The Queen’s Resistance. Rebecca Ross
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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