Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
The Queen
Cool morning crept into the druid’s chamber, dripping over the tousled blankets where he lay. The candle had burned low aside the bed. Embers simmered in the hearth. He had dreamt again. And yet, the marks on his wrists were more haunting.
He ached.
His body, his mind still full of water.
Memories of the days prior loomed on his periphery. It would have been reasonable to be angry. It might have hurt less.
But his troubles were not so simple.
Men like Othrik were single-minded, but this doom would come for them all.
Men of the wood… men of fire. The pain of his flesh mingled with his fear.
The apparitions in his dreams grew fiercer by the day.
Something was out there. Something haunting him from beyond the mist. And if those ancient creatures could return, Cúil Cullach would need to be ready.
But who was he to guide them?
The chains had left deep grooves in his skin. He traced them with the tips of his fingers.
Hadn’t he always been selfish?
He longed for the quiet, and he longed for peace. If only so he could linger longer within them. He was no hero. He was barely noble. He had never truly let the world take of him. And he owed it. For its comforts. For its beauty. For the sweet croon of the songbird, and the soft kiss of wind.
Yet when he closed his eyes he saw fire… and ice. He saw the woods and the wilds burning.
Why him?
That did not matter now. He had fled from fate before and now it had caught him. Now, it again called him forth.
Listen.
His thoughts drifted to the tomes in the bookhold.
Scrolls no more than ash upon the storeroom floor.
Those accounts… so unlike any he had ever heard.
Not even from the eldest sages who he had grown amongst. There were so few druids left, and the world’s memory was dying with them.
Their power of preservation distilled to a meager few.
Suppose he was far from simple coincidence.
The ability to see the future was a gateway to madness, while the blessing of pastsight was a violent burden.
Never had one been cursed with both.
Until now.
And thus it dawned on him. Woefully. Miserably. That the only way to contend with the first… was to embrace the other. He had to know what happened all those years ago, when those creatures first came and departed. And to do so he would not only have to return to the forest…
But to hear her once and for all.
Yet the problem remained—on his own he had no power.
Thus, his only choice was to convince the Vaich.
He pulled back the blankets, rousing himself out of bed. He had no fresh linens or morning porridge. The curtains were still closed. He frowned. A quiet dread rose in his chest. Where was Halla? Had something happened to her?
In a moment, he was at the door, throwing it wide and—
He froze.
A maiden stared back at him, her brows raised in surprise. Her hair was the color of honeyed wood, her eyes like rich red wine. Her mouth, though small, pressed into a line, but wrinkled with a smile at the sight of him. Only, it wasn’t the sort of grin one usually gave in greeting, but…
“Who are you?” he ventured slowly.
“Ruicá. Of Clan Cearnathán.” She looked him over, brows lifting higher with every inch.
“Where is Halla?”
“The old maid will tend to your chambers,” the woman said, pressing her way through. He had no choice but to step aside. “As Consort, however, you demand a more refined attendant. Thus, you have been granted me—Her Majesty’s lady-in-waiting.”
Mockery dripped from her words.
“I am not Consort, yet, and I have no need for another attendant, refined or otherwise,” the druid said icily.
Ruicá laughed. “That is for neither of us to decide.”
“Then I will speak with the Vaich.”
“The Vaich? Don’t be silly. You’re barely his wife and already making demands of him? Even as Consort, you won’t be able to do as you please. He has better things to do than bandy about with you.”
He remained unmoved, though her tone grated his tender nerves. She was a good liar, but they both knew why she was really there, and it had everything to do with his moonlighting in the bookhold.
“It is a matter of the utmost importance,” he said.
“The only matter you need concern yourself with is the wedding. His Majesty has designated its preparation to you.”
The druid worked his jaw. He would get nowhere with this woman, and that seemed entirely on purpose.
“Now,” she continued, “let’s get you dressed. We must begin at once with the arrangements.”
“I’ve not yet had my breakfast.”
“Oh? It must have slipped my mind! Don’t worry, I’ll learn better of it,” she promised with a shrug. “One missed breakfast won’t be so awful. After all, His Majesty will want you to keep your figure.”
He glowered.
No, it was certainly on purpose.
