The Queen's Rising (Untitled Trilogy #1)(76)

“So,” he said, casting his gaze to the fire. “Jourdain is your patron.”

“Yes. And you are Aodhan Morgane.” I whispered that forbidden name, as if it were honey on my tongue, as if the walls might hear us. But the sound of it seemed to electrify the air between us, for Cartier looked at me, his eyes wide and bright as midsummer, and he gave me a tilt of a smile.

“So I am. And so I am also Theo d’Aramitz.”

“As well as Cartier évariste,” I added. Three different names, three different faces. All one man.

“I don’t even know where to start, Brienna,” he stated.

“Start at the beginning, Master.”

He seemed to hang on that last word—“master”—as if it reminded him of what our relationship was still supposed to be. But then he found his voice, and his story woke as an ember.

“My father defied Lannon twenty-five years ago, a story you no doubt know very well by now. I was so young I do not remember anything, but my mother and my older sister were slaughtered, and my father ran with me before the same fate could befall me. He came south to Delaroche, became a scribe, and raised me up as a Valenian. About the time that I began to beg him to let me passion, he told me who I truly was. I was not Theo d’Aramitz, as I’d thought I was. I was not Valenian. I was Aodhan, and he was a disgraced Maevan lord who had a score to settle.”

He paused. I could see him remembering his father. Cartier’s face hardened, as if the pain of that loss was still keen.

“He met with Jourdain and Laurent once a year. They began to plan, but everything they thought of was weak. All the while, I thought it was ridiculous. We all had fine, good lives in Valenia. We were safe. Why were the lords still trying to return? Then my father died, eaten up by his grief. I became a master of knowledge, and I took up a new name. I didn’t want to be found. I didn’t want to be drawn into some foolish plan for vengeance. I became Cartier évariste, and I chose to go to Magnalia because the Dowager had given us aid when we’d crossed the border. I didn’t expect her to recognize me; I had only been a small child when she had sheltered us, but all the same . . . I felt drawn there.”

“Did you tell her who you were?” I asked. Surely, she would have wanted to know it was him. . . .

“I wanted to tell her,” he replied. “I wanted to tell her that I was little Aodhan Morgane, the son of a fallen lord, and that I was alive because of her goodness. But . . . I never found the courage. I remained Cartier, as I wanted, even though I began to change. I began to think more and more of Jourdain, of Laurent, of Luc and Yseult. Of why they wanted to return. I began to think of my mother, my sister, whose blood still cries out from the ground, of the Morgane people, who have been persecuted and scattered while their estranged lord hid. I realized that to stay in Valenia, pretending that Lannon’s atrocities were not happening, was cowardly.

“I almost left Magnalia before my seven-year contract was up. I almost left, hardly able to bear my secrets, my past. Until you asked me to teach you.”

I drew in a slow, deep breath. My gaze was on his face, but he was still looking to the fire, his chest gently rising and falling.

“You asked me to teach you knowledge in three years,” he recounted, and that smile returned. He finally met my gaze, and my heart began to unravel. “You were the very challenge I needed, Brienna. I remained for you, telling myself that after you passioned, I would rejoin Jourdain and Laurent’s efforts to return north. What you asked was nigh impossible, but I was determined to see you gain what you wanted, to see you passion. You kept me so distracted I could hardly think of anything else.”

I glanced down to my hands. There was so much I wanted to say to him, and yet somehow, no words seemed worthy.

“Master Cartier,” I finally breathed, looking at him.

He was about to keep talking, his lips forming a word I would never hear. There was a soft, patterned knock on the door, and Cartier was up from his chair in a blink, motioning for me to follow him.

“You need to leave,” he whispered to me as I trailed him across the room. “This is one of Jourdain’s thanes, and for your protection . . . I do not want him to know of you.” He handed me my candelabra and drew back the tapestry.

I had all but forgotten that d’Aramitz also had a mission here, to secretly rally the remnants of Jourdain’s people. I pushed open the door and stepped into the inner passage, turning to look back at him. There was still so much we had not resolved. And he must have seen the lingering questions and desires in my gaze, for he whispered, “Come to me again tomorrow night?”

“Yes,” I murmured.

“Be careful, Brienna.” And then he lowered the tapestry and I shut the inner door.

I paused only long enough to ensure that I could not hear anything through the wall as he met with the thane, and then I began to wend my way back to my room. I had not once thought of our conversation being overheard. But I should have. He should have. Because one careless move, and Cartier and I would both be dead.

And I still had to retrieve the Stone of Eventide.





TWENTY-FOUR


THE HUNT



The following morning, I ate a hasty breakfast in the hall and then followed the trail of Valenians out to the courtyard as they waited for their horses. The mist was just beginning to burn away, and I stood off to the side and watched as Damhan’s sprawling lands woke with sun and gleaming dew.