Legend of the Lakes
The Once and Future Queen
Clara O’Connor

One More Chapter

a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2021

Copyright © Clara O’Connor 2021

Cover design by Andrew Davis © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Map © Laura Hall

Clara O’Connor asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008407728

Ebook Edition © June 2021 ISBN: 9780008407711

Version: 2021-03-02

Contents

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Part II

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Part III

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Acknowledgments

Author Q & A

Exploring the World of The Once and Future Queen

Thank you for reading…

You will also love…

About the Author

Books by Clara O’Connor

One More Chapter...

About the Publisher

For Mrs Fitzgerald, the first to suggest that one day I could do this

Ms Young, who lured it into being

And to all out there wondering if they can

Do it. One life to live.

Part One
Into the Abyss

I thought to die that night in the solitude where they would never find me…

But there was time…

And I lay quietly on the drawn knees of the mountain,

staring into the abyss.

I do not know how long…

I could not count the hours, they ran so fast—

Like little bare-foot urchins—shaking my hands away.

But I remember

Somewhere water trickled like a thin severed vein…

And a wind came out of the grass,

Touching me gently, tentatively, like a paw.

— The Edge, Lola Ridge

Chapter One

Holy Isle, Anglesea

In the reign of Prince Llewelyn Glyndŵr of Gwynedd

The sparks from the pyres were released into the night sky, hundreds of tiny embers drifting up in the still winter darkness. So many pyres. The destruction that the sentinels had left in their wake was total, the mistletoe supplies gone, the groves badly damaged. The druids and those who had served them shed their bodies as their spirits lifted into the darkness. With Devyn.

He was gone. Here in his home, they had killed him.

I stood and watched while the druids prepared him, removing his clothes, exposing the hole in his chest that had ended his life. The rose and lakes he had tattooed over his heart were marred for eternity, the emblem of the Lakelands, my brother’s sigil… My brother had never deserved him. On his upper arm were the meandering curves of the Tamesis, ending in a Celtic symbol, a symbol of us. I had traced it over and over again; we had lost and found each other on the banks of that river. There our story had ended and started again. Now it was over, there would be no more chances. I could not follow where he had gone, not yet. I stayed by his side all day as the survivors and my brother’s men bustled about building the pyres, tending the dead and the injured.

Occasionally the moans of those who had survived the attack found their way to me, but mostly it was just Devyn and me. His dark curls hadn’t dried since he was pulled out of the waves. I tried to get the sand out but his locks had frozen, and my fingers didn’t have enough warmth in them to melt the ice after a while. They left him until last; I could feel them hovering, waiting to take him.

“I don’t have a photo.”

“What was that, lady?” came the tentative voice from behind me.

It was hard to breathe through my mouth – my throat felt constricted. I drew a breath through my nose and exhaled, which only called attention to the pressing weight on my chest. I didn’t have a photo of him. I pushed my fists into my eyes. Behind my lids flickered Devyn’s face: his frown when I said something that annoyed him, his laughter over a cup of coffee back in Londinium, his serious expression cracking at my teasing of his indulgent citified tastes, his single-minded focus in all things, his frustration when I refused to let him push me away, his determination to see me back in the land of my birth; his eyes studying my reaction as I took in his Griffin tattoo the first time, the look that waited for me to appreciate and finally understand what the position meant to him. I would never see his eyes again – that dark warmth had faded. The intense gaze dimmed forever. And I would never see him again.

Bloody Briton, why had he never let me take a photo? Not that I had a device to view it on out here in the Wilds anyway. I needed to take my fists out of my face. I was wasting precious time.

My next inhale expanded the pained void within me. Pulling my hands away, I lifted my face to the sky as I attempted to pull in air and not scream at the same time. Someone hovered closer, reaching out but hesitating to actually intrude. The concerned face of the young druid was barely visible, backlit as she was by the burning funeral pyres.

“Lady, we need to—”

“I know, I just want one more minute,” I cut across her. I traced my fingers along Devyn’s cheekbones, his arched brow, the peeking feathers of the eagle wings that spanned his back and curled slightly over his shoulders, not yet enclosed in the white cloth in which they had bound most of his body.

Hands helped pull me up until, in spite of my stiffened joints, I was upright. I shrugged them off, curling my fingers into my palms so hard that I actually felt something through the cold that had stolen away all feeling hours ago.

I felt lightheaded and too heavy to move as they wrapped him in the last strand of white cloth. Men stepped forward to lift him. I couldn’t see through the blur but I trailed after them. I needed another minute. Hands pulled me back as they lifted him onto the last remaining stack of wood and wrapped around me, keeping me upright. There was a keening sound that tore through the night as the torch touched the winter wood, and the fire blazed higher and faster than any of the others had.

My knees were on the ground. That terrible howl finally stopped as my head was buried in wet unyielding leather. Sobs tore through me, doubling me over in their strength, and I was helpless against them. My mouth was torn wide by the raw pain that tried to escape in a never-ending gush.

I won back control and struggled to my feet in the sand, pushing away the intruder in my space.

Numbly, I watched the fire. The flames licked up into the sky, flickers of blue and green and orange. White smoke lifted into the night, obscuring the stars. The tang of sea salt mixed with woodsmoke as the flames consumed the bodies that had once held people we loved.

The blaze mostly hid the shadow of the body contained within, and after a while it started to crumble in on itself. In Londinium, bodies were cremated in a building created for the purpose. When it was all done, a neat little box of ashes was issued to be disposed of as the family decided.

What did they do out here in the Wilds once it was over? Did they just let the sea come in and take what was left? Was that why they built the pyres on the beach? Or should I take the ashes home to his father, or to Conwy or Carlisle? Where would he consider home? I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything. Devyn was the one who was supposed to guide me. He was the one who always explained how things worked out here beyond the walls. I should never have left. If I had stayed in Londinium, he would be alive. All these people would be alive. How would I tell Rhodri? His father had waited so long for Devyn to come home, had believed he was still alive long after everyone else had thought him dead… and now he was.

