The Queen's Rising(41)

“I . . . I am not sure, monsieur,” I replied. “I saw no other distinguishing landmarks. It was a very dense forest.”

“Is it possible for you return to the memories? Revisit them just as vividly?”

“I do not know. I have only experienced the shift three times, and there is little I can do as far as controlling them.”

“It seems that Brienna must make a connection to her ancestor,” the Dowager inputted. “Through one of her senses.”

“Hmm.” Jourdain crossed his legs, his finger absently stroking the scar on his chin. “And your ancestor’s name? Do you, at least, know that?”

My eyes flickered to the Dowager once more. “His first name begins with a T. As for his last name . . . I believe it was Allenach.”

Jourdain went very still. He was not looking at me, but I felt the ice of his gaze, a bitterness so cold it could sunder bone. “Allenach.” The name—my name—sounded very rough on his tongue. “I take it you hail from that House, Brienna?”

“Yes. My father is Maevan, serves beneath that House.”

“And who is your father?”

“We do not know his full name,” the Dowager lied. She lied, for me, and I could not help but sag in relief, especially after seeing Jourdain’s apparent disdain for the Allenachs. “Brienna was raised here in Valenia, with no ties to her paternal family.”

Jourdain settled deeper in his chair and took his glass once more. He swirled the rosy liquid about, deep in his own thoughts. “Hmm,” he hummed again, a sound that must mean he was perturbed by his contemplations. And then he looked at me, and I swore there was a touch of wariness in his gaze, as if I was not nearly as innocent as I had once been upon entering, now that he knew half of my heritage.

“Do you think you could guide us to the location of the Stone of Eventide, Brienna?” he asked after what felt like a season of silence.

“I would do my best, Monsieur,” I murmured. But when I dwelled on what he was asking, I felt the weight of an uncertain territory come to rest on my shoulders. I had never seen Maevana. I hardly knew anything about the Allenachs, or their land and woods. The old oak was marked by a T.A., but there was no assurance that I could comb through a forest and find such a tree.

“I want to make myself very clear,” Jourdain said after draining the last of his cordial. “If you accept my offer of patronage, it will be nothing as you expect. Yes, I would honor the binds of patronage, and I would take you as my own daughter. I would care for you and protect you, as a good father should. But my name comes with risks. My name is a shield, and beneath it are many secrets that you might never learn but all the same must guard as if they were yours, because it could mean something as vital as life or death.”

I stared back at him steadily, and asked, “And who are you, Monsieur?”

“To you? I am merely Aldéric Jourdain. That is as far as you need to know.”

By the Dowager’s shifting, I knew that she knew. She knew who he truly was, who the man beneath Aldéric Jourdain was.

Was he refusing to tell me for my own protection? Or because he did not trust me, with my Allenach roots?

How could I accept a patron if I did not know who he truly was?

“Are you a Kavanagh?” I dared to ask. If I was about to find the Stone of Eventide, I wanted to know if my patron father had the old dragon blood. Something sat wrong in my mind when I thought about recovering the stone only to restore his magic. I was not going to take the crown from Lannon only to give it to another king.

A smile softened his face; a gleam sparked in his eyes. I could tell I had amused him when he replied, “No.”

“Good,” I responded. “If you were, I don’t think this arrangement would be wise.”

The room seemed to grow colder, the candlelight receding as my implication clearly manifested. But Aldéric Jourdain hardly flinched.

“You and I want the same thing, Brienna,” he said. “We both desire to see Lannon removed, to see a queen ascend. This cannot happen if you and I do not unite our knowledge together. I need you; you need me. But this choice is ultimately yours. If you feel that you cannot trust me, then I think it best we part ways here.”

“I need to know what will happen once I find the stone,” I insisted, worry crowding my thoughts. “I need your word that it will not be misused.”

I expected a long-winded explanation. But all he said was, “The Stone of Eventide will be given to Isolde Kavanagh, the rightful queen of Maevana, who is currently in hiding.”

I blinked, stunned. I had not expected him to give me her name; it was an extraordinary measure of trust, since I was as much a stranger to him as he was to me.

“I know what I am asking you to do is precarious,” Jourdain continued gently. “The queen knows this as well. We would not expect any more than for you to help us find the location of the stone. And afterward . . . we would pay you abundantly.”

“Do you think I want riches?” I asked, my cheeks warming.

Jourdain merely stared at me, which made my blush deepen. Then he asked, “What do you want, Brienna Allenach?”

I had never heard my first and last name vocally acknowledged, linked together as summer and winter, given to the air, musical as it was painful. And I hesitated, battling what I thought I should say and what I desired to say.