Page 49 of Till Kingdom Come

He seemed to be choosing his words. “I’m really sorry, Killian. Someone should have warned you.”

Chapter Fifteen

That night before bed, I walked to the gates of the city for a breath of air. The soldiers at the standing post there looked at me curiously, but none of them dared ask me what I was doing. My own palace guards accompanied me, like they did everywhere I went these days, and as I passed, the people smiled and bowed to me. It was almost impossible to believe my circumstances had changed so drastically in such a short amount of time. I pulled my fur coat more closely around me—another radical change that had come on quickly. I’d gone from wearing homespun, scratchy wools and ill-fitting, hand-me-down boots to having velvets, furs, and soft, hand-tooled, leather shoes any time I dressed. It was like some kind of dream. The only question was whether it was a good dream or not. Like so many other things in my life, it was confusing and hard to determine.

Other things were changing in my life. I now had some magic, and it seemed to be growing stronger every day. At first, it was simple cantrips, little tricks like starting fires by snapping my fingers. Gradually, though, I had begun to try some of the simple spells in my mother’s little book that Rosheen had given me. From what I knew, which admittedly wasn’t much, it was my mother’s grimoire. It was small because she was still young and hadn’t written many spells of her own at the time she left it in Daeneid. Which was a really good thing, because it was written in simple, childlike words. Words I could read a little. But they seemed potent. And they were surprisingly easy to do. I wondered if the bit of magic I was developing helped me understand.

Not that I had tried anything major. So far, the spells had been healing ones like the one I did to help take away the toothache that one of my maidservants had. Or the small potion I’d made her for colic for her baby.

One of my bodyguards had been worrying about where his late father had left his mother’s jewelry—some small but sentimental pieces she had intended for him. His father had passed before he could tell his son where to look. One day, when he touched me as he was walking past, I saw his concern clearly in my mind’s eye, and I was able to painstakingly figure out the spell in the book to locate lost things and tell him where to look. I had to be careful now not to touch anyone’s bare skin. Otherwise, I could see all their secrets if I cared to look, and mostly I didn’t. It seemed far too intrusive.

Like I said, it was nothing big or important, but it was definitely something I hadn’t been able to do before coming here to Daeneid. I still had my mother’s locket that Rosheen had given me too, and I sometimes took it out to look at it. I wanted to see inside it, and I wished the clasp wasn’t broken. The locket was made of silver, which didn’t help a bit. Unlike some Fae, I wasn’t particularly bothered by metals like iron and silver, but they could still give me problems. I wasn’t in any hurry, though. I suspected there might be a lock of her hair, or a small painting of me as a baby or maybe one of my father inside the locket, and I was curious, but that’s all. One day, I’d find a good jeweler to open it for me. In the meantime, I had other problems more pressing.

It was freezing cold while I stood there daydreaming, but the constant smell of smoke had been in my nostrils for far too long, and suddenly I’d felt like I couldn’t breathe. Looking out at the frozen night sky, with all the stars vying to see which one could shine the brightest, I thought about everything that Hendris had told me about the curse on the throne. It was almost too much to take in. Was I doomed to follow the same path as my poor mother?

Someone should have warned you,Hendris had said.

And yet, no one had.Braccahadn’t. He’d never said a word about any kind of curse on the Blood Throne, not even a hint. I’d not been warned of any danger involved in the true-blood heir coming close enough to dribble his blood over the stone. Certainly, there was no warning that the stone had a love curse on it that would eventually take my life if I offered myself up to it. In fact, I’d been encouraged to act that same evening we first came to see the stone. What was it Bracca had said to me?

“Show them that you’re related to King Brendan, Killian, and that you carry his blood in your veins…I’ll be beside you, so you have nothing to worry about.”

Nothing to worry about… Yet Hendris had said the curse was designed to basically destroy the relationship between any true-blood Dokkalfar heir and his love, whoever that might be. Then it would go on to eventually kill the heir.

Had Bracca known about this curse? It really was hard to see how he hadn’t. He’d said himself that he had helped his father search for me for years. Yet the conclusion I inevitably drew from that knowledge was impossible to live with.

He’d told me—more than once—that he didn’t love me. Love was a human emotion and nothing I needed, he’d said. He’d “take care of me,” he’d said, and eventually he’d see to it that I had a child by some surrogate to carry on the direct line. I wondered who he meant to get. Was he going to bring someone like Fiona here for me and would I be asked to get her pregnant? Or maybe somebody else? Who would they choose? Someone they could manipulate as easily as they did me, or someone like Fiona, who wanted Bracca for herself and no doubt despised me. She probably would despise my poor child as well, if I allowed her to be involved in such a way.

