Chapter 7 Carys
Carys
The archery range is nestled within tall, perfectly manicured hedges in a massive field just beyond the royal gardens.
Beneath my feet, the grass has been so trampled that there’s more dirt than green.
Wiping my hand across my brow, I force myself to focus on my archery master, Gethin, and not on the boredom of target after target that I can hit with my eyes closed.
If only he’d give me a greater challenge!
“I believe you’re ready to work on hitting targets from horseback,” Master Gethin says, shoving wispy white hairs out of his gaunt face.
My eyes widen, and I press my lips together to keep from squealing, but a smile spreads across my face anyway. I set my bow against a boulder and shift on my feet, unable to stand still.
“I’ll go set up the targets. In the meantime, try not to shoot your sentinel, hmm?” He turns and hurries off, leaving me surprised at his attempt at humor.
I set my bow and quiver down against a boulder as Tiernan steps closer to me. “Have you considered learning to wield a dagger?” he asks.
“This again?” I prop my fists on my hips.
The corner of his lip twitches, his stern expression softening. “You’re impressive with a bow and arrow, but in the event of close combat—”
My heart skitters and I push away the memory of an arrow zipping toward me. With a steadying breath, I summon enough gall to say, “I’m not a warrior or a knight, Tiernan. What close combat must I be prepared for?”
His thoughtful expression and unspoken words uncover the rubble of my past. I wet my lips, which have suddenly gone dry.
“Princess, you know there have been—”
I cut him off with a glare. “Security at Paramount has been rectified since that last incident.” I try not to remember rough hands around my throat, but it’s getting harder to breathe.
The archery range fades from my view. I blink away the memories.
Hot, reeking breath against my face. Harsh promises of destroying the royal bloodline.
The sword running straight through the assassin’s middle, forcing him to release his death grip on me.
Once I’d caught my breath, it had taken so godsdamned long for me to stop screaming.
Even as the assassin lay dead at my feet, even as Tiernan told me over and over that I was safe.
It wasn’t the first time he’d saved my arse.
With another blink, the gardens of the past fall away, the archery range clear again as the cool breeze rustles through my hair and pulls me back to the present.
Tiernan’s sword is still firmly secured at his hip.
There’s no blood in sight, no dead assassin at my feet.
I absently rub my neck, as if the incident happened moments ago rather than three years prior.
The next attempt had been just days later as I stepped beyond the gates to visit Barr na Cahar with Ellynne. The arrow meant for me had whizzed right past Ellynne’s ear. I can still remember her shriek that had twisted my gut and left me unwilling to ever leave the castle again.
Tiernan’s concerned face comes back into view and I narrow my eyes at him as though my mind hadn’t taken a nasty tumble into the past. His lips part, but another voice comes from elsewhere and it takes me a brief moment to return to my senses.
I spin, perhaps a little too dramatically, toward Iywan as he approaches.
The sun suddenly feels too warm, and I have to remind myself to unclench my jaw and smile politely.
Tiernan’s face has gone stony again as he lowers his head in a respectful greeting, but he remains rooted at my side.
“My apologies for interrupting your archery lessons, Princess. But we need to discuss the matter of the Feast and your suitors.”
I breathe in and feign a perfectly composed smile. “Can this wait until after my lesson? Lord Gethin has just left to set up targets along the riding path.”
He purses his lips briefly, then reluctantly bows before turning to retreat. A few heartbeats pass while Tiernan and I stare at Iywan’s back as he moves farther away.
Tiernan finally speaks up. “If you keep putting off this discussion, I’m afraid Lord Iywan will choose a suitor for you. And if he does, I have an inkling it won’t be in your favor. He only cares about image.”
“He can’t do that,” I say.
Gethin arrives before Tiernan can rebut. “Ready?” Gethin asks. I turn away from Tiernan and nod to my archery master.
There aren’t as many candles burning in my mother’s bedchamber today.
That apprentice girl—Brenna?—is at my sleeping mother’s bedside.
Iywan observes from a short distance, but as he sees me, he bows.
Brenna, or Bertie, or whatever her name is, has the audacity to smile at me, and I clutch the tome of fairytales against my chest.
She knows something you don’t, a voice inside me whispers. Don’t trust her.
I stiffen, my breath frozen in my chest.
“No valbane today, Your Highness,” the apprentice girl says proudly.
