Chapter Twenty-Seven
Adarian found Laird Maryk before dawn.
Having argued with her father for the best part of an hour, Aemyra had seen Katherine settled into the room beside the princesses before her brother’s horse had clattered back to the manor.
It had given her perilously little time to recover from the shock of learning the truth about Fiorean, but Aemyra had no choice but to push it to the back of her mind for now.
She could hate herself for an eternity in private.
“Maeve said the camp is erected,” Adarian reported.
She stifled a jaw-cracking yawn with the back of her hand. “Good, we will need to remain here for the summer solstice. Between the dragons, phoenixes, and chimeras, we’ll be well protected from Covenanter attacks.”
“Not to mention our new hostages, and with Laird Maryk captured, there is only Laird Lorna Sutherland left to lead the non-Dùileach clans,” Adarian said. “Thank Brigid, Catriona’s information was correct.”
“I need to sleep,” Aemyra muttered, suppressing another yawn.
Adarian cleared his throat as they reached the ground floor, the double doors leading to the receiving room closed.
“We can’t deliver justice without you, and Father refused to go to bed while Maryk still breathes.”
With a sigh, Aemyra straightened her shoulders. Her golden armor was back on, dull and still stained from the battle.
In lieu of a crown, it would have to do.
“How many are gathered?” Aemyra asked her twin.
“Too many. Word spread through the camp when I rode past, and a few soldiers have trickled in.”
Adarian shifted his feet, taking the weight off his bad leg. He had ridden hard to catch Laird Maryk and none of them had rested since before the battle. Except the dragons. Terrea and Gealach were curled comfortably in their nests somewhere to the north of the town.
Aemyra mentally caressed her beathach. Terrea had kept the mating bond secret, as was her right, but Aervor had been selective in what he had allowed her to see. Terrea had been just as shocked to learn about Fiorean as Aemyra had been.
“Are you ready?” Adarian asked.
“I am,” she replied, her voice surprisingly steady.
Pushing open the rusted door, she found Laird Maryk seated at the far end of the room under heavy guard.
The traitorous laird sat beside his daughter, Catriona. As a reward for her honesty, Aemyra had allowed the woman time to say her goodbyes, even if they had come with Draevan breathing down her neck.
Maggie and Elizabeth had accompanied Catriona downstairs and were both watching Aemyra warily. They had spilled their secrets in exchange for protection, but it was clear neither of them trusted her. It was hardly surprising.
Weathering the guilt that speared through her chest at the thought of Fiorean, Aemyra cloaked herself with the persona of queen as she advanced into the room.
The handful of phoenix warriors took a knee as Aemyra passed, their bows held loosely by their sides. Greer and a few other priestesses had come to hear a queen’s judgment, and Aemyra noticed Thear was missing.
“He’s with Eilidh in the infirmary,” Adarian whispered.
Glad the young priestess wasn’t alone, Aemyra blew out a tense breath and scanned the faces of the prisoners.
Twenty guards, five ladies-in-waiting, three lady’s maids, a scullery maid, and the cook who had made up the Dildain household.
“Maryk Leuthanach,” Aemyra drawled, letting venom drip from her voice.
The man was older than Draevan, with a hooked nose, skinny frame, and wispy hair protruding from his ears. The fact his small eyes were darting around the room looking for a hole to scurry into didn’t help dispel his resemblance to a rat.
Aemyra was glad he was intimidated. Fearsolais was sheathed between her shoulder blades and her golden armor marred with crusted blood.
She might have felt ready to tumble into bed, but she was dressed for war.
Planting her feet before the laird, Aemyra raised her voice to the room.
“Your clan stands charged with the highest of treasons. Fighting with the invading Covenanters and conspiring with the Chosen priests against the true queen and allowing the spread of tyranny throughout Tìr Teine.”
Noticing the way several of the servants paled, she rather suspected Adarian had conjured a threatening flame behind her.
One of the ladies-in-waiting sucked in a nervous breath, her eyes lingering on Adarian’s magic.
“Do you deny it?” Aemyra asked.
Maryk’s voice wobbled as he replied, “I do not, Your Majesty.”
“You aided and abetted those who would force us to worship a Savior we do not believe in. You tore down Goddess temples here, and in Fyndhorn, handed the priestesses to the Chosen, and kidnapped the princesses. Why?” she asked, her voice cold.
“M-my faith is that of the Savior. You cannot fault me for believing in something different to you,” Maryk stammered.
