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“So the name Pierce Halloran should mean something to you,” Jourdain said.
“Yes. Pierce Halloran is the youngest of Lady Halloran’s three sons. Why?”
“Because he is here,” my father all but growled.
I could not hide my surprise. “Pierce Halloran is here, at Fionn? How come?”
But I had a suspicion as to why. The Lannons were our prisoners. The Hallorans’ alliance with them had begun to crumble …
“He wants to get a look at you.”
“He wants to look at me?”
“He wants to present himself as a suitor to you,” Jourdain amended, as it would have been phrased in Valenia.
This revelation shocked me at first. But then the shock dissipated as I began to strategize.
“My, he must think he is very clever,” I stated, which thankfully loosened the tension that had been building in Jourdain.
“So you see what I see in this?” my father said, his shoulders sagging a bit.
“Of course.” I crossed my arms, glancing to the fire. “The Hallorans have been in bed with the Lannons for over a hundred years. And that bed has just been overturned. By us.” I felt Jourdain watching me, hanging on to my words. “The Hallorans are scrambling right now, as they should. They are seeking an alliance with the strongest House.”
“Aye, aye,” Jourdain said, nodding. “And we must tread very carefully, Brienna.”
“Yes, I agree.”
I took a moment to sort through my thoughts, to weave a plan together, walking about my room, absently touching the braids in my hair. I had decided to start plaiting my hair, as many of the MacQuinn women did. Warrior braids, as I liked to think of them.
When I came to stand before Jourdain once more, I saw a slight smile on his face.
“By the gods,” he said, shaking his head at me. “I never thought I would be so happy to see that scheming gleam in your eyes.”
I grinned and playfully laid my hand over my heart. “Ah, Father. You wound me. Why wouldn’t you be happy to hear of my plans?”
“Because they give me gray hairs, Brienna,” he responded with a chuckle.
“Then perhaps you should sit for this.”
He obeyed, taking the chair Neeve had graced the night before, and I sat beside him in my favorite armchair, our boots stretched out to the fire.
“All right, Father. Here are my thoughts. The Hallorans are seeking to form an alliance with us through marriage to me. I cannot say that I fault them for their effort. I’m certain they were tools of the Lannons during the past twenty-five years. And the political landscape of Maevana is dramatically shifting. The Hallorans need to rebrand themselves, to win the favor of the queen in some way. Marriage is one of the easiest yet strongest ways to forge a new alliance, hence why Pierce has shown up on our threshold.”
“Brienna … please do not tell me that you are considering this,” Jourdain said, covering his eyes for a moment.
“Of course not!”
He dropped his hand and let out a relieved huff. “Good. Because I do not know what to think about this! More than anything, I would like to spit on the gifts Pierce brought us, to send him off with a kick to the breeks. But both of us know that we cannot afford to be so rash, Brienna.”
“No, we cannot,” I agreed. “The Hallorans want to ally with us. Should we let them?”
We were both quiet, contemplating all the possibilities.
I broke the silence first. “We were just discussing alliances, rivalries. The four of us sat down and parsed out Houses to win over for Isolde. We are still trying to decide what to do with the Lannon people, but what about the Carran House, the Halloran House?” I shrugged, betraying my uncertainty. “It nearly makes me ill to think about letting them join our fold. They thrived the past twenty-five years while so many of your people suffered. But if we refuse them … what sort of ramifications come with that?”
“There is no way to be certain,” my father responded. “All I can say now is, I do not want the Hallorans in our alliance. I do not trust them.”
“You think they would deceive us?”
Jourdain met my gaze. “I know that they would.”
I tapped my fingers along my knees, anxious. “So we cannot outright deny them. But I still need to give Pierce Halloran an answer.”
Jourdain went very still, staring at me. “All I ask—if you would heed me as your father—is that you would not play games with him. Do not do anything that would put yourself at risk, daughter.”
“I would not assume to play Pierce in a romantic way. But as I just said, I need to answer him.”
“Can you not simply tell him you are with Aodhan Morgane?” Jourdain spouted.
“Cartier needs to appear as a lord with no weakness.” It almost sounded harsh, but the words hovered in the air between my father and me as truth; the people we loved were always a weakness. “And the fact that Cartier, essentially, has nothing—no living family, no spouse, no children—sets him higher than us in this game of politics.”
I watched Jourdain as his eyes glazed for a moment. I worried that he was thinking of himself, of his wife, Sive, of how he had lost her.
“I simply want for you to be happy, Brienna,” he eventually whispered, and his confession nearly wrung my heart.
I reached forward to take his hands in mine. “And I thank you for that, Father. After the trial—after Isolde is crowned and we have a better understanding of how everything is going to settle—Cartier and I will make it known.”
