The Queen’s Resistance. Rebecca Ross
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Lord Morgane’s Territory, Castle Brígh
Cartier
It was time for me to write my grievances of the Lannons, and yet I did not know where to begin.
After dinner, I retreated to my chambers and sat at my mother’s desk—one of the few pieces of furniture I had insisted remain during the castle purge—and stared at a blank sheet of parchment, a quill in my hand, a vial of ink open and waiting.
It was freezing in my room; the windows were still broken, as I had chosen to replace the other, more prominent windows first. Even though Derry had boarded up the casements for now, I could hear the wind’s endless howl. I could feel the bitterness in the tiled floors, the darkness that seemed to have me by the ankles.
I am half Lannon. How am I to bear these grievances?
“Lord Aodhan.”
I turned in my chair, surprised to see Aileen holding a tea tray. I had not even heard her knocking or sensed her entrance.
“I thought you could use something warm,” she said, stepping forward to set the tray close by. “It feels like the winter king is overstepping the autumn prince tonight.”
“Thank you, Aileen.” I watched as she poured me a cup, and that was when I realized she had not just brought one mug but two.
She set my tea beside the blank page, and then poured herself a cup, drawing up a stool to sit. “I won’t pretend that I’m ignorant as to what you’re trying to compile, my lord.”
I gave her a sad smile. “Then you should know why I’m struggling.”
She was quiet as she regarded me, anguish lining her brow. “Aye. You were only a baby that night, Aodhan. How could you remember?”
“Since I’ve returned here, there seem to be a few things coming back to me.”
“Oh?”
“I remember smelling something burning. I remember hearing someone call out to me, searching for me.” I stared at the wall, at the mortar lines between stones. “Where are you, Aodhan?”
Aileen was silent.
When I glanced back to her, I saw the tears in her eyes. Yet she was not going to weep. She was smarting with anger, reliving that horrible night.
“Aileen …,” I whispered. “I need you to tell me the Morgane grievances. Tell me what happened the night that everything changed.” I took up my quill, rolling the feather in my fingers. “I need to know how my sister died.”
“Did your father never tell you, lad?”
Mention of my father brought up another wound. He had been dead for nearly eight years now, and yet I still felt his absence, like there was a hole in my body.
“He told me that my mother was killed by Gilroy Lannon,” I began, my voice wavering. “He told me that the king cut off her hand in battle and then dragged her into the throne room. My father was still on the castle green and could not reach her before the king brought out her head on a pike. And yet … my father could never tell me how Ashling died. Perhaps he did not know the details. Perhaps he did, and it would have killed him to speak of it.”
Aileen was silent for a moment as I dipped my quill in the ink, waiting.
“All of our warriors were gone that night,” she said, her voice hoarse. “They were with your father and mother, fighting on the castle green. Seamus was even with your parents. I remained behind at Brígh, to care for you and your sister.”
I did not write. Not yet. I sat and stared at the page, afraid to look at her as I listened, as I envisioned her memory.
“We did not have much warning,” she continued. “For all I knew, the coup was a success, and your parents and the Morgane warriors would ride home in victory. I was sitting in this very room by the fire; I was holding you in my arms, and you were asleep. That’s when I heard the clatter in the courtyard. Lois, one of your mother’s women-at-arms, had ridden home. She was alone, battered and bleeding to death, as if it had taken all of her strength to make it back, to warn me. I met her in the foyer, just as she collapsed. Hide the children, she whispered to me. Hide them now. She died on the floor, leaving me in a cold panic. We must have failed; my lord and lady must have fallen, and the Lannons would now come for you and Ashling.
“Since I had you in my arms, I thought to hide you first. I would have to hide you and your sister separately, in case one of you were discovered, the other would not be. And so I called for one of the other servants to fetch Ashling from her bed. And then I stood there, Lois’s blood pooling on the floor, and I looked down at your sleeping face and wondered … where could I hide you? What place could I lay you, where the Lannons would never look?”
She paused. My heart was pounding; I had still not written a word, but the ink was dripping onto the page.
“That’s when Sorcha met me,” Aileen murmured. “Sorcha was a healer. She must have heard Lois’s words, for she brought a bundle of herbs and a candle. ‘Let him breathe this,’ she said, catching the herbs aflame. ‘This will keep him asleep for now.’ So we drugged you and I took you to the one place I could think of. The stables, to the muck pile. That is where I laid you; I covered you in filth and I hid you there, knowing they would not seek you in such a place.”
The odor … the smell of refuse … I understood now. I rushed my hand over my face, wanting to silence her, dreading to hear the rest of it.
“By the time I hurried back to the courtyard, the Lannons had arrived,” Aileen said. “They must have come to us first, before the MacQuinns and the Kavanaghs. There was Gilroy, mounted on his horse with the crown on his despicable head, and all of his men around him, blood on their faces, torches in their hands, steel at their back. And then there was Declan, beside his father. He was just a lad, only eleven years old, and he had been to Castle Brígh countless times before. He had been betrothed to your sister. And so I thought surely, surely there would be mercy.
“But Gilroy looked to Declan and said, ‘Find them.’ And all I could do was stand there on the cobbles, watching as Declan slid off his horse and entered the castle with a group of men, to search for you, for your sister. I stood there, the king’s eyes on me. I could not move; all I could do was pray that Ashling had been hidden as well as you. And then the screams and shouts began to rise. But still … I could not move.”
I could scarcely hear her, her voice was trembling so hard. She set down her tea and I set down my quill, and I moved to kneel before her, to take her hands in mine.
“You do not have to tell me,” I whispered, the words like thorns in my throat.
Her cheeks were wet with tears, and Aileen gently touched my hair—I nearly wept at the gentleness of it, to know such hands had hidden me, had kept me alive.
“Declan found your sister,” she murmured, closing her eyes, her fingers still resting in my hair. “I watched as he dragged her out into the courtyard. She was sobbing, terrified. I could not stop myself. I lunged for her, to take her from Declan. One of the Lannons must have struck me. The next thing I knew I was on the ground, dazed, blood on my face. I saw that Gilroy had dismounted, and all of the Morganes had been called out into the courtyard. It was dark, yet I remember all of their faces as we stood, silent and terrified, waiting.
“‘Where is Kane?’ the king shouted. And that was when I realized … your mother had been killed at the rising, but your father had survived. And Gilroy didn’t know where he was.
“It gave me hope, just a tiny thread, that we might survive this night. Until the king began to ask about you. ‘I