A mirthful glimmer returned to his gaze as he stood to retrieve the stone. Then he came to sit beside me on the bed, his thumb opening the locket. The stone writhed with gold, with ripples of blue and petals of silver that wilted to red. We both watched it, mesmerized, until Cartier shut the locket with a graceful snap, gently easing it over my head. It came to rest above my heart, the stone thrumming with contentment through the wood, warming my chest.
“Jourdain should arrive to Lyonesse tomorrow morning,” Cartier said quietly, his shoulder nearly touching mine against the headboard. At once, the mood shifted in the room, as if winter had chewed through the walls, coating us in ice. “I have a feeling that Allenach may keep you here. If he does, you need to ride with me to Mistwood, in three nights.”
“Yes, I know,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the locket. “Cartier . . . what is the story behind Mistwood?”
“It was where the three rebelling lords gathered with their forces twenty-five years ago,” he explained. “They emerged from the forest to ride across the field, to reach the back castle gates. But they never made it to the gates. That field is where the massacre occurred.”
“Do you think it foolish that we are planning to ride out from the same place?” I questioned. “That it might be unwise for us to meet there before we storm the castle?” I knew it was the superstitious Valenian speaking in me, yet I couldn’t wash away the worry I felt over this arrangement, that we were storming from a cursed forest.
“No. Because Mistwood is more than the ground where we first failed and bled. It used to be a magical forest where the coronations for the Kavanagh queens were held.”
“They were crowned in the woods?” I asked, intrigued.
“Yes. At dusk, just when light and darkness are equal. There would be lanterns hovering in the branches, magical flowers and birds and creatures. And all of Maevana would gather in the woods, woods that seemed to never end, and watch as the queen was crowned first with stone, then with silver, and last with cloak.” His voice trailed off. “Of course, that was long ago.”
“But perhaps not as distant as we think,” I reminded him.
He smiled. “Let us hope.”
“So when we gather in Mistwood in three nights . . .”
“We gather on ancient ground, a place of magic and queens and sacrifice,” he finished. “Others who want to join our rebellion will inherently know to meet there. When you spoke MacQuinn’s name at the royal hearing, you began to stir not only his House, but mine, and what little remains of Kavanagh. You stirred people beyond our Houses. I don’t know how many will appear to join us in the fight, but Mistwood will undeniably draw them, especially when you bring the stone there.”
I wanted to ask more—I wanted him to tell me of those ancient, magical days. But I was exhausted, as was he, each of us feeling the weight of the days to come. I shifted on the bed until the breeches tried to slip farther down my waist.
“Let me return your pants, and then you can escort me to my room,” I said, and Cartier rose to angle his back to me. I removed the breeches, refastened my dirk, and carefully set my feet on the floor, my chemise tumbling back down to my knees. Those herbs he had given me must have spread into my blood, for the pain was but a dull itch in my side.
We gathered the pieces of my gown, and then Cartier took a candelabra and I led him through the winding inner passages, showing him the way to the unicorn chamber. Only when I had opened the hidden door to my room did he say, “And how did you discover these doors and secret paths?”
I turned to look at him through the candlelight, one foot in my chamber, one foot in the inner passage, billows of my gown crumpled to my chest. “There are many secret doors around us, in plain sight. We just don’t take the time to find and open them.”
He smiled at that, suddenly looking worn and tired, as if he needed sleep.
“Now you know where to find me, should you need to,” I whispered. “Good night, Theo.”
“Good night, Amadine.”
I closed the inner door, smoothed the wrinkles from the tapestry. I changed into my night shift, hid my bloodied clothes at the bottom of my trunk, and crawled into bed, the Stone of Eventide still about my neck. I watched as the fire in my hearth began to fade, flame by flame, and thought of Jourdain.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow he would return home.
I closed my eyes and prayed, prayed that Lannon still had a merciful bone in his body.
But all my dreams were consumed with one chilling image I could not break: Jourdain kneeling at the footstool of the throne, his neck being severed by an axe.
TWENTY-SEVEN
THAT WHICH CANNOT BE
Allenach was absent the next morning.
I felt it when I entered the hall, the lord’s absence like a gaping hole in the floor. And there were Rian and Sean, sitting in their usual places at the table on the dais, mopping their porridge up with clumps of bread, too hungry for spoons, as Allenach’s grand chair sat empty between them.
Rian saw me first, his eyes going at once to my bodice, as if he hoped that I might bleed through the fabric. “Ah, good morning, Amadine. I trust you had a good night?”
I sat in the chair beside Sean, smiling gracefully at the servant who brought my bowl of porridge and sliced plums.
“The best sleep I have had in a while, Rian,” I responded. “Thank you for asking.”
Sean said nothing, but he was stiff as a board as the tension between me and his older brother grew taut.
“You have noticed that my father is away,” Rian continued, glancing down the table at me.
“Yes. I see that.”
“He has gone to Lyonesse, to bring MacQuinn before the king.”
I was just raising a spoonful of porridge to my mouth. And my stomach clenched so violently I thought I might heave. But somehow, I swallowed the porridge, felt it clog all the way down my throat to my roiling stomach.
Rian was smiling at me, watching me struggle to eat. “You know what the king likes to do to traitors, Amadine? He cuts off their hands first. Then their feet. Then he gouges out their tongues and eyes. Last, he severs their heads.”
“Enough, Rian,” Sean hissed.
“Amadine needs to prepare herself,” Rian countered. “I would hate for her to think this story has a happy ending.”
I looked to the hall, my eyes going right to Cartier. He was sitting in his usual place with a bowl of porridge before him, Valenians chattering about him like birds. But he was solemn and still, his eyes on me. And then they slid to Rian, and he knew. I watched that Maevan stealth and that Valenian elegance merge, watched as Cartier’s gaze marked Rian as a dead man.
“Did you hear me, Amadine? Or has one of the Valenians caught your interest?”
I set down my spoon and looked at Rian again. “What did you say?”
“I said perhaps I could finish the tour you so wanted yesterday,” Rian said, shoving the last of his bread and porridge in his mouth.
“No thank you.”
“Pity,” he spoke through the crumbs, rising from the table. “I would have loved to show you around.”
Sean and I watched as Rian sauntered from the hall. Only then did I breathe, did I let myself sink deeper in the chair.