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When she left.Had that always been part of her plan? That part seemed done in haste and desperation. When the end was nigh, she’d chosen to abandon her people to try and save her son.
Like Juliana’s own mother had planned to do.
The Queen has given me her blessing.
“But you didn’t escape,” she said, the tunnel widening. “You stayed. Why not—”
“We sent off the children, the elderly and infirm,” Iona said, “those that couldn’t fight or shouldn’t have to. But the mortal world won’t be safe from Ladrien either. We had to do something. We caught wind of an army mobilising in Winter—”
“We sent Dillon on a scouting mission,” Albert said, voice quiet. “He didn’t return.”
Juliana stopped, knowing this moment could not be put off any longer. “You don’t need to worry about the army,” she said, insides frozen. “At least, not most of them. Dillon and I found them, and we took them out.”
For a while, the tunnels turned silent, the walls shrinking around them. There was no joy in Juliana’s voice. There could be no mistake.
“Then, my boy—” Albert started.
Juliana cast her eyes downwards, wondering how much she should say, what mix of truths and lies she should utter. “He was brave, and it was quick,” she told him. “I could not have done it alone. We took out most of Ladrien’s army together, before Ladrien himself discovered us. Dillon wasn’t alone at the end,” she added, for that seemed like the most important part. “Hawthorn himself buried him.”
All this time, Albert had remained quiet, as if the news were hardly news to him at all. He must have suspected it, when he didn’t return, but to know beyond a doubt…
Slowly, he nodded his head, turned on his heels and moved onwards down the tunnel. His eyes were cast downwards with such finality Juliana wondered if he would ever raise his head again.
He will grieve later,Juliana knew.We all will.
Iona patted Juliana’s hand, her own eyes filled with tears. “Come, love,” she said.
Juliana appreciated the lack of useless words, and followed after her. The tunnel diverged into something like a warren, a series of hollow chambers of earth and roots.
“You say Hawthorn buried him?” Iona asked, brow furrowed. “But how can that be when—”
“An excellent question,” said a cool, steely voice, “and one I will have answered.”
Juliana looked up and found Miriam of Bath staring down at her, her eyes ice. She was still in full armour, her hand upon her sword as if she intended to draw it at any second.
“You’ve a tale to tell, girl, and I will hear it,” Miriam declared. “Someone betrayed Princess Serena to Ladrien, and precious few knew about her role or whereabouts. I do not wish to believe it was you, but I’d be a fool to trust in that.”
Juliana buckled. She should have been expecting this. “It was my father,” she said, voice hoarse. “My father betrayed us.”
A collective gasp went up among the audience. More crept forward out of the other tunnels, eager to hear the tale. Even Albert returned, although his eyes were misty and faraway.
Carefully, Juliana recounted the events as well as she was able, explaining her father’s role—although not his motives—her connection to Hawthorn through the dreamscape, and their plan to awaken him using Serena.
At this, Miriam punched a wall, so hard that earth fell from the ceiling.
“Ser Miriam!” Iona shrieked.
“It’s so simple,” she said, rubbing her temples. “Why didn’t I see it? She was right there when we were evacuating the castle—”
“Ladrien placed her there, and he’s had eighteen years to think this through,” Albert told her. “I would not be too hard on yourself.”
Miriam sighed, turning round to face the rest of the congregation. There were some two dozen people in attendance, crammed in around the sides, more backed up through the tunnels. Miriam seemed to look at them all.
Her eyes fell over the knights. “You,” she said, and then jabbed a finger at Juliana. “And you. Follow me.”
She swept down one of the wider paths, people hurrying out of her way, and marched into a small chamber away from the rest. A table had been set up in the centre full of maps and a curiously accurate model of the city. A war room.
Miriam rested her fists against the table. Juliana understood what was going through her mind. A strange, guilty kind of relief. She was angry at herself for not seeing a solution before, but equally so, she’d been anticipating a war.
