long-lost daughter last week in his hall. And while I did not know the extent of the terror and brutality that had happened on this soil, to this people, I did know that Brendan Allenach had betrayed Jourdain, and had taken Jourdain’s people and lands twenty-five years ago.

I was their enemy’s daughter. When they looked at me, did they still see a shade of him? I am no longer an Allenach. I am a MacQuinn, I reminded myself.

I stepped to Jourdain’s side, let him take my hand and draw me even closer, beneath the warmth of his arm.

Thane Liam smiled at me, an apologetic gleam in his eyes, as if he was sorry to have overlooked my presence. But then he raised his cup and said, “To the MacQuinns.”

The toast bloomed throughout the hall, scattering the shadows, soaring as light up to the rafters.

I hesitated for only a moment before I lifted my cider and drank to it.

After the feast, I found myself being ushered by Jourdain with Cartier and Luc up the grand stairs to the room that had once been my father’s office. It was a wide chamber with walls carved deep with bookshelves, the stone floors overlaid with furs and rugs to mask our footsteps. An iron chandelier hung above a table set with a beautiful mosaic face, the beryl, topaz, and lapis lazuli squares depicting a falcon in flight. On one wall was a large map of Maevana; I took a moment to admire it before joining the men at the table.

“It’s time to plan the second step of our revolution,” Jourdain said, and I recognized the same spark that I had seen in him when we had plotted our return to Maevana in the dining room of his Valenian town house. How distant those days felt now, as if that had occurred in another life entirely.

On the surface, it would seem that the hardest leg of our revolution was over. But when I began to think upon all that sprawled before us, exhaustion began to creep up my back, weigh upon my shoulders.

There was plenty that could still go wrong.

“Let’s begin by writing down our concerns,” Jourdain suggested.

I reached for fresh parchment, a quill, and a stopper of ink, preparing to scribe.

“I’ll go first,” Luc volunteered. “The Lannons’ trial.”

I wrote The Lannons on the paper, shivering as I did so, as if the mere scratch of the quill’s nib could summon them here.

“Their trial is in eleven days,” Cartier said.

“So we have eleven days to decide their fate?” Luc asked.

“No,” Jourdain replied. “We will not decide it. Isolde has already made it known that the people of Maevana will judge them. Publicly.”

I wrote that down, remembering that historic event three days ago when Isolde had entered the throne room after battle, splattered with blood, the people standing behind her. She had removed the crown from Gilroy’s head, struck him multiple times, and then made him slither down to the floor, to lie prostrate before her. I would never forget that glorious moment, the way my heart had beat with the realization that a queen was about to return to the Maevan throne.

“We arrange a scaffold on the castle green, then, so all may attend,” Cartier said. “We bring forth the Lannons one at a time.”

“And we have our grievances read aloud,” Luc added. “Not just ours, but anyone who wishes to testify against the Lannons’ transgressions. We should send word to the other Houses, to bring their grievances to the trial.”

“If we do so,” Jourdain warned, “the entire Lannon family will most likely face death.”

“The entire Lannon family must be held accountable,” Cartier said. “That is how it has always been done in the north. The legends call it the ‘bitter portions’ of justice.”

I knew that he was right. He had taught me the history of Maevana. To my Valenian sensibilities, this merciless punishment felt dark and harsh, but I knew this had been done to prevent resentment growing in noble families, to hold those with power in check.

“Lest we forget,” Jourdain said, as if he had read my mind, “Lannon has all but annihilated the Kavanagh House. He has tortured innocent people for years. I do not like to assume that Lannon’s wife and his son, Declan, supported him in such endeavors—perhaps they were too afraid to speak out. But until we can properly interview them and those around them, I think it is the only way. The Lannon family as a whole must be punished.” He fell quiet, deep in thought. “Any public support we can gather for Isolde is vital and needs to happen quickly. While the throne is empty, we are vulnerable.”

“The other houses need to publicly swear fealty to her,” I said.

“Yes,” my father replied. “But even more so, we need to forge new alliances. Breaking an oath is far easier to do than breaking an alliance. Let’s sort through the alliances and rivalries we know of—it’ll give us an idea of where we need to begin.”