Jourdain nodded, looking down at our linked hands. “So, daughter. How will you answer Pierce Halloran tonight?”
“How I will begin to answer every man beyond this House who wishes to earn my favor as a suitor.”
Jourdain went still, soaking in my words, slowly understanding. His eyes lifted, meeting mine, and I saw the surprise within him.
“Oh? And how is that?” But he already knew.
A smile warmed my voice. “I will ask Pierce Halloran to bring me the golden ribbon from a tapestry.”
Every MacQuinn showed up for dinner that night in the hall.
There was hardly an empty space at the tables, and the great room soon grew stifling from the fire in the hearth, from the inspirations of so many curious people, from the fact that I was sitting beside Pierce Halloran at the lord’s table.
He was exactly as I expected: handsome in a sharp, unforgiving way, with eyes that flickered with deceptive languidness. And he liked to set that ruthless gaze on me, I soon found. He traced the braids in my hair, the neckline of my dress, the curves of my body. He was weighing my physical attractiveness, as if that were all to me.
You are a fool, I thought halfway through the meal as I took a steady sip of my ale, his eyes resting on me again. He was too preoccupied to entertain the thought that I might be plotting something detrimental to him.
I smiled into my goblet, just for a moment.
“And what is humoring you, Brienna MacQuinn?” Pierce asked, noticing.
I set down my ale and looked at him. “Oh, I just remembered that the tailor is sewing a new dress for me on the morrow, one with white fur on the trim. I am excited to see its design, of course.”
From his place two chairs down, Luc snorted and then hastily tried to cover it up by pounding on his chest, like he was choking. Pierce glanced at my brother, brow arched. Luc finally quieted, waving in apology, and Pierce set his focus on me again, wolfishly grinning.
“I should like to see you in white fur.”
To which a second coughing fit began, this time from Jourdain, who was on my other side. Poor Father, I thought, his knuckles white as he gripped his fork.
Jourdain spared me a swift glace, and I saw the spark of warning in his eyes. I was playing Pierce too well, then.
I reached for the plate of bread. Pierce reached for it as well, our fingers bumping.
“Shall I cut you another slice?” he asked with feigned politeness, his eyes, unsurprisingly, on my décolletage.
But my eyes were on something else entirely. His sleeve had ridden slightly up his wrist, and there was a dark tattoo on his pale skin, just over the faint blue shadows of his veins. It looked like a D with the center filled in. An odd thing to permanently etch on one’s skin.
“Yes, thank you,” I said, forcing my gaze to shift before he saw that I noticed his strange mark.
Pierce set a slice of rye bread on my plate, and I knew it was almost time, that I had let this dinner drag on long enough.
“May I ask why you have come to visit us, Pierce Halloran?”
Pierce took a long sip of ale; I saw the gleam of perspiration on his brow, and I tried not to revel in the fact that he was barely concealing his worry and nerves.
“I brought you a gift,” he said, setting his goblet down. His hand swept to the other side of the table, where two broad swords sat on the oak, resting in gilded sheaths. They were, perhaps, two of the most beautiful swords I had ever beheld, and it had taken all of my restraint not to touch them, not to unsheathe one of the blades. “I also brought one for your father.”
Jourdain made no reply. He was doing a rather poor job of hiding his annoyance with Pierce.
“And why have you brought us such magnanimous gifts?” I inquired, my heart beginning to beat faster. I saw from the corner of my eye that Neeve was rising from the table, a few other weavers following her. They were preparing to bring the tapestry into the hall as we had planned.
Can you find me a tapestry whose golden ribbon can never be found? I had asked Neeve after scheming with Jourdain.
Neeve had looked surprised. Yes, of course I can. You need the tapestry so soon, then?
As soon as dinner tonight.
“I hope to win your favor, Brienna,” Pierce answered, finally looking me in the eye.
I merely stared at him; that minute dragged on for what felt like a year, and I tried not to squirm with discomfort.
He broke the stare first, because there was a commotion sprouting on the other side of the hall.
I didn’t have to look; I knew the weavers were bringing in the tapestry, that the men were aiding them in hanging it up so that both sides could be seen.
“And what is this?” Pierce asked, a sly smile at the corners of his mouth. “A gift for me, Brienna?”
I rose, not realizing that I was trembling until I walked around to the other side of the table, to stand between Pierce and the tapestry on the dais. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly going dry, and the hall grew oppressively quiet. I could feel the weight of all the gazes gathering upon me. The tapestry Neeve had chosen for me was exquisite: a maiden in the thrall of a garden, a sword resting over her knees as she sat among the flowers, her face tilted upward to the sky. She was haloed in light as if the gods were blessing her. Neeve could not have chosen a more suitable depiction.
