A Feast of Dragons

chapter TWENTY FIVE

Gwendolyn stood on the upper parapet of the castle on the cold Fall day, the wind blowing back her hair, and looked out at the brilliant countryside. The rolling farmlands were filled fall harvesters, dozens of women gathering fruits into baskets. All around her, everything was changing, all the leaves a myriad of colors, purples and greens and oranges and yellows…. The two suns were changing, too, as they always did in the Fall, now casting a yellow and purple hue to the day. It was a magnificent day, and looking out at the vista before her, everything seemed right in the world.

For the first time since her father’s death, she felt a sense of optimism. She had awakened before the dawn, and had waited with anticipation the tolling of the bells, announcing the return of the Legion. She waited and watched the horizon for hours, and below her, as the day broke, she could see crowds already beginning to form in the streets below, preparing for the parades to welcome them back.

Gwen was overjoyed with excitement. Today was the day Thor would return to her.

She had been up all night, counting the minutes till sunrise. She could hardly believe it had finally come. Today, Thor was returning. All would be right again in the world.

She also felt a sense of joy, of accomplishment, that Kendrick had not been executed. Somehow, her meeting had gotten through to her mother. She hated the idea of his wallowing in the dungeon, and every day she thought of ways to get him out, but for now, at least she had kept him alive.

She was determined to prove who murdered her father, but had been unable over the last hundred days, despite her efforts, to find any new leads. Godfrey, too, had reached a dead end. They were both blocked at every turn. Gwendolyn felt increasingly threatened under Gareth’s watchful eye, his multitude of spies; she felt less safe in the castle as days went by. She winced as she thought of the scar Gareth’s assassin had left on her cheek; it was light, hard to see except in direct sunlight, looking more like a scratch—but nonetheless, it was there. Every time she looked in the mirror, she saw it, and she remembered. She knew she had to make a change, and make one soon. Gareth was becoming more unhinged with each passing day, and there was no telling what he might do.

But now that Thor was returning, now that the Legion would be home, including her younger brother Reese, she no longer felt so alone with all of this. Change was in the air, and the status quo would not remain the same. She felt it would only be a matter of time until she found a way to release her brother. And most importantly, she could now be with Thor permanently. She had not spoken to her mother since that last fateful meeting, and she suspected she would not talk to her again; yet at least she was no longer an obstacle between her and Thor.

Gwen watched the horizon. In the far distance, beyond the Canyon, she saw the faintest glimmer of the ocean, and looked for any signs of sails. She knew it was overly optimistic to be able to spot them from this far away, and even once they landed, they were still a half day’s ride away. But she could not help but watch. All around her, the bells tolled. She had worn her finest white silks for the day. A part of her wanted Thor to take her away from here, from all this, from all this castle maneuvering, to a place where they could be safe. To have a new life somewhere. With him. She did not know what or where. But she knew she needed to start again.

“Gwendolyn?” came a voice.

She spun, jolted from her thoughts, and to her surprise saw a man standing there, a few feet away. He had snuck up on her, and worse, it was a man that she despised. Not a man—a boy.

Alton. The very face of duplicity, of aristocracy, of everything wrong with this place.

He stood there, looking so arrogant, so self-assured, dressed in his silly outfit, wearing an ascot even in the fall, and she despised him more than ever. She was everything he hated in a man. She was still furious at him for misleading her, for telling her all those lies about Thor that nearly broke them apart. He had made a fool of her. She had vowed to never set eyes on him again—not that she liked him to begin with.

Thus far she had been successful. Months had passed since she had seen him last, and she could not believe he had the audacity to come out of the woodwork now, to be standing here. She wondered how he’d even got up here, how he slipped past the guards. He must have used his nonsense line about being royalty, and they must have believed it. He could be very convincing, even in his lies.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

He took a step closer to her, one step too close for her. There were only a few feet in between them, and she felt her body tense up.

He smiled, as if not detecting her hostility.

“I’ve come to give you a second chance,” he said.

She laughed aloud at his absurdity.

“Me? A second chance?” she asked, incredulous. “As if I ever wanted a first chance to begin with. And who are you to be giving anyone chances? If anything, it would be I giving you a second chance. But as I said, there are no chances. You’re nothing to me. You never were. You never seem to accept that. You live in a world of delusion.”

