The Queen's Rising (Untitled Trilogy #1)(70)

I couldn’t refuse. “Yes, my lord king.”

“Write this: To my Dearest, Cowardly Father . . .” Lannon began in an animated voice. And when I hesitated, the ink dripping on the parchment as blackened blood, the king ground out, “Write it, Amadine.”

I wrote it, bile rising up my throat. My hand was trembling—his entire court could see me quiver like a leaf. And it didn’t help when Lord Allenach came to stand at my side, to make sure I was writing what the king dictated.

“To my Dearest, Cowardly Father,” Lannon continued. “His most gracious lordship, the king of Maevana, has agreed to allow your treacherous bones to cross the channel. I have bravely arranged it for you, after realizing how magnanimous the king is, and how much you have deceived me with stories of your past woes. I believe you and I will have to have a little talk, after the king speaks with you, of course. Your obedient daughter, Amadine.”

I signed it, signed it with tears in my eyes as the court laughed and chuckled at how cleverly scathing their king was. But I swallowed those tears; this was no place to appear weak or frightened. And I did not dare imagine Jourdain reading this, didn’t dare imagine how his face would contort when he read these words, when he realized the king had mocked and coerced me before an audience.

I addressed the letter to Isotta’s wine port, where Jourdain was keeping an eye on the deliveries. And then I stepped back, feeling as if I might collapse until a strong hand wrapped about my arm, holding me upright.

“The letter will be sent on the morrow,” Allenach said, peering down into my pale face.

His eyes were crinkled at the edges, as if he was fond of smiling, laughing. He smelled like cloves, like burning pine.

“Thank you,” I breathed, unable to stifle yet another shiver.

He felt it and gently began to escort me from the hall. “You are brave indeed coming here for a man such as MacQuinn.” He studied me, as if I were some complicated puzzle he needed to solve. “Why do that?”

“Why?” My voice was going hoarse. “Because he is my father. And he longs to return home.”

We walked out to the courtyard, into the sun; the brightness and cool wind nearly brought me to my knees again, the relief snapping my joints. Until I saw that the old man was still being whipped, tied between two posts a few yards away. His back was flayed open, his blood spilling over the cobbles. And there stood Lord Burke, witnessing the punishment, cold and silent as a statue.

I forced my eyes away, even though the crack of the whip made me jump. Not yet, I told myself. Do not react until you are alone. . . . “I need to thank you,” I said to Allenach. “For offering me a place at your home.”

“Although the royal castle is beautiful,” he replied, “I think you will find Damhan far more enjoyable than remaining here.”

“Why is that?” As if I truly needed to ask.

He offered me his hand again. I took it, his fingers politely holding mine as if he understood Valenian sensibilities, that a touch was supposed to be delicate as it was elegant. He began to lead me away, blocking my view of the flogging.

“Because I have forty Valenians lodging at my castle, for the hunt of the hart. You will feel right at home among them.”

“I have heard of the hart,” I said as we continued to walk in perfect stride with each other; I was mindful of the sheathed sword swinging at his side, as he was careful with the swell of my skirts. “I take it your forests are full of them?”

He snorted playfully. “Why do you think I invite the Valenians every autumn?”

“I see.”

“And you have come alone, with no escort?”

“Yes, my lord. But I have a coach waiting outside the gates. . . .” I led him to it, where the coachman all but blanched at the sight of Lord Allenach with me.

“My lord.” He hurried to bow. I noticed he wore a green cloak, which meant he must be one of Lannon’s.

“I would like you to bring Amadine to Damhan,” Allenach said to him as he helped me up into the coach. “You know the way, I trust?”

I settled on the bench as the lord and the coachman spoke. So I appeared at ease when Allenach leaned into the cab.

“It’s several hours of travel to Damhan,” he said. “I’ll be riding behind you, and will greet you in the courtyard.”

I thanked him. When he finally latched the door and I felt the coach bump forward, I slid deeper into the cushions with a shudder, the last of my courage slowly crumbling to ash.





TWENTY-ONE


THE MADEMOISELLE WITH THE SILVER ROSE


Lord Allenach’s Territory, Castle Damhan


I arrived to Damhan just as evening bruised the sky. The courtyard was teeming with life; liveried servants rushing about with lanterns to transport food from the storerooms, fetching water from the well and carrying stacks of firewood in preparations for the feast that night. The coachman opened the door for me, but it was Allenach who eased me to the ground.

“I’m afraid it is getting too late for a tour,” he said, and I stopped to breathe the air—burning leaves, roasting wood, and the smoke from the kitchen fires.

“A tour tomorrow, perhaps?” I requested just as a monstrously large dog came trotting up to us, nuzzling into my skirts. I froze; the dog looked like a wolf, wiry-haired and vicious. “Is . . . is that a wolf?”