“Come along!” the woman called, and two maids appeared in the doorway. They were younger and kept their eyes down, both from the druid and their mistress. At once, they were pulling off his nightgown and setting out his garments.
Ruicá tutted in judgement. “Little ugly thing you are. How unfortunate…”
“For which party?” he questioned. “My husband, or you?”
Her burgundy eyes narrowed, a flicker of amusement passing through them. “Well, well…” she whispered, “little beastie has claws. Do be careful where you put them.”
If she thought to unsettle him, she was a long way from home. The druid had endured much worse than petty women, and hardly thought it would get easier now. He had no interest in wasting time. So, he kept quiet and let the young maids push and pull him.
As they worked, one passed over the angry red marks upon his wrists. Her forehead dimpled in confusion. “Your Majesty…?”
He wrenched his arm free of her grasp. The question burned in her frightened expression and the druid felt both ashamed and annoyed. Wordlessly, he pulled his sleeve down over it.
“It’s nothing,” he muttered.
Ruicá clapped her hands. “If you’re quite finished, let’s be off. We have so very much to do!”
He was shuffled out of the room and through the castle.
The halls were bursting with visitors. Most had never seen him before, nor anyone like him.
They peered on with varying levels of discretion.
The women were more canny—they pretended not to care.
But every purposefully placed glance was a scalding strike.
The men, by contrast, gaped openly. They craned their necks to get a better look. He heard the whispers at his back.
“The queen is a man, after all!”
“Are you certain?”
“Is he really a druid like they say?”
The druid's lips remained thin.
The air at Rhyd-hal hung different. Where before had been aversion, avoidance, and mockery, there was now a sense of acknowledgement.
Every servant he passed nodded to him. Others darted out of his view entirely.
Something had changed within those walls, and he couldn’t define it. And neither, he supposed, could they.
He was brought to a hall and as the doors drew open, he suppressed a gasp.
Sunlight streamed in, giving the room a warm, buttery glow, and a sweet honey scent thickened the air.
The tables were adorned with whin flowers arranged in vibrant ensembles, and tapestries blanketed the walls, spun with images of sprawling gardens.
Little golden people were sewn amongst the ivy, holding their shining chalices to the sky.
The druid was so besotted, he nearly forgot what he was doing there until Ruicá hissed, “Show some respect before Lady Merah!”
Respect?
It was only then he noted the woman before him, dressed in a regal gown. She was middling age with dark, peppery hair and beside her were two attendants who each bowed in turn. But the woman stayed upright, a smile on her lips.
“No need to worry,” she said gently, her tone like the clear croon of a swallow. “We are equals, you and I.”
“Equals?” asked the druid.
“This is the Banrigh Ghaoire,” said Ruicá.
The druid understood. This woman was the Queen Dowager; the wife of the Vaich’s predecessor, neither of whom the druid knew much about. He had been compared to this woman on more than one occasion, yet had never been formally introduced… until now.
In a way, he supposed, he was looking at his future.
“I had not imagined…”
“That I would be so well kept?” The woman laughed. “Aye, my husband may be returned to his maker, but I am afforded great comfort in his wake.”
The druid didn’t know what to say.
“Suppose you have some ideas about how things are done here in the west,” she continued. “That is to be expected. But now that your place is confirmed, I think it best we all embrace what will come. Hm?”
“I feel there are few who agree.”
“That doesn’t change what’s true. My duty is to help prepare you. To be the bride of a Vaich—it is a burden of its own. But it needn’t be heavy.” Lady Merah gestured for him to follow and he obliged, much to Ruicá’s chagrin.
The two walked the length of the room, the tawny rug soft beneath their feet. The Queen Dowager was a sparkling citrine amongst her yellow wreaths.
“When I married Lach’Dun, my task was clear—bear the Vaich’s seed forth.
It was easy for me, as I loved my husband.
And I understood that the king must prove his capabilities.
On the battlefield… in bed.” She smiled knowingly.
“Any physical shortcoming is a sign of impotence. And that makes your role all the more particular.”
If displays of manhood were so important, it followed that the An’Atherin would have loved nothing more than to bury the druid.
As it was, they were forced to accept a queen who could never be their trophy of virility.
He could not see why the Queen Dowager seemed so eager to accept her role.
But then, the druid had never understood love.