He snorted back at her.

“I understand that when a woman’s feelings are so strong for man, she can sometimes live in denial, so I forgive you your rash words. You know that you and I have always been meant to be, from the time we were children. You can try to resist it, but you know as well as I do that nothing will tear us apart.”

She laughed.

“Tear us apart?” she mocked. “You really are sick. We were never together. We will never be together. There is nothing to tear apart. Except for your lies. How dare you lie to me about Thor!” she yelled, her voice rising, growing indignant.

Alton merely shrugged.

“Technicalities,” he said. “He is a commoner. Who cares about him?”

“I care—very much. You spouted lies about him and made a fool of me.”

“If I took liberty with the facts, it makes no difference. If he’s not guilty of one voice, surely he will be of another. The fact is, he is a commoner and beneath you, and you know I’m right. He will never be good enough for you.

“I, on the other hand, am ready to accept you as my wife. I’ve come to you to confirm that you want me to make arrangements before I do. After all, weddings are expensive. My family is going to pay for it.”

Gwen looked back at him in disbelief. She’d never met anyone so out of touch with reality, so pompous. She could not believe that he actually seemed genuine. It made her sick.

“I don’t know how many ways I can tell you, Alton: I have no love for you. I don’t even have any like for you. In fact, I have the utmost hatred. And I always will. So I suggest you leave me now. I would never marry you. I would never even be your friend. Besides, I have other plans.”

Alton smiled, undeterred.

“If by that you mean your supposed marriage to Thor, you can think again,” he said, confidently, a mischievous smile at his lips.

Gwen felt her blood run cold.

“What are you talking about?” she hissed.

Alton stood there, smiling, reveling in the moment.

“Your lover boy Thor is not returning. I have it on good source he will be killed on the Isle of Mist. Quite a fatal accident, I’m afraid. So you can stop pining for his return home. It won’t happen.”

Gwen saw the confidence in his face, and she felt her heart crash. Was he telling the truth? If so, she wanted to kill him with her on their hands.

Alton took a step forward, staring into her eyes.

“So you see Gwendolyn, destiny is meant for the two of us after all. Stop resisting it. Take my hand now, and let’s make matters official. Let’s stop fighting what we already know to be true.”

Alton held out a hand, his smile widening as he stared at her. But she could also see drops of sweat forming on his forehead in the sun.

“Still no response?” he said. “Then allow me to add one more point,” he added, as he held his hand out there, trembling. “I’ve heard it on good rumor that your family plans to marry you off soon, like your older sister. After all, they can’t afford to have an unwed MacGil roaming around. You can choose my hand now in marriage—or if not, allow yourself to be assigned to some stranger. And I might add that it might be a brutal stranger, a savage from some corner of the Ring. You’d do far better with someone like me, someone you know.”

“You lie,” Gwen spat, feeling her entire body tremble. “I cannot be married off. Not by my family. Not by anyone.”

“Oh can’t you? Your sister was.”

“That was when my father was alive. When he was King.”

“And do we not have a King now?” he asked with a wry smile. “The King’s law is the King’s law.”

Gwen’s heart was racing as she contemplated his words. Gareth? Her brother? Marry her off? Could he be so sick, so cruel? Did he even have the right to do so? After all, he may be king, but he was not her father.

She did not want to ponder any of this anymore. She was revolted by Alton. She had no idea what to believe. She took a step closer to him, and put on her firmest face.

“Let me make it as clear for you as I can,” she enunciated slowly, her voice as cold as steel. “If you come near me again, I will have the royal guards—the royal guards of the true royal family—imprison you. They will throw you in the dungeon and you will never get out again. I can guarantee you that. Now get out of my presence, once and for all.”

Alton stood there, staring, and slowly his smile collapsed into a frown. Eventually his face started to tremble, and she could see his face change, boil over with rage.

“Don’t forget,” he hissed, “you’ve brought this on yourself.”

She had never heard him so angry before, as he spun on his heel, stormed off the parapets, and down the steps.

She stood there, alone, trembling inside, listening to his footsteps disappear for a very long time. She prayed to the gods that she never see him again.

Gwen turned back to the parapets, walked to the edge and looked out. Was anything he said true? She prayed not. That was the problem with Alton—he had a way of implanting the worst thoughts in her head, thoughts she could not get out.