The fire burned down lower and lower.

Gideon ventured closer again. I flinched as his hand touched my shoulder. Everyone had gone inside, the pyres had burned down to glowing embers, but once I left this beach that would be it.

“Don’t touch me.”

I felt him leave. My brother sat waiting further up the beach, his heavy cloak drawn around him. He was watching me. He too had stayed by me all day – such a display of familial concern. Now he was worried, now he realised what Devyn had meant to me. Now, when it was all too late.

“Come.” My brother’s voice disturbed the night. “It’s over.”

I didn’t respond, didn’t have the energy.

“It’s cold, you must come in,” he spoke again.

What did I care? The heat from the pyre had long since faded.

Firm hands took my shoulders and started to pull me up.

“No.” I tugged away. Who was Rion Deverell to tell me what to do or where to go? I was done with being told what to do. All my life I had done what was asked of me, what my parents wanted, what my society wanted, what Devyn had wanted. Where had it got me? My parents weren’t even related to me and at the first sign of trouble had turned their backs on me; once I wasn’t their obedient step up into society, I was no longer their daughter. The society whose code I had followed, whose prince I had promised to marry, that society had had its own plan all along, had stolen me from my murdered mother in order to use my magic, abilities I didn’t even know I had until Devyn turned up. And Devyn, he had been the greatest liar of them all: he had fulfilled his destiny, lured me here with promises of love and family, and now I was alone. He was dead, dead because I had insisted he marry me despite the fact he had repeatedly pulled away from me. If Rion Deverell had just let us be, we would still be in Conwy, Devyn would still be alive, we wouldn’t be here and I wouldn’t be alone.

“You did this,” I said, whirling out of his arms. “Get away from me.”

Rion faced me in the night, his expression unreadable.

“You must come in,” he repeated, ignoring my accusation.

“No,” I said, turning back to the smoking embers on the sand.

“Get up.”

I ignored his order.

He sighed deeply.

“Have sense. It’s the middle of winter, you’ll freeze out here.”

“I don’t care.” I couldn’t feel the cold. I couldn’t feel anything right now. If I just left them to it, would he continue to have this conversation with this body? Could I just drift away to where people would stop bothering me?

“Gods! Get up, girl, or so help me I will drag your arse inside.”

The great Rion Deverell, faultless King of Mercia, swearing at a grieving girl. What would people say? I felt his hands take hold of my upper arms to carry out his threat.

“Let go of me,” I uttered in a low voice, “or I will—”

“What? What will you do?” he said tiredly. “What did you do today? Nothing. Heir to our mother’s power and you did nothing.”

I had done nothing.

When the sentinels had held Devyn and Matthias had killed him in front of me, I hadn’t done a thing. I was supposed to be powerful but I hadn’t been able to do anything. The drug had worn off now; I could sense that much. But even if my blood hadn’t been laced with the drug that suffocated my powers what could I really have done? It had all happened so fast. I hadn’t even thought to call it, had been frozen in fear, my only thought to get to him, to do as they asked… It had been over before I’d had time to think.

They had sailed away unhindered while he was lying in my arms. Useless, I had been useless.

I stared at Rion. Was this my fault? I had brought Devyn here and then I hadn’t been able to protect him. I should have been able to protect him.

My brother lifted his hands out to me.

“I’m sorry.” He paused. “I didn’t mean… just please come inside, for your baby’s sake if not for your own.”

I nodded dumbly. I had forgotten about the baby inside me. Would the cold hurt her? The disconnection I felt, the pain that had clawed at me earlier, did she feel these things through me?

“The ashes,” I said as I started toward him.

“What?” he asked. Perhaps my voice was too low. My throat felt oddly raw.

“I want to take his ashes home.” Wherever that was. The hollowness inside me grew.

“I’ll see it done,” he promised, his hand going to the small of my back. I stepped away, beyond his reach, but followed as he led me to one of the houses still standing in the middle of the village.

There were several people inside sitting around the empty wooden table: long-robed druids and leather-clad warriors, and Gideon in his stained Midwinter finery. They all looked up as we entered. The room felt warm, the fire in the hearth small compared to those that had blazed all evening out on the shore.

Rion indicated a bed in the corner of the room before he spoke quietly to a warrior who exited to do his bidding. I didn’t want to sleep, but I didn’t want to speak with the sombre men and women who sat huddled around the table in the middle of the room.

An older druid brought me a cup of something warm and set it beside the bed with a small nod. I didn’t want it. I felt heavy in the heated room, but it was too much effort to take off my cloak, so I lay down.

Words drifted over from the occupied side of the simple dwelling. Worry over the mistletoe, loss of the dead, concern at the Empire travelling so deep into their territory, consternation that their weapons had worked so far north, basic tech though it had been. The words swirled around the room in a tangle, knotting around them all. So many threads around the golden-haired King of Mercia, to whom they all looked for answers. Gideon’s eyes came my way time and time again. What did he want? What did he see?

I turned over, putting my back to them. I closed my eyes and saw Devyn’s face, the moment when Matthias struck him imprinted on my shuttered lids. He had promised me he would always be here for me.

I felt again his body growing cold in my arms, the draining away of his life as the druid spoke words releasing the spirit of the Griffin. I opened my eyes and stared at the dark shadows playing on the wall. The words being exchanged in the room washed over me. I couldn’t think about it yet. It was too much.

“Without the mistletoe, many will die this season,” one of the druids was saying.

“There are no reserves?”

“Not here. Thankfully, half of it was sent to Conwy immediately after the harvest to be dispersed at Yuletide and there are other sites with some stores. That should last for some time, but after that we will need to source more until the next harvest.“

“Why did they take it?”

People were ill in Londinium too. It wasn’t just here in the Wilds that people had magic in their blood. In the city, too, people were sick and dying fast. Nothing and no one were able to prevent it, except for Marcus.