Aemyra smirked. “Did you think the Chosen would reward you for your loyalty? Raise your station from that of laird to king just as they did the Ramburgh family in Tìr ùir?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie flinched upon hearing her maiden name.
“When Alfred named himself Almighty, you must have been sorely disappointed,” Aemyra mused. “Realizing all your grasping for power was for nothing in the end. The Covenanters have harmed our townsfolk, violated Dùileach, and slaughtered beathaichean. For that I show them no mercy.”
Several of Maryk’s guards shifted their feet and more tendrils of flame began to snake around Adarian’s fingers. A reminder, and a warning.
Draevan was wearing an expression of deepest pride.
Catriona was looking at the floor.
“I am a forgiving queen. Hundreds of your own soldiers have already bent the knee outside these walls. They will remain imprisoned until the war is over, then assist in rebuilding the territory they tried to destroy. However, I cannot forgive outright treason.” She turned the full weight of her gaze on the laird now visibly trembling.
She wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to hide behind his daughter’s pastel skirts.
“Laird Maryk, you have admitted your crimes, and the Goddesses will offer you final judgment.”
Two of the ladies-in-waiting turned a distressing shade of green.
Aemyra flexed her hand over the promise mark and prayed Brigid would be pleased with her decision.
“Take Laird Maryk to the dungeons where he will await public execution on the summer solstice. His life will be given in offering to Brigid.”
“No! Your Majesty, please, I beg forgiveness. It was Laird Lorna Sutherland who convinced me. Sh-she imprisons Dùileach in Edinbane.” Laird Maryk threw himself from his chair to the floor at Aemyra’s feet and Adarian quickly stepped in front of her, fire singeing the hairs from Maryk’s ears.
Greer raised her hands above her head as the first pink light of sunrise peeked through the moth-eaten curtains.
“Your queen has been chosen by the Goddess to rule. The solstice is almost upon us, and your life will be the highest offering. If you pray hard enough, perhaps Brigid will forgive you and spare a place in her hall.”
“Unlikely,” Draevan muttered.
Catriona paled further, but she did not waver even as her father begged for his life, prostrate before the queen.
Aemyra sank to one knee to look Laird Maryk directly in the eye.
“You know the punishment for treason. This has nothing to do with faith and everything to do with the laws of our land. As someone who has sentenced people to similar fates, I expect you understand.”
Without waiting for him to reply, two of Riya’s warriors hauled Maryk to his feet and dragged him away to the dungeons. His pathetic cries could be heard all the way down the stairs.
Bones aching, Aemyra got to her feet stiffly.
Catriona addressed her, skirts rustling. “My father did what was expected of him. He swore allegiance to King Haedren and both King Evander and Fiorean after him, both of whom worked closely with the Chosen. Was he to go against direct orders from his liege?”
The woman’s voice was quiet, but steady.
Aemyra considered her words even as Draevan looked eager to clap her in irons.
“Loyalty should be rewarded, and had your father remained true to the Daercathian lineage, then he would have pledged his banners to me. Instead, he clung fast to the Chosen and slaughtered innocent people.”
Meeting Catriona’s blue eyes, she prayed her suspicions were correct.
“Did you agree with your father’s motives?” Aemyra asked.
Catriona lifted her chin. “My father raised me in the ways of the Savior. Like so many of my clan, I possess no Goddess-given gifts and have never felt a connection with Brigid.”
Every Dùileach in the room stiffened, but Aemyra gestured for the woman to continue speaking. “Brave of you to admit.”
“I still worship the Savior, but I reject the practices my father and the Chosen subjected me to. I reject their treatment of women, and I abhor the abuse and terror they spread throughout my clan lands.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Draevan spat.
Aemyra held up a hand to silence him. “We daughters can learn much from our fathers, including how not to be like them.”
For the first time, Aemyra appeared to have hurt Draevan’s feelings.
“I will take your words under consideration,” Aemyra finally said. “For now, you are my prisoner and will remain in this house with your retinue of servants. You will receive no swyfts, you will pen no correspondence, and you will await my judgment.”
Some of the ladies-in-waiting looked outraged, most of the servants seemed relieved, but Catriona simply bowed her elegant neck in agreement.
“Now, if that is all—”
Aemyra made to leave the room when suddenly everyone seemed to need her attention.
“The solstice preparations—” Greer began.
A phoenix warrior stepped in. “What are our orders for the encampment?”
“We must discuss the antidote—” Adarian muttered.
Cringing away from them, Aemyra tried to muster up a believable excuse.
“Forgive me, all, I have urgent need of my betrothed!”