She closed her eyes and tried to shake the memory. He was an awful creature, the epitome of everything she hated about this place, the epitome of everything she felt was wrong with the world.

She opened her eyes, looked out over King’s court, and tried to make it all disappear. She tried to get back to the place she had been before Alton had appeared, to thinking of Thor, of his arrival home today, of being back in his arms. If anything, seeing Alton just made her realize how much she loved Thor. Thor was the opposite of Alton in every way: he was a noble, proud warrior, with a pure heart. He was more royal than Alton would ever be.

It made her realize how much she wanted to be with Thor, how she would do anything for it to be just the two of them, far away from this place. And she felt more determined than ever to let nothing come between them.

But as Gwen stood there, trying to recapture her peace, to picture Thor’s face, the shape of his jaw, the color of his eyes, the curve of his lips, she could not. Anger burned in her veins. Her peace had been shattered. She could not think clearly anymore, and she wanted to think clearly, before Thor arrived.

Gwen turned on her heel and crossed the parapet, leaving the roof, entering the spiral staircase, and beginning her descent. She needed a change of environment. She would enter the royal gardens, and take a long walk amidst the flowers. That would change her mindset—it always did.

As she descended, going down flight after flight, traveling the well-worn stone staircase that she had since a child, something felt wrong. She felt it before she saw it. It was a chill, a cold energy, like a sudden cloud passing over her.

Then she saw it, out of the corner of her eye. Motion, darkness. A blur. It all happened so quickly.

And then she felt it.

Gwen was tackled from behind, coarse hands grabbing her around the waist, driving her down to the ground.

She hit the stone hard, tumbling down the steps flight after flight.

The world spun, was a blur, as she banged and scraped her knees, her elbows, her forearms. She instinctively covered her head as she rolled, the way her instructors had taught her when she was a child, and shielded her head from the worst of it.

After several steps, she did not know how many, she rolled onto a plateau, on one of the corridors leading off the stairwell. She lay there curled up in a ball and breathed hard, trying to catch her breath, the wind knocked out of her.

There was no time to rest. She heard footsteps, coming down, fast, too fast, big heavy footsteps, and knew that her attacker, whoever he was, was right on her heels. She willed her body to get up, to regain her feet, and it took every ounce of energy that she had.

Somehow, she managed to get to her hands and knees, just as he came into view. It was Gareth’s dog, back again. This time he wore a single leather glove, it’s knuckles covered in metal spikes.

Gwen quickly reached down to her waist and pulled out the weapon that Godfrey had given her. She pulled back the wooden sheath, revealing the blade, and lunged for him. She was quick—quicker than she imagined she could be, and aimed the blade right for his heart.

But he was even quicker than she. He swatted her wrist, and the small blade went flying, landing on the stone floor and skidding across it.

Gwen turned and watched it fly, and felt all her hopes go flying with it. Now, she was defenseless.

Gareth’s dog wound up with his fist, with the metal knuckles, and swung right for her face. It all happened too fast for her to react. She saw the knuckles, the metal spikes, coming down right for her cheek—and she knew that in just a moment they would all puncture her face, and leave her horribly, permanently, scarred. Disfigured. She closed her eyes and braced herself for the life-changing pain that would follow.

Suddenly there came a noise, and to her surprise, her attacker’s blow stopped in mid-air, just inches from her cheek. It was a clanging noise, and she looked over to see a man standing beside her, a wide man, with a hunched, twisted back, holding up a short metal staff. It was inches from her face, and the staff blocked the blow of the man’s fist.

Steffen. He had saved her from the blow. But what was he doing here?

Steffen held his staff there with a trembling hand, holding back the attacker’s fist, preventing Gwen from being injured. He then leaned forward with his metal staff and jabbed the man hard, right in the face. The blow broke his nose and sent him plunging down to the cold stone floor, on his back.

Gareth’s dog lay there, defenseless, and Steffen stood over him, holding his staff, looking down at him.

Steffen turned for a moment and looked at Gwen, concern in his eyes.

“Are you okay, my lady?” he asked.

“Look out!” Gwen yelled.