Marcus, who had come with us, whose father was still alive, had betrayed us. We thought we had escaped the reach of the council, that Devyn had triumphed in returning me home. But we hadn’t beaten them. They had given us up, allowed us to leave so we would bring Marcus deep into enemy territory. Marcus, who now knew everything. It had been Marcus’s idea to come to Anglesey, and no coincidence that the sentinels were here when we arrived. No. He had delivered us here.

How stupidly gullible. The praetor had engineered a similar deception when they had first caught Devyn, releasing him to see where he led them. Praetor Calchas had let him go a second time, but they had never planned for it to be permanent. The realisation trickled into my slow-moving mind. On setting us free, my return had already been set in motion and Devyn had been poisoned, not expected to last until midwinter. With him gone they would have expected that I would docilely return to the fold.

The man I had thought my friend, who had accused me of selfishness, of only seeing the world through the spectrum of my own needs – he had done this. He had planned it all. If it hadn’t been for the surprise arrival of Gideon and Rion, I would now be halfway to Londinium.

“How did you know to come after us?” I asked as I turned back to the room.

The conversation stopped. A moment passed before Rion answered.

“Gideon found a note in your room. In it you said goodbye, that Marcus wanted to go to York now, and that you were leaving with him. I wouldn’t have followed,” he said, looking at the silent, scarred warrior, “but Gideon told me that it did not match what you had told him, which was that you had promised to return. Why bother telling me the story about York if you were actually going to Anglesey to marry?”

I absorbed this. I had been such a fool. Marcus had planned everything, had deceived us all along. Had he ever really thought his father dead? Had it just been another part of the lie he told us? The betrayal swirled in my brain until it too sank down into the numbness that filled me.

I carried Devyn’s ashes back to Conwy.

How different the outward journey had been – the road a path bathed in moonlight, brimming with hope. I had thought all my dreams were about to be realised. I was going to hold Devyn’s hand in front of a druid in an oak grove with waves lapping the shore and open starlit skies overhead. Instead a nightmare had awaited. The grove had been laden with dead bodies, not petals, and my intended groom had died in my arms. And yet I was married, though not to Devyn. The dark twist of fate tore a self-derisory laugh out of me, surprising both me and the warrior riding alongside me.

I supposed it was odd given the broken, grieving thing I had been yesterday. Today, I felt as though everything had happened to somebody else; none of it was part of my life. I was just unaccountably carrying a bag that contained all that was left of Devyn Glyndŵr. He had spent his whole life worrying about me, looking out for me, protecting me. Now he was gone, and it was as if he had never existed. Apart from my being here, riding along the coast of Cymru. If he had truly never lived would I now be in Londinium, preparing for a day of shopping and lunch, fussing over my darling husband, the wonderful Dr Marcus Courtenay? I suppose I would, and that version of me was probably happy, perfectly content, playing at life as a grown up until she did her duty and popped out the requisite children.

I also had a child, I remembered hollowly. How would I raise one out here? Did these people send their children to a school like citizens?

Of course, they did, though I supposed as a lofty royal my child would have a tutor – like Rion and Devyn had had Callum when they were young.

Marcus might be back in the city already. I had no real idea how long it took to sail down the coast of Cymru, around the awkward toe of the island, Bronwyn’s ancestral home of Kernow, and along the underside until they came around and entered the Tamesis back into Londinium. Would they creep back in quietly or arrive with a great announcement and be hailed as heroes? There was the small inconvenience of Marcus’s recent trial and labelling as a traitor to the city, but I had no doubt that Praetor Calchas would be able to explain that all away as part of the grand plan to steal a cure from the natives.

They would have to get Marcus a replacement bride. The void I had left would be hard to fill. Where would they get a new woman with so much magic in her blood to provide babies now?

Would my daughter have much power? She would certainly inherit mine. The power of the Lakes was inherited directly through the still unbroken matriarchal line. Unlike me, she would be trained in it from the beginning. She wouldn’t stand uselessly on the shore while people she loved were killed. Drug or no.

Conwy rose up as imposing as ever, its grey granite walls a deterrent to all aggressors. If we had been here, we would have been safe. There were subdued throngs of people in the courtyard when we entered through the gates. News of the sentinels’ attack on the Holy Isle would have preceded us. Dry words, conveyed by a messenger, not the kaleidoscope of blood and fire and bodies and violence that it had been.

Many people crowded the courtyard. Llewelyn would have called the townspeople in behind the castle walls when news of the attack reached him. Now, here they all stood, gawking at our arrival despite the heavy freezing rain. Did we look the part, the small group of smoke-grimed warriors and bloodied druids trailing in after the tragic King of Mercia and his newly recovered sister? What was my role? Was I still seen as the beloved Lady of the Lake returned to heal the land anew, or was I now reviled as the betrothed of the man who had caused the slaughter of the holy folk and stolen their medical supplies? Was Devyn part of my story to them, the disgraced Griffin, childhood friend of Rion Deverell, the Oathbreaker who returned with the resurrected lost lady? His role in the story was done – did they care that he would play no further part?

Did they know that my own path ended with him? I didn’t know the road ahead. Where did I belong now? I had no home. Where did I go from here?

Hands reached around my waist and I blinked, realising that everyone had dismounted while I sat on my horse in the middle of the courtyard. I limply allowed the giant hands to lift me from my seat to the ground, holding carefully on to the bag that was hooked across my shoulder.

My body was small beside Gideon’s and for a moment I almost succumbed to the urge to lean in. To hide from all these people. There was deep silence as they watched us all, the surviving druids in their bloody, dirt-stained robes, the warriors with their martial gear soiled by pyre building, never having raised so much as a sword.

I squirmed away as Gideon tried to pull me closer and threw my shoulders back. I was not entertainment. I was not here to be the object of those pitying gazes.

I stopped in front of Llewelyn, Prince of Gwynedd. His hair was soaked into his skull, the lack of curls making his head seem smaller. His partner, Rhys, had his arm around him.

“My lady.” His eyes fell to the bag I now cradled in my arms. They all knew, then. Of course, a full report would have been conveyed to the ruler of these lands. After all, he was uncle to the dust I held – all that was left of Devyn. Llewelyn’s eyes were dark too. I couldn’t bear them.