Not that I’d be around long enough for anyone to worry about. The curse would kill me, and then when my child was old enough, they’d start all over again with him too. Or was it already too late? I’d been manipulated and controlled from the moment I’d come to the Liminal. I had to wonder if I was truly even in love or if my thoughts and feelings had been carefully managed and controlled since the day I met Bracca, robbing me of the ability to make a genuine choice. The curse thus had become a tool for twisting my emotions and intentions to align with Bracca’s desires. Or should I say King Larek’s? I thought there was very little difference. And very little Bracca wouldn’t do for his father.

But what could I do about it now? I could already feel the door of the trap swinging shut. I could separate from the one I loved, just like my mother had, and never have anything to do with him again. Never even see him again—and I thought that might kill me in itself. But I knew it was probably the right thing to do, the only thing to do. Did I have the strength for it? I was terrified to find out the answer.

****

Bracca

It was almost time for Killian’s coronation before we had everything ready for our return. We had chosen some of my best soldiers, and I’d personally taught them the techniques I’d learned about the Tournaments on the occasions I had gone back and forth to the mortal realm over the years. They’d been practicing, and I thought they were doing well.

We arrived outside the Dokkalfar caves late in the afternoon and set up our camp. Our large campfires lit up the night and melted much of the scant snow that was on the ground. It was growing late in the winter here, and Spring would be arriving soon. Not that it would be much warmer this far north, but at least the snowfall amounts would decrease. If we had our Tournament out here in this plain in front of Daenaid, then it was good to let the stags and men trample over the snow on the ground as much as possible anyway. We should be able to use our magic collectively to get rid of most of the rest.

I sent a couple of my lieutenants to Daeneid as soon as we’d arrived to take word to Killian that I was there and would see him as soon as the tents were raised, and the men were settled. It made more sense for us to make camp outside the city, since our group was so large. We preferred it too, rather than to stay in the small Elven inns. They returned with greetings from Killian and from Hendris and an invitation to my father and me to stay in the palace. I was expected to stay with Killian, of course. I hadn’t decided whether or not to do it. My father preferred not to, and I could have Killian come to me.

My father and I had talked things over, and we’d decided that on the day of the coronation, he and I would lead a delegation to Daeneid to attend the coronation ceremony. After the ceremony, we’d “participate” in the Tournament and that seemed like a perfect time to set our plan into motion.

Of course, our plan was to defeat the Elves and have my father crowned as king. If that didn’t work out, we would lay siege to the city and starve them out. Their presumptive king would be in my custody by that time, and I’d see to it that he signed a surrender and capitulation agreement. My father would be installed the new High King, and I’d take Killian back to my home with me.

I’d have to make sure that Killian was on my side in the melee, but that should be easy enough to arrange. He was my husband—naturally, I’d want him close to me so I could protect him. Then when we made our move and things began to get out of hand, I could make sure he didn’t try to interfere. He was taking this idea of being King of the Elves a bit too far. And that had to end.

It took another hour or so to arrange things before we could leave and go to Daeneid. Soon though, we were ready. Now that the time to see Killian again was so close, I found I was pretty anxious. I hadn’t realized it would take quite as long as it had to make our preparations, so it had been almost a month, and that was far too long.

****

Killian

The courtiers brought me word that King Larek and Prince Bracca had arrived and had refused Elven hospitality to stay in the palace. They had decided instead to stay with their men in the encampment outside. Prince Bracca had sent word that he would speak to me about it soon. I’d be interested to hear what he had to say.

I’d been kept busy all afternoon, memorizing responses to the council’s questions during the long coronation ceremony, along with walking through the pageantry of it all. I disliked it intensely, and wished I didn’t have to do any of it.

To say I dreaded it would be a huge understatement, but it was one more hoop I had to jump through apparently. It didn’t help that I’d never been properly taught much of anything. When I was growing up, it was typical for young men like me to know almost nothing of history or mathematics or even simple tasks like reading and writing.Boys from wealthy familiesattended grammar schools, while girls were primarily educated at home. Sir John was not wealthy, however, and wouldn’t have parted with his coin for schooling if he was. Sometimes wives and mothers educated children at home, but it never seemed to be a priority in our household. My old nurse taught me a little of my letters, but nothing much.

---