Chapter 6 #2
Eoin considered for a moment, then shook his head.
"I willnae lie tae ye, Breana. I dinnae ken exactly what will happen tae her.
He may keep her around as a useful pawn, or he may make an example of her.
In either case, I have tae admit tae ye, her position willnae be enviable. She's entirely under his control now."
Breana closed her eyes. She'd known that, but she'd needed to hear someone lay it out like that, completely honest and without anything held back so that she could admit it to herself, too.
Nessa was in danger in one way or another.
Even if she was safe, her life would likely never be comfortable again—unless, of course, she wormed her way into the False King's favor as she once had with their father.
Fear for her youngest sister swirled in the already chaotic tempest of emotions, and she put her face in her hands as they threatened to overwhelm her entirely. The tears started without her realizing, but she did not try to hold them back.
"If… if ye think it's worth tryin' tae save Nessa—if ye think she'd welcome our intervention and come with us—then we can go now," Eoin told her.
He placed a hand lightly on the small of her back, a delicate comfort.
"Cailean would understand. We can go and save her, send her back tae Bruce Castle, then return here tae resume our mission. "
Breana looked up at him, her face wet, her eyes still prickling. For a moment, she was tempted to agree. They could go now and try to find her sister, unite them again, and then… then what? What if it was too late to come back here? And what if Nessa wouldn't even come with them?
No. It was too much to risk.
"We cannae do that," Breana whispered. "What we're doin' here is more important."
She tried to speak bravely, but her body betrayed her, and this time the sobs burst out in earnest. They ripped from her chest, deep cries of agony, and she curled up upon herself, desperately trying to stop the agony in her heart.
Eoin's arms slipped around her, and he gently pulled her close, allowing her to lay her head on his chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist, burrowing into his shirt as she cried.
He held her, letting her express her grief, never telling her to hush or quiet.
He allowed her the space she needed to let out her pain, and she needed him there with her right now.
Held safe in his arms, Breana cried. She sobbed for Nessa, for her father, for Maeve and for herself. She cried for the childhood she'd lost and the life she'd gained. And she cried because she knew that, no matter what happened, nothing would ever be simple again.
"Father. May I take Maeve some supper? I'm sure she's sorry for the way she spoke tae ye," twelve-year-old Breana said timidly, standing in the doorway of her father's office. "Ye ken she's still young, and—"
Her father looked up from the letter he was reading, seeming perturbed that she would disturb him. Nevertheless, he beckoned her inside.
Surprised, Breana entered, standing close to the bookshelf on the corner near the door. She kept her eyes on him, wary.
James O'Sullivan looked up at his eldest daughter, the look on his face thoughtful rather than just its usual dismissive coldness.
"Nessa is three years younger than Maeve.
Five years younger than ye. And yet, she manages tae show her father proper respect.
So do ye, in many respects, though ye wouldnae ken it from the way ye're actin' now.
Why should Maeve be allowed tae act differently? "
Breana chewed on her lip. "Perhaps, if ye were kinder tae the maids, Maeve wouldnae feel the need tae…"
He pursed his lips. "They are me maids. Maeve needs tae learn that everyone has a place in this world. It would do her well tae remember where ours is in it."
The young girl bowed her head. She knew she should speak up, but her nerves overtook her. "Aye… as ye say, Father. Forgive me for interruptin' yer readin'."
She turned to go.
"Breana. Wait."
She turned back to face her father, her eyes widening at the fact he'd called her back by name. He rarely addressed them directly in that way, except for Nessa. "Aye, Father?"
He stood and approached her, holding the letter in his hands. She stood still, determined not to shake or let her fear show on her face. She did not think he would hurt her, not now, but she could never be sure.
"Do ye ken what this is?" he asked, holding the letter out.
She glanced at the wax seal and felt herself trembling a little. "A letter from the king himself," she whispered, recognizing the Ashkirk symbol.
"Exactly that. At least yer lessons are teachin' ye well, despite the coin I have wasted upon them," O'Sullivan replied.
"It's a letter commendin' me for me recent service, and remindin' me that one day his son will choose a bride.
If we continue tae serve faithfully, it may even be from amongst me daughters. "
To marry a prince! No doubt the honor would go to Nessa, Breana knew, yet her twelve-year-old heart still beat a little quickier at the thought. "And the others of us?"
"I will find ye husbands worthy of our name. Even Maeve, despite her nature. She has time yet tae change."
Breana paused, deciding that, in this rare situation where her father was feeling conversational, she would dare to ask a question. "But–but Father, what if Nessa or whichever of us is chosen doesnae love the prince?"
"Love? Who said anythin' about love? We're speakin' of marriage, child. An alliance that will make the O'Sullivan name rise above all others."
She frowned. "But–but ye love mother. I ken ye do." That was why Nessa, the most like their mother, was favored. Everyone knew it. Even the servants spoke about it openly, at least when they thought that the Laird himself could not hear.
O'Sullivan seemed to hesitate at that. He looked down at the letter again.
"Everythin' I do is for the betterment of our clan, Breana.
Every plan I make. Every action I take. Our name will live on long past me, long past any of us.
I have affection for yer mother, aye, but if the King asked for her hand tomorrow, I would forsake her in an instant.
For the good of me children and grandchildren and the power of the O'Sullivan name movin' forward. "
Breana didn't understand how he could say such things.
None of it made sense to her. Her heart was still filled with stories of love and magic, told at her nursemaid's knee, and everything her father was saying to her seemed opposite to that.
How could he say he acted for them when in the same breath he acted as though he did not love them?
How could he claim that the O'Sullivan name was his goal when he served the king so blindly that he'd give up everything he cared for?
He acted as though he were noble, and yet he committed such cruel acts, both on a grand scale and in petty day-to-day activities like the one which had caused Maeve's punishment.
"I dinnae understand ye, Father," she admitted in a whisper.
He patted her cheek almost affectionately, though it was clear by his eyes that he was disappointed. "I doubt ye ever will. Yer youngest sister seems tae have been the only one tae inherit wit. Never mind; ye'll make a fine wife some day at least, if ye continue the way ye're meant tae."
His words hurt, but Breana nodded. Perhaps he was right. Maeve was brave, and Nessa, though only seven, was already very clever. Breana was a disappointment to her father, and she wasn't sure she'd ever amount to more than that.
"Remember yer lessons, Breana," he told her. "I do want what's best for ye. Ye simply must trust in that and do as ye are told."
In a strange, twisted way, it sounded like he almost believed that.
Breana recognized that she had been dismissed, and she turned to go once more.
"Lass?"
"Aye, Father?"
"Ye may take Maeve some bread and cheese." He returned to his desk, his eyes down on his letter once more. "And a reminder from me that her father is merciful even when she shames him. Let us just hope she never does so again."
Joy flooded Breana's heart. "Aye, Father. Thank ye, Father!" she exclaimed, then ran off before he could change his mind.
It hadn’t been much as affectionate fatherly gestures went. To some, it would have been nothing at all. But to young Breana, at that moment, it had been everything.