I walked by him towards the entrance to the great hall. Stumbling against a tall man standing on the steps, I heard a growl from Gideon behind me behind me as the stranger put his hands out to steady me. I looked up to see the cold grey eyes of a handsome, older man directed at Gideon and a caustic smirk as he took his hands back in no great hurry.

I blinked in recognition as Oban extricated me from my dripping cloak, clucking at my wet hair and clothes where the fur-lined cloak had failed to protect me from the elements. He wrapped my bare shoulders in a warm woollen shawl while I held on to the bag. He had helped me into the ruined velvet dress that I was surprised to find I was still wearing. Had it only been the night before last that he had laced me into the beautiful gown for the Solstice festivities?

I stood there, unsure of where to go. With so many people inside the walls, did I still have the room I had left behind with the paltry possessions I had picked up since leaving Londinium?

Llewelyn appeared at my shoulder. He went to put his arms around me, but I backed away with an awkward step, straight into the ever-present hulking body of the dark warrior who seemed to have become my new shadow. I twisted my head around to glare up at him. He was not Devyn. He needed to leave me alone.

A huffed laugh had me turning to face the unfamiliar visage of the man I had stumbled against a few moments earlier, and I levelled a deadened glare at him too for good measure.

“My lady,” Llewelyn called my attention back to him and without a further attempt to touch me, indicated that I should precede him into the great hall.

Rhys led the way, and I followed him through the hall, which was filled with the press of even more bodies. The damp heat rising from them was an ugly, foetid thing. They pushed back into each other to allow us to pass through. We went through the top corner of the hall, and down a corridor with which I was unfamiliar, until Rhys opened a door on the left. Inside the room was a study of sorts; a large desk had been pushed back against a book-lined wall to allow for chairs to be arranged in a circle.

Pulling back a seat beside Llewelyn, Rhys inclined his head to me to take my place before he took the seat on the Llewelyn’s right side. Rion took the seat beside me while Gideon loomed behind me as other men and women took their seats. Some I recognised from the trial – the trial during which they had found Devyn guilty of being an Oathbreaker and had condemned him to death. Now that he was dead, were they glad? Did they feel he had got his deserved end?

Lady Morwyn – who had spoken at great length about how an Oathbreaker couldn’t be trusted, no matter what the justification for breaking his fealty – didn’t meet my eyes now. Neither did Lord Arthfael or Lady Emrick, who had also judged him. The High Druid, Fidelma, who had presided over the trial, sat opposite, her steady, sympathetic gaze making my bones clench. I wanted nothing more than to smash the jar in my hands into her gentle, judicious face. The had condemned him, and they were hypocrites all. A tremble went through the room.

Then Bronwyn was there, a whirlwind of dark hair and plush velvet wrapping around me. She smelled sweet and fresh, and the jar of ashes dug awkwardly into my ribs as she pressed against me. She pulled back, and her glistening eyes took in the bag I held, lifting them back to me for confirmation that what was left of her cousin was contained within. Her chin started to crumple as I averted my eyes and extricated myself from her embrace. Rion stood, pulling her to him and held her while she swallowed back her sobs.

I would not break down here, in front of what was clearly a gathering of the great and the good, which amounted to maybe a dozen people in all. This included the lords and ladies who had been here for the trial, some of the druids who had travelled back with us, and a few I didn’t know – maybe they had been here for the Yuletide festivities and I just couldn’t remember them. There had been so many people, all here to see the Lady of the Lake, newly returned from the dead. Rion was the last to take his seat with Bronwyn on his other side. She looked across at me, anguish clear in her eyes as she whispered urgently to Rion. He shook his head, quieting her, taking her hand in his. She was a lady in her own right, but I suppose she was doubly important now as the future Queen of Mercia.

Also seated in the inner circle was the man at whom Gideon had growled. He was tall but blocky, and had the air of a man who had little patience and expected his every word to be obeyed, immediately.

“Well, what bloody mess is all this?” he sneered before everyone had fully settled.

Chapter Two

Llewelyn threw him a dirty look before turning back to Rion, his hands splayed wide, his eyes red with grief. “What happened?”

“It appears that Londinium attacked the druids at the Holy Isle to steal the mistletoe harvest.” Rion spoke for us. “They massacred the community to do so.”

A number of the nobility looked to the robed druids for confirmation of what they surely already knew – as if Rion was making it up, or maybe because they just weren’t ready to believe it. I could understand that.

“And my nephew?”

Rion cast a glance at me before he continued.

“It was bad timing. My sister, Devyn, and Marcus arrived as the attack was ending. Devyn was killed, and Marcus was taken.”

I looked over at him dumbly. Bad timing? Was he hiding the truth, or was he simply not aware of it? I barely knew this man, but he had struck me as intelligent – high-handed maybe but not stupid. The effort it would take to correct them felt far away. And why should I. All these people and their judgement of Devyn, what would they say once they knew he had brought a traitor into their midst?

“You let them take Marcus Courtenay? He should never have been here in the first place. The Glyndŵr pup should have taken him to York. He’d have been safe there,” the newcomer growled.

I bit my lip at the defence of Devyn that seethed inside me. Who was this man and what right did he have to call Devyn names? What did it matter now? My anger seeped away as quickly as it had surfaced.

“Why were they there? Why did you go after them?” Llewelyn asked, stiff-backed, as if the other man hadn’t spoken.

He didn’t know. Didn’t see that it was my fault. I was the reason Devyn had been there. His face was grey and lined: he had lost the last son of House Glyndŵr, the nephew whose return he had barely had time to celebrate. He had been so happy – for himself and for his disgraced brother Rhodri who had survived long enough to see his son return to Cymru. Did Rhodri know? Would Llewelyn have sent word?

Rion’s jaw locked, his eyes hooded when he answered.

“Devyn and Catriona were planning to get married by going to the Holy Isle where nobody knew I had forbidden it. We went after them hoping to stop their foolishness.”

I hated him. I hated him referring to me by that stupid name. Hated him.

