The Queen's Rising(90)

“Your mother’s letters,” was all he said.

It turned me about. It dragged me back across the floor to him, where he had set a thick bundle of letters in my chair. It made me reach for them, this tiny remnant of her, the mother I had always longed for.

I began to read them, my heart completely sundered. It was her. It was Rosalie Paquet. My mother. She had loved him, then, even though she had no inkling as to what he had done.

In one of the letters was a tiny lock of hair. My hair. A soft golden brown.

I named our daughter Brienna, out of honor for you, Brendan.

I sank to the floor, my strength leaving me. My very name was inspired by his—this devious, murderous man. I looked up at him; he stood near, watching me absorb the truth.

“What do you want with me?” I whispered.

Allenach knelt on the floor before me, took my face in his hands. Those treacherous hands. “You are my one and only daughter. And I will raise you up to be queen of this land.”

I wanted to laugh; I wanted to weep. I wanted to peel this day back, burn it, forget it had ever happened. But his hands held me steady, and I had to reckon with this wild claim he was making.

“And how, my lord, would you make me a queen?”

A dark light gleamed in those eyes. For one moment, my heart stopped, thinking he had discovered I was carrying the stone. But we were not Kavanaghs. The stone was useless to us.

“Long ago,” he murmured, “our ancestor took something. He took something that was vital for Maevana to remain a queen’s realm.” His thumbs gently caressed my cheeks as he smiled down at me. “Our House has hidden the Queen’s Canon for generations. This very castle holds it, and I will resurrect the Canon to put you on the throne, Brienna.”

I closed my eyes, trembling.

All these years, the House of Allenach had been holding the Stone of Eventide and the Queen’s Canon. My House had destroyed a lineage of queens, had forced magic to fall dormant, had enabled a cruel king such as Lannon. The weight of what my ancestors had done bowed me down; I would have completely melted to the floor if Allenach had not been holding me upright.

“But I am half Valenian,” I argued, opening my eyes to look at him. “I am illegitimate.”

“I will legitimize you,” he said. “And it does not matter if you are only Maevan in part. Noble blood flows in your veins, and as my daughter, you have a rightful claim to the throne.”

I should have denied him right then, before the temptation could set down roots within me. But the Queen’s Canon . . . we needed it. We had the stone, but we also needed the law.

“Show me the Canon,” I requested.

His hands slowly drifted from my face, but he continued to stare at me. “No. Not until you pledge allegiance to me. Not until I know that you fully deny MacQuinn.”

Oh, he was playing with me. He was manipulating me. It made me despise him all the more, that he felt the need to compete with Jourdain. That he only wanted me to flex his own power.

I will not rush into this, I thought.

So I took a deep breath, and said, “Give me the night to ponder this, my lord. I will give you my answer in the morning.”

He would respect that. He was Maevan, and a Maevan’s word was their vow. Valenians had their grace in etiquette and politeness, but Maevans had their words. Simple, binding words.

Allenach helped me to my feet. He called for a warm bath to be drawn for me back in the unicorn chamber and left me for the night. I soaked in the water until I was wrinkled, staring at the fire and hating my blood. Then I rose and dressed in the sleeping shift he had provided for me, since I had left all of my belongings with Jourdain.

I sat before the fire, the stone and locket hidden beneath the soft wool of my nightdress, and I fell captive to my own horrible thoughts.

I had arrived to Damhan tonight believing Allenach was taunting Jourdain with his claims on me. But now I knew better. . . . I was blood of his blood, a stag leaping through laurels, a cruel man’s only daughter.

And he wanted to make me into a queen.

I closed my eyes and began to draw my fingers through the tangled web that had become my life.

In order to resurrect the Canon, I would have to pledge myself to Allenach.

If I pledged myself to Allenach, I would either follow him, let him place me on the throne, or betray him and take the Canon with me to Mistwood.

If I refused to pledge myself to Allenach, I would not recover the Canon. I would still ride to Mistwood with the stone, as planned. That is, if Allenach didn’t lock me away in Damhan’s keep.

“Brienna?”

I glanced to the right, saw Cartier standing in my chamber. I had not even heard him enter through the secret door, so lost was I in my own dark contemplations. He came to my chair, knelt before me, set his hands on my knees as if he knew that I was drifting, as if he knew his touch would bring me back.

I watched the firelight kiss the golden threads of his hair, and I let my fingers rush through it, his eyes closing in response to my caress.

“He’s my father,” I whispered.

Cartier looked at me. There was such sadness in his eyes, as if he felt every blister of pain within me.

“Did you know it was him?” I persisted.

“No. I knew your father was Maevan. I was never told his name.”

I let my fingers slip from his hair and I leaned my head back in the chair, stared up at the ceiling. “He has the Canon. And he wants to make me queen.”