My mother’s breathing is languid. She’s even paler, if possible. I glare at the apprentice healer. “You’re dismissed, Blawnid.”
She draws a breath to speak but simply curtsies before rushing off.
I approach my mother. “I’d like some alone time with her,” I say to Iywan.
Iywan bows again. “Yes, Princess Carys.”
As the door shuts behind him, I gently set the tome down on the side table and brush my hand across my mother’s clammy forehead. “Mother, it’s me. Carys.”
My mother’s eyes flutter, but they don’t fully open. Her lips part as though she intends to say something. No sound emerges until she clears her throat gently. “Water,” she rasps after a long pause.
“Water?” Her lips are chapped and peeling, though Brigid just walked off with a bowl. I move toward the table and grab the small pitcher of water, pouring some into a teacup before returning to my mother. “Tiernan, help me.”
He nods and leaves his post at the door to help sit my mother up, propping her against the cushioned headboard. She’s barely able to keep her head upright, but Tiernan stabilizes her as I hold the cup to her lips so she can sip the water.
A lump rises in my throat and tears threaten to escape as water drips from the queen’s mouth.
But I steel my resolve, gently wiping my sleeve across her chin to catch the water droplets.
My mother’s strength lies within her broken body like a trapped flame.
When she finally turns to me, the recognition in her brown eyes both shreds and patches my heart.
Would it be easier if that stubborn glint in her eyes ceased to exist?
Then, at least, there wouldn’t be much hope to hold on to.
I could let her go. But that’s not the case—her illness is as unpredictable as my shifting moods.
I swallow thickly. “It’s so good to see you awake.” My voice sounds strained.
A ghost of a smile appears on her haggard face. “Good to see you too.”
Tiernan’s expression is sympathetic as he takes the cup from me. I nod my appreciation and turn back to my mother just as she reaches out for my face. The little strength she’s mustered wavers, and I take her cool hand in mine, pressing it against my cheek.
“You’re still wearing your amulet,” she says, a calculating look on her face.
I blindly clasp the sun-shaped amulet resting against my chest. Its warmth radiates, as though the sun truly lives within, comforting me as always. “Of course.” My brows furrow. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Her smile turns woeful. “Because you’ve outgrown it.”
The necklace fits perfectly fine, but it’s not worth an argument, so I nod. “Alright, Mother. Shall I read you a passage from our favorite book?”
The skin around her eyes crinkles before the smile takes over her lips. “Of course, cariad.”
The term of endearment envelops me like a hug.
I sink onto the bed beside her, our shoulders touching.
I open the book somewhere in the middle, its weight shared across our laps.
Stories about selkies, serpentine beasts that hide within our lochs, and the cunning Fair Folk fill the book’s pages.
Every child grows up hearing about the will-o’-wisps that lead lost souls to their deaths—a warning to keep wee ones from wandering away from safety.
I’ve always been intrigued by banshees and, as a child, would so often imagine the keening that foretold the death of a loved one. Around the time of my brother’s death, I’d imagined seeing a dark, wraithlike creature wandering the halls of the castle.
It was perhaps how my young mind coped.
My favorite tales are the ones about Mages. Particularly the heirs of the sun goddess, Agryna—Lightweavers who saved the realm from destruction by the evil enchantress. It would be so bloody incredible to be a Mage.
I begin reading the well-known tale of “The Enchantress Queen.”
Enidwen was a lesser Mage who envied the magical prowess of her siblings. She spent her days mixing potions and tending to fevers in her village, while her siblings flaunted their magical healing abilities, curing diseases and fatal wounds.
One day, Enidwen was bathing in the River Daehan, her golden hair like the very sun that shone upon the waters, when a man rose from its depths to gaze upon her beauty.
He was clearly not of this world, but he was immediately smitten with the mortal woman.
The Otherworlder, Caedmon, dazzled Enidwen with his display of powers and his captivating physique.
He doted on her and treated her like royalty.
Enidwen very quickly became enthralled with Caedmon, and he fell deeper in love.
Caedmon told Enidwen tales of the Otherworld, where there was no sickness and no death. Enidwen beseeched him to take her back to his paradise, and he agreed with one condition.
She could never return to the mortal realm again.
Good riddance, Enidwen thought, and she departed the mortal realm with Caedmon to begin life anew in the Otherworld.