“We would never have been there if not for you,” I said.

Rion drew a breath and Bronwyn laid a hand on his arm, quelling whatever he had been about to say in reply.

“How much of the harvest did they get?” Lady Morwyn asked, leaning back in her chair, her lips tight. She was less concerned about why we were there than the impact it would have on her and her people.

“More than half,” the druid from the Holy Isle, John, answered him.

“Why were they even after the harvest?” Lady Emrick asked. “I saw no ill Imperial citizens at the last treaty renewal.”

“The Mallacht is in Londinium too,” the sneery newcomer said. “The illness inside the walls is rampant across the population this last year and despite all of their fancy medicine, the Romans have been unable to do as much as us. People are dying in droves, and they haven’t been able to cover it up anymore. Riots in the streets, unrest in the province like they haven’t seen in generations. As bad as anything that happened in the rest of the Empire over the last decades.”

There had been a map on a college wall in Oxford that tracked the northwest progression of the illness from the central Mediterranean. I knew this much from the research that had been gathered in the library, if not from the news feeds in Londinium.

“The illness will be worse in Londinium because the ley line there is almost beyond repair,” Fidelma added, and was ignored for her trouble by the newcomer, not showing even a modicum of respect for one of the most senior druids in the land.

“How do you know?” Rion asked Fidelma, when the man she had addressed failed to do so.

“It is inevitable. The Empire has hunted magic to extinction in line with the rise of technology. We tend the lines out here, holding back the decay and the corrupted energies, protecting the western and northern lines as best we can from Glastonbury,” Fidelma explained. “But the line that passes under Londinium has been deteriorating over the last two centuries, ever more rapidly in recent decades.”

“How do you know there are riots?” Lady Morwyn redirected the conversation back to the lord I didn’t know.

“I keep an eye on things. Ever since the lady was killed, we have been vulnerable. If they ever discovered she was gone, we needed to be ready, and I for one was not going to be caught off guard,” he answered. His martial appearance said that he had been more than just keeping an eye on things. This man looked like the very embodiment of constrained violence; I imagined he had spent every day of his life, long before my mother had died, readying for battle.

“How did they find out we had something that treated the illness?” Llewelyn followed up. It was a good question. I hadn’t been aware of how bad the illness was and I had lived in the city. The exchange of information between the Roman province and the rest of the island was even more limited. I had known next to nothing of what life out here was like, much less that they had a cure, until we had witnessed Rhodri being treated. But Marcus had known.

“No doubt they have their spies too.” The newcomer’s face twisted.

Guilt lashed at me. We had brought their spy home with us, brought him deeper than any Shadower could have come. How stupid, how impossibly gullible – it had never occurred to me that Marcus might betray us. But of course, he had never abandoned his position: he had only wanted to help the citizenry. If I wasn’t such a self-centred idiot, I would have realised that Marcus would never desert the people of Londinium to save his own skin. I thought Marcus had fled the city for my sake to save two paltry lives. He had always favoured the many over the one, had always been the noble prince of the city, the devoted doctor. I was an idiot.

“How will we tell people that Londinium has stolen more than half the harvest?” Lady Morwyn moaned.

The martial lord stood. “How will we tell them that Londinium has stolen mistletoe? Damn the mistletoe! Sentinels came all the way here and attacked one of our holiest sites.” His eyes narrowed. “How many of them were there? How were they armed?”

“Perhaps two or three centuries’ worth,” Rion assessed. “There were five maybe six ships. It was all but over when we got there – most had already boarded the ships. Only a handful remained.”

“And yet you let them take the heir to the York throne?” the stranger circled back to his earlier concern.

I tried to summon the energy to correct them. I should correct them. Marcus was not who they thought.

“Let them?” Gideon’s snarl came from somewhere behind me as he stepped forward. “There were half a dozen ships full of armed men, they held Devyn Glyndŵr under their weapons, and there were but eight of us.”

The stranger stood and stepped up towards Gideon until they were eyeball to eyeball – no mean feat as the dark warrior was very tall. “Really? I just heard only a handful remained. And that you watched while they took the York Prince back to Londinium because they threatened the Oathbreaker.“

Gideon glared at the other man. His jaw locked, a pulse in his forehead speaking to his barely contained anger.

“Gideon,” Rion cautioned.

“Ah, is that why you failed? Was your leash being held?”

“No man holds my leash,” Gideon said through bared teeth.

“No son of mine would have stood by while the heir to our throne was taken by thrice-damned sentinels,” the stranger threw at him.

Our throne. Not a stranger. York. This man was Richard Mortimer, the Steward of York.

Gideon’s face transformed, and his whole body relaxed before his lips spread in a smile designed to infuriate its recipient.

“Well, my lord,” he said, inclining his head as he addressed his father formally, “as it happens, my priorities are not what they might have been.”

The man clenched his fists as Gideon turned his back on him and sauntered over to the window where he took up a casual pose, leaning back against the wall, the taunting grin lingering on his lips.

“It wasn’t how…” I finally found my voice.

The Steward’s gaze turned from his insolent son to me.

“Ah, yes. Here she is. The long-awaited Lady of the Lake. This is what the gods have sent us. This child.” He looked around at the assembled lords and ladies. “Her mother was a fool, taking her south, losing her to the Romans, leaving her untrained for years. What good is she to us now? I hear she has little command of the elements. What good was she when the Empire attacked?”

His eyes flicked to a shadowy corner of the room. There, behind the nobles gathered around the seated principles, was Callum. Returned to his master – to whom, it seemed, he had told everything.

There was muttering and shared glances between those who only two nights ago had gaily celebrated my return. But he was right. What use was I? To Devyn? To anyone?

They had all assumed that I had command of my mother’s powers; Bronwyn and Gideon had testified to my use of them. But my training in Oxford had shown me up for what I really was: I had no command of magic; it came and went of its own accord. I had no idea how I had called up a storm in Richmond, or how I had absorbed the energy that the Severn river had then used it to save us on the road north.