I wrote House Alliances first, creating a column to fill. With fourteen Houses to consider, I knew this could quickly become a tangled mess. Some of the older alliances were the sort of relationships that had originated when the tribes became Houses and received their blessings from the first queen, Liadan, centuries ago. And they were often alliances forged from marriage and from sharing borders and similar foes. But I also knew that Gilroy Lannon’s reign had most likely corrupted some of those alliances, so we could not wholly depend upon historical knowledge.

“Which Houses support Lannon?” I asked.

“Halloran,” Jourdain said after a moment.

“Carran,” Cartier added.

I wrote those names down, knowing there was one more, one final House that had fully supported the Lannons during the terror. And yet the men were not going to say it; it would have to come from my own mouth.

“Allenach,” I murmured, preparing to add it to the list.

“Wait, Brienna,” Cartier said gently. “Yes, Lord Allenach supported Lannon. However, your brother, Sean, has now inherited the House. And your brother joined us in the battle on the green.”

“My half brother, but yes. Sean Allenach threw his support behind Isolde, even if it was last-minute. Do you want me to persuade Sean to publicly support the Kavanaghs?” I questioned, wondering how I could even go about such a conversation.

“Yes,” Jourdain said. “Gaining Sean Allenach’s support is vital.”

I nodded, eventually writing Allenach off to the side.

We conversed through the remaining alliances that we knew of:

Dunn—Fitzsimmons (through marriage)

MacFinley—MacBran—MacCarey (covers the northern half of Maevana; alliance shared from a common ancestor)

Kavanagh—MacQuinn—Morgane

The Houses of Burke and Dermott were the only freestanding Houses.

“Burke declared his support when he fought with us on the green,” I said, remembering how he had brought his men- and women-at-arms just as we were faltering in battle, when I thought we might lose. Lord Burke had changed the tide of the fight, granting us that final burst of strength we needed to overcome Lannon and Allenach.

“I’ll speak privately with Lord and Lady Burke,” Jourdain said. “I don’t see why they wouldn’t swear allegiance to Isolde. I’ll also reach out to the other three Mac Houses.”

“And I’ll extend an invitation to the Dermotts,” Cartier offered. “Once I get my House in order.”

“And perhaps I can win over the Dunn-Fitzsimmons alliance with a little music, eh?” Luc said, waggling his eyebrows.

I smiled at him, to hide the fact that the Allenachs were left for me to deal with. I would think on it later, when I had a moment alone to sort through the array of emotions it provoked in me.

“Now, on to the rivalries,” I said. I knew two of them and took the liberty to write them down:

MacQuinn—Allenach (border dispute, still unresolved)

MacCarey—Fitzsimmons (over access to the bay)

“Who else?” I asked, my quill dripping stars of ink on the paper.

“Halloran and Burke have always been at odds,” Jourdain said. “They compete with their steel goods.”

I added them to the list. Surely, there had to be more rivalries. Maevana was known for its fierce and stubborn spirit.

I was staring at my list, but from the corner of my eye, Jourdain looked to Cartier, and Cartier shifted minutely in his chair.

“Morgane and Lannon,” he said, so quietly I almost didn’t hear him.

I raised my eyes to Cartier, but he was not looking at me. His gaze was transfixed on something distant, something that I could not see.

Morgane—Lannon, I wrote.

“I have another concern,” Luc said, breaking the awkward silence. “The Kavanaghs’ magic has returned now that the Stone of Eventide has been recovered. Is this something we need to be addressing now? Or perhaps later, after Isolde’s coronation?”

Magic.

I added it to the list, one little word that held so much possibility. It was evident after the battle that Isolde’s gift in magic was healing. I had set the stone about her neck, and she had been able to touch wounds and heal them. I wondered if she was somehow controlling her magic.

“I’m not,” she had confessed to me. “I wish I had an instructor, a guidebook …”

She had confided in me the day after the battle.

