The Queen's Rising (Untitled Trilogy #1)(93)

hail from one of the other thirteen Houses,

that no king shall sit upon this throne

unless the queen and people choose it to be so.

Every noble daughter has a contention for

the crown I leave behind, for it is by our

daughters that we live, that we flourish,

and that we endure.

Carved this first day of June, 1268”

The room became quiet as my voice eased to the shadows, the words hanging like jewels in the air between Allenach and me. I had once believed that only a Kavanagh daughter had the right to the throne. Now I realized that Liadan had opened the crown to any noble daughter of the fourteen Houses.

Allenach was right; I did have a legitimate claim.

And then he stepped forward, his hands framing my face again, the lust for power and the throne glittering in his eyes as he stared down at me, as he saw the shade of my mother within me.

“So the House of Allenach rises,” he whispered.

“So it does, Father.”

He kissed my forehead, sealing me to his plans of destiny. I let him lead me out to the parlor and sat in the chair before the lit hearth while he poured me a chalice of wine to celebrate. I kept the Canon on my lap, let it rest along the length of my thighs, my fingers still caressing the carved words.

That was when the urgent pounding on his door finally came.

Allenach frowned, setting his bottle of wine down with a flash of irritation in his face. “What is it?” he called with pointed annoyance.

“My lord, the fields are burning!” a voice returned, muffled through the wood of the door.

I watched Allenach’s perturbed expression transform to shock as he strode across the chamber and swung open the door. One of his thanes stood there, his face smudged from smoke and sweat.

“What do you mean the fields are burning?” the lord repeated.

“The entire field of barley is taken by fire,” the thane panted. “We cannot contain it.”

“Rally all the men,” Allenach ordered. “I will be right there.”

I rushed to my feet, leaving the Canon on the chair. Allenach was striding back across the room to a door off to the side of the parlor, a door that blended into the wall, so I had not noticed it before. I trailed him, wringing my hands.

“Father, what can I do?” I asked, realizing he had stepped within his own private armory. Swords, shields, maces, spears, bows, quivers full of arrows, and axes gleamed from their places on the wall when the firelight touched them.

Allenach belted a sheathed long-sword at his side, and then he was moving back into the parlor, all but forgetting about me until he saw me standing there.

“I want you to remain here,” he said. “Do not leave my chambers.”

“But, Father, I—”

“Do not leave my chambers, Brienna,” he repeated, his voice rough. “I shall be back as soon as it’s safe.”

I watched him leave, listened to him shut the door. This was exactly as I’d hoped. Until I heard him turn a key, the sound of the door locking me into Allenach’s wing.

No, my heart pounded as I rushed to test the door, the only way out. The iron handles held fast, married to the threshold, holding me captive in my father’s chambers. I still pulled, fighting the door. It hardly budged.

I had to get out. And I had only a few ordained moments to do it.

My mind swelled with panic until I remembered the steps I had planned. I left the doomed doors and hurried to Allenach’s bedroom, straight to his wardrobe. I rummaged through his things, his clothes organized by color and fragranced with cloves and pine, and found a leather bag with a buckle and drawstrings. Back to the parlor I hurried, easing the Canon into the satchel, slipping the straps onto my shoulders, and buckling it tight to my back.

Then I went to his armored room. I chose a slender sword with an extraordinary hilt—there was an orb of amber in the pommel, and in the amber there was a black widow, frozen in time. Widow’s Bite. This sword shall suit me, I thought and belted it about my waist. I also grabbed the closest axe and returned to the locked door, swinging the blade into the wood about the iron handles. In a matter of moments, I knew this was futile. It was draining my strength and this door was hardly splintering beneath my swings.

It would have to be the window.

I returned to Allenach’s bedchamber, to the stained-glass windows. Through the colors, I could see the fire burning in the distant field, the glass translating it to an eerie green light. I held up my axe, drew in a long breath, and swung.

The window exploded around me, rained upon my shoulders and the floor as crunching teeth of color. Cold night air howled in, carrying the smoke from the fire Cartier had set, carrying the calls of Allenach’s thanes and vassals as they rushed to put it out. I worked furiously to clear all the shards of glass from the sill, and then I leaned forward to see how far I was from the ground.

This was the second floor of the castle, and still a fall like that would break my legs.

I had to return to the armored room, to snag a coil of rope. I liked to pretend that I knew what I was doing as I knotted one end of the rope to Allenach’s bedpost, which was thankfully bolted to the floor. I liked to pretend that I was calm as I eased myself to stand on the windowsill, the world beneath me a swirl of darkness, of bittersweet decisions, of broken vows, of treacherous daughters.

I couldn’t hesitate. I only had a matter of moments.