I sat there dumbly. Part of me screamed that I had been drugged. But another part sneered at my excuse. What of it? He spoke the truth: I had no control, no skill. I couldn’t deny it.

Even if I hadn’t been drugged yesterday, there was no guarantee I could have done anything to defend those people. Or to save Devyn. The truth was that I had been powerless to keep these people safe when Governor Actaeon had attacked. “Is this true?” Morwyn asked.

I looked down at the jar in my hands. Just yesterday morning he was alive. Now he was gone. I should have been able to do something. I was so tired of the events of my life, of Devyn’s life being twisted and judged by others. Somehow this felt all too familiar.

“So blind. You all saw what you wanted to see. The Lady of the Lake come back to us. Deverell, you were there – they cut down her lover in front of her, isn’t that right? And she didn’t so much as raise a breeze in his defence,” the Steward of York scoffed. “At least if the Oathbreaker were still alive, we would have had something. He’d lived for years amongst them, was adept in their technology; he would have given us some advantage with his knowledge of their defences.”

But Devyn was dead. And all that remained was me.

“He’s right,” I said. “The Griffin’s dead and I’m useless. I just stood there.”

I turned to Llewelyn. If I just admitted my guilt perhaps this would all go away. I just wanted to be alone. For all the noise to stop.

“I just stood there.” I said again. “Devyn died because of me.”

I made to leave. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t just sit here.

“Sit,” the steward ordered. “We aren’t done with you.”

Gideon began a predatory stroll from his position by the window back to his place behind me as Rion bristled but remained silent.

I faded back into my seat. What did I care if I came or went? It mattered not at all.

He’s dead.

Dead.

I had done nothing.

It repeated over and over inside me. Was it my lack of training? If I had trained more, been better, would I have been able to get past the suppressant? Had I still been blocked? I hadn’t even reached for it to save Devyn. It had all happened so fast. So fast. And yet I had to sit here as they went over it again and again. Absently, I noted that Rion’s account of Devyn’s death lacked some rather significant information – my pregnancy, Gideon becoming the Griffin and our hasty marriage withheld from the group. Rion had recounted everything else in detail – what he had seen, the numbers, the weapons, the damage done to the community who had lived there. All of those bodies, so many dead. Children, women, druids – peaceful people who had done no harm to anyone. All dead. Who mourned them? Did they have families across the land who even now were receiving word of the attack? Wondering if their loved one, the child, the brother, the sister who had dedicated their life to healing, to tending the land, was among those cut down by the sentinels?

The steward had again returned to yesterday’s attack, tracing the sequence of events. “Marcus went to them first, while the girl waited for you.”

“Yes, we were almost there before she saw they had Devyn,” Rion agreed on my behalf.

“Why did Marcus go then?” Gideon breathed, understanding what his father saw that the rest had not. They were all so focussed on the theft of the mistletoe and the brutal massacre that they had not, like the steward, reflected in detail on the earlier sequence of events.

“Surely she had more reason than the Courtenay boy to save Glyndŵr’s life if she was there to marry him,” the steward pointed out for anyone who had failed to follow.

“Marcus wanted to go back to Londinium.” I confirmed quietly. He had never intended to stay here.

“What will he tell them, of our magic, of our defences?” Llewelyn asked catching my words.

“Everything. He’ll tell them everything.” That had been the plan all along. I had been so blind, so stupid.

“Maybe he’ll keep our secrets,” Bronwyn countered, speaking up for the first time. She of all people should know better; Marcus had attempted to deceive her when they had met, and she had seen through him then. But she had seemed distracted throughout, not entirely focussed on the meeting. Her hands twisted in her lap, her eyes occasionally seeking mine before darting away. Now that she’s had time to absorb the facts she couldn’t even look at me. Did she blame me for her cousin’s death, for not finding a way to save him somehow?

“What secrets? Why do you think he was here? How do you think the sentinels knew to attack the Holy Isle?” I asked incredulously. How could they not see it? “It was Marcus, it was all Marcus.”

I looked over at the sneery Steward of York to see if he had finished putting together what they all seemed to be too blind to see. It was all so obvious now. As ever, the praetor had been pulling the strings, making us dance… from the very beginning.

“You have no secrets. Marcus knew you had a cure, that was the only reason he came here.”

Bronwyn’s head snapped back at the force of my anger. I turned from her to Rion.

“You think they don’t know the Lady of the Lake is dead? Calchas has always known. They killed her.” Somehow I had found my feet. Fury poured life into my veins, shaking me out of the stupor that had held me in its grip. The rage at finding myself once more manipulated by the praetor pushing me out of the mire of guilt and self-castigation. Turning that anger and blame outwards. “Think about it. I wasn’t some random foundling they decided to marry to Marcus Courtenay. The city, you, you all wanted me to marry Marcus, to tie the powerful bloodlines together. That’s why he did it, to take me. She was killed because of me.”

My outburst hung in the room, the silence following my explosion drifting heavily down as each person absorbed the meaning of my words, the repercussions of these new realities. The heat of my anger seeped away, the emptiness inside giving it no purchase.

“They killed our mother and took you. It wasn’t an accident.” Rion’s innate control cracked and he took a deep breath, pain and anger visibly vying for supremacy. “It was planned.”

“They knew she was gone, all this time?” Llewelyn was disbelieving.

“Why haven’t they attacked us, if they knew? Without the lady’s magic, we have been practically defenceless for nearly two decades,” the steward observed, the quickest to identify that the balance of power had substantially shifted long ago. Yet their enemy had not taken advantage of it.

The repercussions were evident to all. If the Empire had engaged at any time since the lady’s death, the Britons wouldn’t have stood a chance.

“Calchas knew. I don’t think Governor Actaeon did; he would have wiped you all out had he known. But Praetor Calchas plays his own game,” I said dully. Marcus’s betrayal was nothing to the people in this room compared to my mother’s death. But to me it was…

“Do you know what Calchas…?” Rion’s question petered out.

Was he really asking me if I knew what Calchas was plotting? If I had known that, Devyn would not be ashes now.