“If my magic goes astray … I want you to swear to me that you will take the Stone of Eventide away. I do not desire to wield magic for evil, but for the good of the people,” she had whispered, and my gaze had drifted to where the stone rested against her heart, alight with color. “And as of this moment, there is still so much about it I do not know. I do not know what I am capable of. You must promise me, Brienna, that you will hold me in check.”

“Your magic will not go astray, Lady,” I had whispered in return, but my heart began to ache at her admission.

This had been the very reason why the stone had gone missing one hundred and thirty-six years ago. Because my ancestor Tristan Allenach had not only resented the Kavanaghs for being the one House to bear magic, but he had also feared their power, particularly when they wielded it in war. Magic did go astray in battle, this much I knew, even though I didn’t fully understand it.

I had seen bits and pieces of this filtered through the memories I had inherited from Tristan.

The last memory had been of a magical battle gone terribly wrong. The way the sky had nearly split in two, the dreadful trembling in the earth, the unnatural way weapons had turned on their handlers. It had been terrifying, and I partly understood why Tristan had decided to assassinate the queen and take the stone from her.

And yet … I could not envision Isolde becoming a queen whose magic went corrupt, a queen who could not control her gifts and power.

“Brienna?”

I glanced up at Jourdain, unaware of how long I had been sitting at the table, reminiscing. All three men were gazing at me, waiting.

“Do you have any thoughts about Isolde’s magic?” my father asked.

I considered sharing that conversation with the queen, but I decided that I would hold her fears privately.

“Isolde’s magic favors healing,” I said. “I don’t think we need to be afraid of it. History has shown us that the Kavanaghs’ magic only went astray in battle.”

“Yet how vast is the Kavanagh House now?” my brother asked. “How many Kavanaghs are left, and will they all be of the same mind-set as Isolde and her father?”

“Gilroy Lannon was bent upon destroying them, more than any other House,” Jourdain said. “He killed a ‘Kavanagh a day’ at the beginning of his reign, accusing them of false crimes, making a sport of it.” He paused, grieved. “I would not be surprised if only a small remnant of the Kavanaghs remained.”

The four of us fell silent, and I watched the candlelight trickle over the falcon mosaic, catching the glimmer of the stones.

“Do you think Lannon kept record of their names?” Cartier asked. “They should be read as grievances at the trial. The realm needs to know how many lives he has stolen.”

“I do not know,” Jourdain responded. “There were always scribes in the throne room, but who knows if Lannon allowed them to record truth.”

More silence, as if we could no longer find words to speak. I stared at my list, knowing we had not truly created any solid plans this night, and yet it seemed as if we had at least opened a door.

“I say we meet privately with Isolde when we return to Lyonesse for the trial,” my father finally said, breaking the quiet. “We can speak to her more about the magic, and how she would prefer her grievances to be read.”

“I agree,” Cartier said.

Luc and I nodded our consent.

“I think that is all for tonight,” Jourdain said, rising. Cartier, Luc, and I mirrored him, until the four of us stood in a circle, our faces cast half in firelight, half in shadows. “I shall send a letter to Isolde, to let her know our thoughts for the trial so she can begin gathering grievances in Lyonesse. I’ll also send missives to the other Houses, to prepare their grievances. The only thing I ask of the three of you now is to remain aware, vigilant. We have planned a rebellion before; we should know what to look for, should supporters of Lannon dare to impede our plans to crown Isolde.”

“Do you think we will face opposition?” Luc asked with an anxious fidget of his hands.

“Yes.”

My heart plummeted at Jourdain’s response; I had believed that every Maevan would be thrilled to see the Lannons overturned. But the truth was, there were most likely groups of people who would scheme to disrupt our progress. People with darkened hearts who had loved and served Gilroy Lannon.

“We are one step from returning the queen to the throne,” my father continued. “Our greatest opposition will no doubt come in the next few weeks.”

“I believe so as well,” Cartier said, his hand drifting close to mine. We did not touch, but I felt his warmth. “Isolde’s coronation is going to be one of the greatest days this land has ever seen. But wearing the crown is not going to protect her.”

