Home > The Lost Queen (The Lost Queen Trilogy #1)(4)

The Lost Queen (The Lost Queen Trilogy #1)(4)
Author: Signe Pike

Over and over I heard her voice, and her warning.

Suddenly a rap on the door sounded, and Cathan looked up, smoothing his robes in annoyance. “Why is it they insist on interrupting?”

My cheeks flushed as I realized I hadn’t been listening for quite some time.

“Enter,” Cathan sighed.

“Your pardon, Master Cathan”—my father’s man bowed—“but a rider has come.”

Lailoken’s eyes caught mine.

“Yes, yes. We all heard the horn, didn’t we?” Cathan said. Truth be told, Cathan became so enraptured in lessons that he would scarcely have noticed if the building caught flame. But he nodded to our guard nonetheless, motioning for us to follow.

“Come on, then. I suppose we shall have to continue our lesson later.” He bent to collect his leather satchel, grumbling somewhat mockingly, “A rider has come.”

Lailoken ducked through the door, but not before Cathan fixed him with a shrewd gaze, giving his head a playful swat.

“Couldn’t have warned me, eh, Lailoken?”

• • •

Father stood in the courtyard in the same woolen tunic he’d been wearing for days, his beard sprouting down his neck and his wavy auburn hair hanging about his shoulders. My father was a warrior first and a king second, but my mother had always minded he dress in the robes befitting a lord. Now he was beginning to look as wild as a Pict. Still, his brown eyes brightened at the sight of us. The weak afternoon sun did little to warm the air, and I leaned into the bulk of him as he drew me close, hungry for his warmth. The Song Keepers sang that my father’s clan was descended from giants. He stood a full three heads taller than most men, and broader, too, which had only made my mother—slight and small-boned—appear more like a bird. Would that I were half as graceful as she was. Instead, my limbs had grown lanky alongside my brother’s. I had taken to slouching so I might not appear so tall. Now as the sound of hoofbeats came closer, I stood straight—for her—as the guards shouted something I could not hear.

Father scanned the courtyard and realized someone was missing.

“Gwenddolau!” he called.

A moment passed and my foster brother appeared in the courtyard, out of breath and running with sweat, his beloved falcon still tethered to his arm. Our cousin Brodyn, Brant’s younger brother, jogged easily by Gwenddolau’s side.

“She nearly caught an otter,” Gwenddolau said, stroking his bird, but where there might have been joy his voice fell flat. He pushed his golden hair from his face. “Apologies, Father. We came as soon as we heard the horn.”

“And just in time,” Father said, but not unkindly.

Gwenddolau and Brodyn had been falconing again. It seemed all Gwenddolau did these days was hunt with his falcon or swing his sword, as if he could beat back Mother’s death with the quarries of his bird or the hacking of his blade.

I’d heard Mother tell Gwenddolau that he, too, was her own. Fostering might be a tradition meant to strengthen alliances between families, but Gwenddolau was as much a brother to me as Lailoken was. He taught me to catch and carry his bird; he taught Lail to grip his first sword. He pointed out wolf tracks in the forest and the best fishing holes for trout. Even though he was fourteen winters, he still took time to play with us. Gwenddolau’s falcon shifted her wings, smoothing her brown feathers, and he came to stand at my side, his eyes fixed anxiously on the tall courtyard gate. I hadn’t even thought of it. What if this rider bore ill news of Gwenddolau’s father? After all, Ceidio was at war. Ceidio had been rightful king in the eastern lands of Ebruac before he was betrayed by his brother and forced into exile.

Now Gwenddolau’s uncle ruled, and Father said his name as if it had a bitter taste.

Eliffer.

The timber gate groaned on its hinges and issued a rider into the courtyard, his cloak caked in dirt and the flanks of his horse frothing with sweat. He swung easily from the saddle, passing his horse off to our groom, and a fragment of light caught the brooch pinned at his chest. A noble stag gleamed from a thicket of silver interlace. Brant and Brodyn wore the same: a mark of fealty sworn to my father, a talisman that gave proof of King Morken’s protection.

Father strode forward to clasp the messenger’s arm.

“Oren, you are most welcome. Come. Dust yourself off and come into the warm.”

“Morken, King,” Oren gripped his arm in return. “I was sorry to hear news of our lady Idell.”

“I thank you,” Father said, glancing away. “Please. Come inside.”

Oren bowed to Cathan and unfastened his muddy cloak to follow us through the courtyard.

Even if Oren bore no ill news of Gwenddolau’s father on this day, it would be only a matter of time before Gwenddolau left us. He’d been sent to my father to be raised up out of harm’s way, and next summer he would turn fifteen—when a boy became a man. Though Gwenddolau loved us, he was the rightful heir to a fiefdom and his father had been wronged. When the time came, Gwenddolau would ride off to make war. He had many reasons, it seemed, to hack with his sword.

Inside Cadzow Fortress the oil lamps had been lit and the high beams and dark timber walls flickered with light. Lailoken and I took our seats at the end of the sprawling table, where we were meant to watch but not speak, as Father raised his hand, signaling for ale to be brought. Oren drank deeply, but there was an air of impatience about him that left my stomach twisting beneath my ribs. Cathan drummed the pads of his fingers on the table, his blue eyes dark.

“What news, then?” Father asked. “You arrived in much haste.”

“Yes, my king. I rode out as soon as I heard. There has been an uprising. Ida the Angle has taken Vortigern’s kingdom.”

Father slammed his fist on his chair, and I jumped. “Vortigern, the fool! To invite them behind his ramparts, give them silver to protect his kingdom. To bed that bastard Ida’s daughter. Brutish men. Landless,” he shouted. “Happy to settle on even the most unfit plot of soil and so gain a foothold in our country.”

“And so it would seem they have gained much more than a foothold now,” Cathan stood. “Had we not foretold this? Consumed by greed, controlled by fear. It was a deafened ear Vortigern turned to our warning.”

“I fear no amount of prophecy will aid us now,” Father said. “The old ways are lost to him. He cares only for women, riches, and his own sallow hide.” He turned to the messenger. “Tell me, Oren. What is the state of things?”

“Vortigern has left Bryneich and retreated to his fortification on the Liddel Water that lies heavily guarded. His people were left to fend for themselves. Angle warriors swarmed the land, burning houses and watchtowers, rendering villages to ash. Vortigern’s lords have fled from their lands—some go to Gaul, others seek shelter in Partick, or King Tutgual’s fortress at Clyde Rock. In their wake these Angles leave nothing but fire. Pooled blood and body parts. Women and young children are cut down by the sword. Babies, even, are dashed against rocks.”

I shrank in my seat and Father stiffened, inclining his head toward us.

“Apologies”—Oren dipped his head—“but I mean to say they do not spare a single innocent. People flee. Some, being taken in the mountains, are murdered in great numbers. Those seeking shelter at Vortigern’s fortress are turned away. Without warmth or livestock, they are left to freeze. To starve.”

Hot Books
» House of Earth and Blood (Crescent City #1)
» A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire
» From Blood and Ash (Blood And Ash #1)
» A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime
» Deviant King (Royal Elite #1)
» Den of Vipers
» House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City #2)
» Sweet Temptation
» The Sweetest Oblivion (Made #1)
» Chasing Cassandra (The Ravenels #6)
» Wreck & Ruin
» Steel Princess (Royal Elite #2)
» Twisted Hate (Twisted #3)
» The Play (Briar U Book 3)
» The War of Two Queens (Blood and Ash #4)