“Will they attack now?” Lady Morwyn asked the obvious.

“They’re too late. We have Catriona now; they’ve missed their chance,” Rion said.

“Have they?” The military-minded Lord Steward asked, his lips tweaking in a downward moue that suggested he, for one, didn’t think so.

All eyes turned my way. Even disconnected as I was, I squirmed under their attention, wishing I was anywhere but here. He was right. If these people thought that I would be of any use to them against the Empire’s legions, they were sorely mistaken.

Mortimer rose and walked over to me, scanning me up and down, his gaze reflecting all too clearly what he saw. A pretty enough city girl of little use beyond decoration.

“We need to prepare,” he said, turning dismissively and addressing the room.

“For what?” Lady Emrick asked.

“War,” he said grimly. “They will be coming for us.”

They argued for a while about whether or not the threat was imminent, occasionally pressing me for my reading of the situation. Before too long there was a common understanding that I had nothing of worth to contribute. I knew little of the politics of war, though if this was anything to go by it consisted largely of travel and food logistics. I sat numbly while they all droned on, cradling the bag on my lap.

The Steward of York, Prince Llewelyn, and Rion did most of the talking. Gideon’s father pushed for attack before Londinium had time to prepare or to heal their ill, chafing to respond to the Empire’s first strike. But Rion and Llewelyn needed time, not being nearly as prepared for war as Anglia.

The Lady of the Lake had been the biggest weapon in the Britons’ arsenal for centuries. But not this time. I had been useless in battle, had done nothing when it counted. What if I had been trained? A thought blindsided me: Callum was here. He had tried to teach me magic and he had abilities himself. Perhaps it wasn’t too late? Maybe we could fix this. Fix it all. I caught Callum’s eye and jerked my chin towards the door.

This time, when I stood to leave, nobody stopped me.

Callum slipped out of the room moments after me. His great arms already lifted to embrace me. I raised leaden arms to fend him off as I stepped back stiffly.

“I need you to help me.”

His eyes were sorrowful. “I am sorry for thy loss, child.”

“I need you to bring him back,” I stated baldly. “He promised he would always come back. I need you to help him. Bring him back.”

Callum’s eyes widened. He was silent as two people passed by.

“I don’t know the castle, I’ve not been here in many years… Is there somewhere we can speak more privately?” His gruff voice was gentle.

I nodded and led him along the corridors until we came to the bedroom I had occupied before my departure, thankfully untouched since the night of the feast. It felt like so long ago.

He sat in the window seat and contemplated me quietly as I sat beside him.

“Well?” I prompted. What was he waiting for? Nobody could hear us here. “Can you do it?”

“It doesn’t work that way,” he responded gently. Everyone spoke to me like I was made of glass now, even the usually blunt professor.

“Why not?” I demanded. “You told me that with the right application your magic could do anything, that I could do anything. Well, this is what I want. I want Devyn.”

“Devyn is gone.”

“No.” I frowned. “Everything is energy, right? Then the energy that was Devyn still exists, and you can bring him back to me.”

“No, child. Devyn Glyndŵr is gone. He did what we all thought was impossible: he brought you home. He has left behind the legacy of which he dreamed.”

“What? I don’t care, I don’t care about any of that,” I rejected. “I want him. I need him.”

Callum looked at me, the giant man with all of his knowledge, with all of his wisdom, was helpless. “He’s gone.”

“Stop saying that. There has to be a way,” I pleaded. “Teach me, teach me whatever needs to be done. I’ll do it.”

He just looked at me sadly.

“Please. If I had trained properly, if I’d known what to do, I could have saved him.”

“Magic cannot help you bring him back,” he said. “But it can help you defend those you still have left.”

I had no one. Devyn had been everything. He had been my future, the life I wanted to live.

“He promised me he’d always come for me,” I said brokenly.

“I know, child.” This time, when he reached for me, I let him. Maybe he could prevent the splinter inside me from splitting me wide open.

Everyone I loved had abandoned me. Except one, I thought, my hand creeping across my belly. I would protect her. She was all I had of Devyn, and I could make sure that I was strong enough that nobody could ever hurt her. Whatever it took.

The afternoon passed. I didn’t cry, didn’t weep, I just lay there, suspended, as Callum held me together, in his arms. The weak winter sun faded into night, and servants bustled in and out. Marina and Oban came in to check on me and sat in silence when I failed to respond. The flickering light of candles lit the room, and the fire began to crackle. Food sat uneaten on the table by the fire. I just lay there and let it all pass.

Time was empty and without meaning until our hideaway was eventually interrupted. Marina checked with me before she opened the door but I didn’t care, whoever it was, so the dark-haired girl opened the door wide, admitting the intruders.

“Callum,” Rion acknowledged his former tutor.

“My lord,” Callum said, though he remained where he was.

Bronwyn crossed the room to me and laid her warm hand to my cheek. “Oh Cass.” She sighed, my grief reflected in her tone. I closed my eyes against the emotions in her face. I could barely contain my own pain.

“There are plans we must make. Callum, if you would leave us,” Rion said.

“Cass wants him to stay,” Marina objected on my behalf.

Rion raised an eyebrow at being addressed by the latent urchin I had helped rescue from the stews.

“This is not for debate.” He turned to the Londinium pair. “We will let you know if the lady has further need of you.”

Callum disentangled himself, propping me up in the window seat and, bowing his head, he left, taking the mutinous Marina and deferential Oban with him. Rion and Bronwyn sat at the table while Gideon, who had also entered with them, shut the door after the departing Callum.

“Have you eaten? How do you feel?” Bronwyn’s concern was etched on her face. I watched the bustle in the courtyard below – some of the lords were departing, heading for home. To prepare their defences or prepare for war?

“You must eat,” Rion said, and I could already hear the reminder of the baby that was coming. It was the tactic he used every time to bend me to his will.

“The baby will be fine,” I managed to get out. My voice felt foreign to me, disembodied. The thought of food wasn’t something I could contemplate. My mouth felt dry – the very concept of food seemed alien to me. I couldn’t conceive of eating.

