The Queen's Rising(39)

She didn’t have to voice the cost; I knew that Lannon was a vicious, cruel king. I knew that he killed and maimed any who opposed him. I was silent, so the Dowager softly continued, “Just because you have seen these things does not mean you must act on them. If you desire the true life of a passion, I can find a safer patron for you.”

She was giving me a choice, a way out. I didn’t chafe at her warning. But nor did I quail.

I weighed the memories, the name of Allenach, and my own desires.

I knew that sometimes a patron would adopt a passion into their family, usually years after patronage if the bond became very deep. So what the Dowager was offering was odd; she would ask this acquaintance to readily adopt me, without a previously established relationship. This felt strange to me at first, until I began to unravel what I wanted.

What did I want?

I wanted a family. I wanted to belong, to be claimed, to be loved. Furthermore, half of me was hungry to see Maevana, the land of my father. I wanted to become impassioned; I wanted my title and my cloak, which I would not receive until I took a patron. And deep within, in some quiet corner of my heart, I wanted to see King Lannon fall; I wanted to see a queen rise from his ashes.

All of these desires could be answered, one by one, if I was brave enough to choose this path.

And so I answered her without a vestige of doubt.

“Write to him, Madame.”

I listened to her quill bite the paper as she invited him to come and meet me. Her letter was short, and as she sprinkled sand over the drying ink, I felt strangely at peace. My past failures did not seem to weigh so heavily upon me any longer. That difficult, uncertain night at the solstice suddenly felt like years ago.

“You know what this means, Brienna.”

“Madame?”

She set down the quill and looked at me. “Your grandfather cannot know of this. Cartier cannot know of this.”

My mind went blank, and my fingers tightened on the armrests. “Why?” The word scraped up my throat.

“If you choose Aldéric Jourdain as your patron,” the Dowager explained, “you will begin a very precarious mission to recover the stone. If Lannon so much as catches wind of this, your life is forfeit. And I cannot let you leave my protection, my House, with the fear that someone may inadvertently expose you. You must leave Magnalia House quietly, secretly. Your grandfather, your master, and your arden-sisters must not know who you are with, or where you are.”

“But Madame,” I began to protest, only to feel my arguments die, one by one, in my heart. For she was right. No one must know the patron I accepted, especially if that patron was going to use my memories to find the stone that would bring down a cruel king.

Not even Cartier.

The cut on my arm flared when I remembered what he had said to me in the garden, the day he departed. I wouldn’t dare let you leave with a patron I have not met face-to-face.

“Madame, I worry that Master Cartier . . .”

“Yes, he will be exceedingly vexed to discover you have left without word. But once all of this is resolved, it will be explained to him, and he will understand.”

“But he has my cloak.”

The Dowager began to fold the letter, preparing to address it. “I fear you will have to wait to receive it, until all this passes.”

There was no certainty that it would pass, or how long it would take. A year? A decade? I swallowed as I watched the Dowager warm her wax over a candle.

I imagined Cartier returning to Magnalia at the start of autumn, wondering why I had not written to him, wondering why he had not been summoned. I could see him step into the foyer, the leaves trailing him; I could see the blue of his cloak and the gold of his hair. Saints help me, I could hardly bear to think of him discovering that I had left without a word, without a trace. As if I did not appreciate the passion he had sparked in me, as if I did not care for him.

“Brienna?”

She must have sensed my turmoil. I blinked away the glaze of my agony and met her gentle stare.

“Do you wish for me to recant this letter? As I said, you can easily choose another path.” She held the edge of it to the flame, to burn it if I so wanted.

Recant the letter and disregard my ancestor’s memories. It was like a forbidden piece of fruit, dangling on the vine, now that I knew how many I would have to leave in the dark. My grandpapa. Merei. Cartier. I might not ever receive my cloak. Because Cartier might shred it.

“Do not recant the letter,” I determined, my voice rasping.

As she poured a dab of wax on the envelope, she said, “I would not take such strict precautions—I would not ask you to leave so quietly—if Lannon’s spies did not lurk about Valenia. With the tensions rising between our two countries, with publications like the Grim Quill . . . Lannon feels threatened by us. He has men and women who dwell among us, ready to whisper names of Valenians who openly oppose him.”

“Lannon has spies here?” I countered, hardly able to believe it.

“You have been very sheltered at Magnalia, dear one. King Lannon has eyes everywhere. Now you might understand why your grandfather was so adamant about sheltering you from the name of Allenach. Because he did not want you to be claimed unto their House. Because he wanted you to look and feel as Valenian as possible.”

Oh, I understood. It didn’t make it any sweeter to digest.

My father must be one of Lannon’s staunch supporters. He could be anyone, from the groom to the yeoman to the castle chamberlain. Many lords’ vassals took on his last name to show their unwavering allegiance. Which meant I was about to wage war against him; I was about to become his enemy before I even knew him. And so I leaned forward and took the edge of the Dowager’s table, until she met my gaze.