“Lord Pierce,” I began. “First, let me thank you for troubling yourself by coming all the way to Castle Fionn, so soon after battle. You obviously had us on your mind this week.”
Pierce was still smiling, but his eyes narrowed on me. “I will make no more pretenses. I have come to seek your hand, Brienna MacQuinn, to win your favor as my wife. Do you accept my gift of the sword?”
He had certainly brought the best of his House, I thought, resisting the urge to admire the swords. And yet how dull his character was in comparison to the steel.
“I will assume that you do not know one of the traditions of our House,” I continued.
“What tradition?” Pierce ground out.
“That marrying beyond the MacQuinn House requires a challenge.”
He laughed, to cover up his uneasiness. “Very well. I shall play along with your games.”
He was making me out to be a child. I hardened myself to his insult, glancing over my shoulder to admire the tapestry.
“Within every MacQuinn tapestry lies a golden ribbon that the weaver has hidden among the wefts.” I paused to meet Pierce’s cold stare. “Bring me the golden ribbon that hides within this tapestry, and I will accept your sword and give you my favor.”
He stood at once, rattling the dishes on the table. By the swagger in his stride, he thought this would be very simple, that he would be able to study the intricate design and find the hidden ribbon.
I cast a glance to my father, to my brother. Jourdain looked like he was carved from stone, his ruddy face caught in a scowl, his hand curled in a fist beside his plate. Luc merely rolled his eyes as Pierce passed, pouring himself another cup of ale and settling in his chair as if preparing for great entertainment.
Pierce stood before the tapestry, his fingers at once going to the halo around the maiden’s face and hair, the most obvious place to hide something golden. But his five minutes of study turned into ten, and ten into thirty. Pierce Halloran lasted forty-five minutes before giving up, tossing his hands up in frustration.
“No man could find such a ribbon,” he scoffed.
“Then I am sorry, but I cannot accept your sword,” I said.
He gaped up at me; the shock morphed into a sneer when there was a sudden gust of applause. Half of the hall—half of the MacQuinns—were cheering, standing for me.
“Very well, then,” Pierce said, his voice surprisingly calm. He strode back up the dais, gathering the two swords he had brought. But then he walked over to me, to stand with his face terribly close to mine. I could smell the garlic on his breath; I could see the bloodshot veins in his eyes as he whispered, “You will regret this, Brienna MacQuinn.”
I wanted to respond, to whisper a threat back to him. But he turned so quickly he gave me no time, hastily departing the hall, his accompanying guard rising from their tables to follow him.
The excitement broke, and the MacQuinns who had cheered for me sat back down, resuming their dinner. I felt Neeve’s gaze; I looked to her, to see that she was grinning in delight. I tried to smile in return, but there was an older woman at her side who was regarding me with such disgust that I felt my relief melt, leaving me cold and worried.
“Well done,” Jourdain whispered.
I turned to see my father standing in my shadow; he took my elbow, as if he sensed I was about to drop.
“I greatly offended him,” I whispered back, the words scratching up my throat. “I did not realize he would be so angry.”
“What did he say to you, just before he left?” Jourdain asked.
“Nothing important,” I lied. I didn’t wish to repeat Pierce’s threat.
“Well, do not let him upset you,” my father said, guiding me back to my chair. “He’s nothing more than a pup with milk teeth who just had his bone taken away. We are the ones in power here.”
I prayed Jourdain was right. Because I did not know if I had just stomped on the serpent’s head or its tail.
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 already have Kane’s daughter,’ Gilroy taunted. ‘Now bring me his son, and I will be merciful.’ None of us for a moment believed him, this king of darkness. ‘Where are you hiding his son?’ He insisted. No one but I knew where you were. And I would never tell him; he could tear me to pieces, and yet I would never tell him where I had hidden you. So he drew forth your sister, held her before us, and said that he would break each of her bones until one of us revealed where we had hidden you, where Kane was hiding.”
She opened her eyes, and now I had to close mine. My strength faded into dust; I leaned forward, to conceal my face, as if I were a boy, as if I could hide again.
“Watching them torture your sister was the most difficult moment of my life,” she whispered. “I hated myself, that I had failed her, that I had not hidden her in time. The king made Declan begin it. I screamed at him. I screamed that Declan did not have to do it. He was just a lad, I kept thinking. How can a lad be so cruel? And yet he did exactly what his father ordered. Declan Lannon took up a mallet and broke your sister’s bones, one by one, until she died.”
I could no longer fight it. I wept the tears that must have been hiding in me the entirety of my life. That my sister had died so I might live. If only it had been me, I thought. If only I had been the one to be found, and she had been the one to survive.