"My queen," Lirael murmured, kneeling swiftly.“They passed, but peacefully.I ply my trade at various houses in the realm.But more pressing matters, dark matters bring me back here, my lady.”She pressed a sealed missive into Gwendolyn's palm—wax stamped but with no crest.The handmaiden's face was pale, her thin lips bloodless, and a faint tremor shook her fingers as she rose."Forgive the intrusion, but this...it cannot wait.From Blackwood Keep, one of Lord Aldrich’s piles.Two people risked their lives to get this to me as they know I may retain some trust or even favor in your heart, my Lady.”
“Of course, always Lirael,” Gwendolyn declared looking at this woman’s earnest face, ignoring the rolled parchment in her hand.
"Then I would beg you not to ask who put this into my own hands.I have heard of sorcery that can extract the name once spoken from thine lips, so would rather never utter it.Not for my sake but for theirs.I would also beg you to trust whatever is written in what I have just delivered, though I fear its message may not be to your liking."
Gwen looked at Lirael for several seconds, seeing the earnest pleading in her dark eyes.
“Of course, Lirael.”She looked down at the roll of parchment in her hand for the first time, knowing that her life would almost certainly be changed irrevocably by the words contained within it.
Gwendolyn's heart clenched.She broke the seal with a thumbnail, her eyes scanning the cramped script—a stranger's hand, hurried and precise.The words blurred for a moment, then sharpened:
Queen's grace—eavesdropped from the postern gate as Aldrich spoke with Holt after the council’s assembly.Aldrich and cohorts will arrive for the meeting on the morrow with but one aim: to kill the prince.For the sake of your son, and the Ring, please believe these words even though they are scribed by a lowly stranger.
The parchment trembled in her grip.She had had her doubts about Aldrich and the council he had built so swiftly, but she had lacked any evidence to pin those doubts upon.
She held that evidence now in her trembling hand.She looked at Lirael and if there had been any doubt remaining as to this missive’s legitimacy, it was gone in that instant.This was not the vague shadows of rumor, but the cold architecture of betrayal.Aldrich, that velvet-clad viper, riding to her very gates with death in his train.The council meeting, ostensibly to discuss the Shield's mending, now a trap woven for her son's throat.Guwayne, who sparred in the yards even now, her son, the last ember of Thorgrin's legacy, to be taken from her.
"Lirael," Gwendolyn whispered, “you are sure…?”But she knew she needn’t have asked.That look in her eyes told her everything she needed to know.“Do you know what the message says?”
“Not exactly your lady, but I know it bodes ill for you or Prince Guwayne.”
Gwen nodded solemnly, her mind still reeling.Then she turned and went to the drawer in a chest."You must have something for your troubles…"
"No, my lady.The thought I may have played a small part in helping you is reward enough."She hesitated."I should go, my lady, I don't want my disappearance to raise any eyebrows."
“Of course.Please go to the kitchen, you will find some familiar faces as well as a full larder.Avail yourself of both before you journey.As a favor to me.”
Lirael bowed, then turned and left, quietly shutting the door behind her without another word.
Gwendolyn stared at the door for several seconds, then read the message once more.Then she crossed to the narrow window, gazing out over the moon-silvered battlements, where torches dotted the walls like fallen stars.
What was she to do?If she sent Guwayne away, what message would that send?That even King's Court was not safe.That the crown, and hence the Ring itself, was further weakened.First the Shield, then the King, now his son.The world that people had grown used to, had relied upon, was being dismantled brick by brick.
But knowing what she knew, how could she keep her son here?
She stared out into the night, but instead of seeing the city below, she saw her son’s face, and a blooded cloak.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The missive burned in Gwendolyn's hand like a coal from the hearth, its words searing deeper than any flame.She paced the solar's confines, the polished oak floors whispering beneath her slippered feet, each step a measured echo of the turmoil churning within.Moonlight slanted through the arched windows, casting elongated shadows, adding to her feeling of disquiet.
She could not bear it alone.Not this.Summoning a page with a discreet bell-pull, she dispatched him to fetch Sir Kellan, phrasing it as a routine review of the evening watch.The boy scampered off, his footsteps fading down the spiral stairs, leaving her to the fire's crackle.Minutes stretched like taut bowstrings until a firm knock resounded.
"Enter, Captain," she called, her voice steady as she folded the parchment and slipped it into her sleeve.
Kellan strode in, his frame filling the doorway, closing the door with a soft click.He bowed, fist to chest, but his gaze lifted swiftly, reading the pallor of her cheeks, the tension in her jaw.
"My queen," he rumbled."Something is amiss."It was a statement, not a question.
Gwendolyn gestured to the high-backed chair opposite her desk, pouring two goblets of unwatered wine from a decanter.She handed him one, then sank into her seat."Sit, Kellan.And listen well, for what I share could unmake us all."
He lowered himself into the chair with a creak, his flint eyes never leaving hers.She drew forth the parchment, unfolding it with deliberate care, and read the words aloud.As she spoke, Kellan's face hardened, and when she finished, silence fell, thick as the fogs that cloaked the canyon's rim, broken only by the hearth's pop and hiss.
Kellan's fingers tightened around the goblet, knuckles blanching white, but his voice, when it came, was measured.“Where is that from?”
“I cannot tell you, but I can assure you it speaks the truth.”
"Bastards," he growled, the word a low thunder."Aldrich's silver tongue has always masked a serpent's fang.But this...proof at last."He leaned forward, elbows on knees, the wine untouched."I've had my suspicions, my queen.Proudlock's tale of the north—too clean, too rehearsed.The beasts' ambush, the king's fall in the snow...it rang hollow as a cracked bell.And the survivors—Proudlock’s curs, I questioned them, and their stories had more holes than a whore’s drawers… apologies, my lady…”