Steffen turned back, but it was too late. He had taken his eyes off of Gareth’s dog a moment too long, and being the tricky assassin that he was, reached up and swept Steffen, kicking him behind the knee and sending him flying flat on his back.

The metal staff went clanging on the stone, rolling across the corridor, as the man jumped on top of Steffen and pinned him down. He reached over, grabbed Gwen’s blade off the floor, raised it high, and in one quick motion, brought it down for Steffen’s throat.

“Meet your maker, you deformed waste of creation,” the man snarled.

But as he brought his blade down, there came a horrible groan—and it was not from Steffen. It was from Gareth’s dog.

Gwen stood there, hands trembling, hardly believing what she had just done. She hadn’t even thought about it, she had just done it—and she looked down as if she were outside of herself. When the iron staff had landed on the floor, she had grabbed it and hit Gareth’s dog in the side of the head. She hit him so hard, right before he stabbed Steffen, that she sent him onto the floor, limp. It was a fatal blow, a perfect blow.

He lay there, blood pouring from his head, and his eyes were frozen. Dead.

Gwen looked down at the iron staff in her hands, so heavy, the iron cold, and suddenly dropped it. It hit the stone with a clang. She felt like crying. Steffen had saved her life. And she had saved his.

“My lady?” came a voice.

She looked up and saw Steffen standing there, beside her, looking at her with concern.

“It was my aim to save your life,” he said. “But you have saved mine. I owe you a great debt.”

He half bowed in acknowledgment.

“I owe you my life,” she said. “If it weren’t for you, I would be dead. What are you doing here?”

Steffen looked at the ground, then back up at her. This time, he did not avoid her gaze. This time he looked right at her. He was no longer shifting, no longer evasive. He seemed like a different person.

“I sought you out to apologize,” he said. “I was lying to you. And your brother. I came to tell you the truth. About your father. I was told you were up this way, and I came here looking for you. I stumbled across your encounter with this man. I’m fortunate that I did.”

Gwen looked at Steffen with a whole new sense of gratitude and admiration. She also felt a burning curiosity to know.

She was about to ask him, but this time Steffen needed no prodding.

“A blade did indeed fall down the chute that night,” he said. “A dagger. I found it, and took it for myself. I hid it. I don’t know why. But I thought it unusual. And valuable. It is not every day something like that falls down. It was thrown into the waste, so I saw no harm in keeping it for myself.”

He cleared his throat.

“But as fate would have it, my master beat me that night. He beat me every night, from the time I began working there, for thirty years. He was a cruel, horrific man. I accepted it every night. But that night, I’d had enough. Do you see these lashes on my back?”

He turned and lifted his shirt, and Gwen flinched at the sight: he was covered in lacerations.

Steffen turned back.

“I had reached my limit. And that dagger, it was in my hands. Without thinking, I took my revenge. I defended myself.”

He pleaded with her.

“My lady, I am not a murderer. You must believe me.”

Her heart went out to him.

“I do believe you,” she said, reaching out and clasping his hands.

He looked up, eyes welling with tears of gratitude.

“You do?” he asked, like a little boy.

She nodded back.

“I did not tell you,” he added, “because I feared you would have me imprisoned for the death of my master. But you have to understand, it was self-defense. And you promised once that if I told you I would not go to jail.”

“And I still do,” Gwen said, meaning it. “You shall not go to jail. But you must help me find the owner of that dagger. I need to put my father’s killer away.”

Steffen reached into his waist, and pulled out an object wrapped in a rag. He reached out and handed it to her, placing it in her palm.

Slowly, she pulled it back, revealing the weapon he had found. As Gwen felt the weight of it in her palm, her heart pounded. She felt a chill. She was holding her father’s murder weapon. She wanted to throw it away, get as far away from it as she could.

But at the same time, she was transfixed. She saw the stains on it, saw the hilt. She gingerly turned it over every which way.

“I see no markings on it, my lady,” Steffen said. “Nothing that would indicate its owner.”

But Gwen had been raised around royal weapons her entire life, and Steffen had not. She knew where to look, and what to look for. She turned it upside down, and looked at the bottom of the hilt. Just in case, just in some off-chance it belonged to a member of the royal family.

As she did, her heart stopped. There were the initials: GAN.

Gareth Andrew MacGil.

It was her brother’s knife.