“You’re pregnant?” Bronwyn gasped. The news apparently still hadn’t been shared despite the hours of rehashing yesterday’s events in Llewelyn’s study.

Absently I wondered why he was bothering to conceal what would soon be all too evident. But then I hadn’t shared anything beyond what they had figured out for themselves either. Maybe secrecy was genetic. Or more likely Rion had yet to decide how the information could be used to best advantage. Telling people I had been drugged and unable to use my magic wouldn’t make a difference, worse than that, it felt like an excuse.

A twist of Rion’s lips confirmed the news I had so carelessly let slip.

“What do you want?” Why were they here? In my space. Crowding me. Talking. Breathing.

“We need to be careful,” Rion cautioned. “We haven’t revealed everything that happened yesterday.”

“What do you mean?” Bronwyn asked. “What else happened?”

“Devyn wasn’t dead when he hit the waves,” he began. “We pulled him out, but the wound was fatal. There was nothing we could do.”

Bronwyn waved her hand, quieting him.

“I need to tell you something, about the relationship between… He was the last Griffin.” Bronwyn stumbled over her message, her face tight with concern, her eyes never moving from me. “I…”

“Not anymore,” Rion interjected. “Druid John performed a ceremony and the spirit of the Griffin was transferred to Gideon.”

Bronwyn’s eyes rounded, her head angling to take in the scarred warrior stationed in the furthest corner of the room. Gideon slanted her a wink in reply.

“Oh, thank the Gods.” Bronwyn put her hand to her chest and ran the other hand over her face, exhaling as the room waited for her to collect herself. “That’s what I needed to talk to you about. I didn’t want to say it in front of everyone, but my mother is a Glyndŵr and she often spoke of the legends of her house when we were children. I was afraid for Cass. There is…” She hesitated, lowering her voice before continuing. “In the stories, the lady does not long outlive her Griffin, especially if they are together.”

“What do you mean?” Rion asked.

“It’s just part of the lore passed down by my mother. She has a romantic bent, and loves tales of star-crossed lovers. My mother said there has been a curse that originated in the days of Arthur Pendragon. The first Lady of the Lake to come to our aid, Guinevere, was rumoured to have betrayed her husband with his strongest knight. When he was killed she did not long survive her protector.”

“There was no Griffin then,” Rion interjected.

“No, the first Griffin came many centuries later and yet…” A line appeared between Bronwyn’s brows. “When Jasper Tewdwr was Griffin he was killed in the border wars and the Lady Margaret did not long survive him. There were rumours of an affair between them even though she was married to his brother Edmund. They were not the first either: a previous lady who married her Griffin also faded away after he drowned. This is why there is a rule against the lady and the Griffin being together. That’s why Llewelyn was happy to support Cass marrying Marcus, to keep them apart. The curse is something we have long speculated on in our house.”

Rion looked murderous. “He endangered her like this?”

“I don’t think Devyn knew,” Bronwyn defended. “He was raised outside our house. There would have been no need to teach him the lore as we all thought the line of the lady had ended. I never… I thought they had ended it. Cass seemed to accept she would marry Marcus. But if there is a new Griffin, then all is well.”

Rion exchanged looks with Gideon, shoulders slumped. “We have repeated Devyn’s mistake.”

“What? How?”

Bronwyn’s eyes widened as she tried to conceive how I could already have attached to another Griffin. I had carelessly lost one, only to have become entangled with another so quickly. I almost felt sorry for her, but despite her confusion, I couldn’t summon the energy to respond.

“You know the tethering effect of the handfast cuff?” Rion checked and Bronwyn nodded. Our inability to separate had been an issue on our journey north.

“Once Marcus boarded the Imperial ships and started to leave, Catriona… she was in pain. It looked like it was killing her – some kind of barbaric punishment the handfast inflicts for not complying with its edicts.”

“How did you get it off?” Bronwyn looked to me, pulling short as pieces clicked into place. “Wait, how were you going to get it off if you married Devyn instead of Marcus?”

I didn’t respond.

“There was a loophole. It seems it was some version of the contract charm,” Rion said and the up-until-now silent Gideon grunted. “Any marriage will remove it.”

Bron’s eyes flicked between us. “Then… who?”

Gideon bowed sharply.

“Oh.” Bronwyn’s eyes were wide as she absorbed the latest revelation. “When York hears of this, he will not be pleased.”

“We won’t tell him.” Rion surveyed the room to underline his command.

“What?” Bronwyn gasped.

“Any of it.”

“Why not?” asked Gideon. “Anything that displeases the steward…”

“I don’t know who we can trust,” Rion said. “There has to be a traitor. Someone must have betrayed our mother. What Catriona said earlier, about not being a random match for Marcus. If she’s right, then it was planned. We always thought it was bad luck. There was never any hint that anyone in Londinium knew our mother was dead. We assumed that whatever had brought her so close to the city, the sentinels killing her was just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But they knew.”

“So?”

“So somebody must have helped them,” Rion said. “We thought the sentinels came upon mother by chance, but what would bring them so deep into the borderlands? And they knew exactly where to find her. Somebody told them.”

“How did Marcus send word to the Empire about where to meet us?” I summoned the energy to ask, suddenly sitting upright. He was right. “We didn’t know where we were going when we left the city. Matthias bid us go to York, but Devyn wanted us to go to Carlisle. We were never meant to be here in Conwy. How did they know to come here? To get the mistletoe? They were near done by the time we got there.”

I had thought only of Marcus, but he must have had help.

Rion nodded grimly at this further evidence of a traitor in our midst. “Until we know who it is, we keep Gideon’s new status as Griffin, and as the lady’s husband, to ourselves. Are we agreed?”

I shrugged as Bronwyn and Gideon concurred with Rion’s plan.

I barely knew who I was anymore. I had already been struggling under the recently bestowed titles that still felt alien to me, and had been further bowed by discovering I was soon to be a mother, and now I was adrift without Devyn. This last I was not ready to face at all.

Wife. It felt incomprehensible.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.