Jourdain looked to me, and I knew he was imagining me in her place, not as a queen, but as a woman with a target upon her.

Crowning Isolde Kavanagh as the rightful queen was not the end of our rising. It was merely the beginning.

Lord Morgane’s Territory, Castle Brígh

Cartier

There was a time in my life when I believed I would never return to Maevana. I did not remember the castle I had been born in; I did not remember the lay of the land that had been in my family for generations; I did not remember the people who had sworn fealty to me as my mother held me to her heart. What I did remember was a kingdom of passion and grace and beauty, a kingdom that I later learned was not mine although I yearned for it to be, a kingdom that had held and guarded me for twenty-five years.

Valenia was mine by choice.

But Maevana … she was mine by birthright.

I had grown up believing myself to be Theo D’Aramitz; I had later defiantly become Cartier Évariste, and both were names to hide beneath, a shield for a man who did not know where he was supposed to live or who he was supposed to be.

I thought of such things as I departed Jourdain’s castle well past midnight.

“You should stay the night, Morgane,” Jourdain had said to me, after our planning meeting had come to an end. He followed me down the stairs, concerned. “Why ride out so late?”

What he meant to say was, Why ride back to sleep alone in a crumbling castle?

And I did not have the courage to tell him that I needed to be on my own lands that night; I needed to sleep where my father and my mother and my sister had once dreamt. I needed to walk the castle I had inherited, dilapidated or not, before my people began to return.

I stopped in the foyer, reaching for my passion cloak, my travel satchel, my sword. Brienna was there, waiting on the threshold, the doors open to the night. I think she knew what I needed, because she looked to Jourdain and murmured, “It’ll be all right, Father.”

And Jourdain, thankfully, left it at that, clapping me on the arm in a wordless farewell.

It had already been a strange night, I thought, moving to where Brienna waited. I had not expected to hear Jourdain speak his regrets, to witness the first step of healing for the MacQuinns. I felt like an imposter; I felt burdened each time I anticipated my own homecoming and reunion.

But then Brienna smiled up at me, the night breeze playing with her hair.

How did you and I reach this point? I wanted to ask, but held the words captive in my mouth as she caressed my face.

“I shall see you soon,” I whispered, not daring to kiss her here, in her father’s house, where Jourdain was most likely observing us.

She only nodded, her hand falling away from me.

I departed, fetching my horse from the stables, the sky crowded with stars.

My lands lay to the west of Jourdain’s, our castles only several miles apart, which equated to roughly an hour’s ride. On the way to Castle Fionn that evening, Brienna and I had found a deer trail connecting the two territories, and we had chosen to take that instead of the road, winding through a forest and over a rill, eventually meandering into the fields.

It was the longer route, beset by thorns and branches, but I chose again to take it that night.

I rode the trail as if I had done so countless times, following moonlight and wind and darkness.

I had already been to my lands once, earlier that day.

I had come alone and taken my time walking through the corridors and the rooms, uprooting weeds and streaking through dust and cutting down gossamer, hoping I could remember something fair about this castle. I had been one year old when my father had fled with me, but I hoped that a fragment of my family, a seed of my memory, had lingered in this place, proving that I deserved to be here, even after twenty-five years of solitude. And when I could remember nothing—I was a stranger within these walls—I had conceded to sit on the dirty floor of my parents’ chamber, eaten by grief until I had heard Brienna arrive.

Despite all of that, the castle still took me by surprise.

Once, Castle Brígh had been a beautiful estate. My father had described it to me in perfect detail years ago, when he had finally told me the truth of who I was. But what he had depicted to me did not correspond with how it looked now.

I eased my horse to a trot as we approached, my eyes smarting from the cold as I struggled to see it in full by moonlight.

It was a crumbling sprawl of gray stones; the foothills of the mountains rose steadily behind it, draping shadows on the uppermost floors and turrets. A few slopes of the roof gaped with holes, but the walls were thankfully intact. Most of the windows were shattered, and vines had nearly overtaken the front of the exterior. The courtyard was thick with weeds and saplings. I had never seen a place more forlorn in my life.