Page 40 of The Queen's Huntsman
Undaunted by Málik’s scowl, the Faerie’s eyes glinted with unbridled delight despite his displeasure. And then, suddenly, he bounded to his feet, rushing to her side, pulling her away, into an adjacent room. But he didn’t have to force her. It was as though she glided backward at his touch, as gracefully as a flame bowed by a breeze.
“Lovers!” declared the elderly Druid and his gaze returned to Gwendolyn.
Gwendolyn swallowed.
She had already surmised as much, but her heart ached to hear it even so. So, then, wasshethe reason Málik could not offer Gwendolyn his heart?
There was nothing about their interaction that was the least unfamiliar. Gwendolyn could still see them through the arched doorway, their faces intimately close, their bodies so attuned to one another, and she couldn’t help but gawk, peering back and forth between the Druid and the couple in question. To her it appeared they spoke entirely with their minds, their animated gestures the only clues to what was being said. He was not happy. She did not care.
All this time, the Faerie’s smile never wavered, and neither did she peer back into the hall at Gwendolyn, so certain was she of her worth. Gwendolyn should take a lesson from her.
“I never had the good fortune to meet your father,” said the elder Druid, catching Gwendolyn’s attention with a wave of his hand. “But I admired him greatly. He did not deserve such an ignoble end.”
Unbidden, tears pricked at Gwendolyn’s eyes. “Thank you,” she said, swallowing her grief, but whether that grief was for her father, or over the couple she couldn’t help but steal glances at, she wasn’t entirely certain. And yet, what the druid said was true. Her father did not deserve to find his head on a pike. Sickly as he’d been, he should have lived out the rest of his days until he was called to rest. And then he should have quit this world with dignity, with a king’s farewell, horns sounding, and drummers strumming. At the very least, he should have had a proper tomb, with a hero’s interment, his grave filled with all the things he would need in the Afterlife.
This was the way of her people. While the pyre was preferred for common folk, on the off-chance that duty called him again, and the gods should wish to restore a king to his throne, he should rest with his armor and his sword.
Instead, his head sat withering in the sun, with crows pecking at his eyes, and his body… well, no one knew where that was, or at least no one had said. Knowing Loc, Gwendolyn suspected he’d ordered her father interred in some common grave, with no one to speak his rites.
The thought turned her belly and tore at her heart.
Wrenching her gaze away from Málik once and for all, she asked herself why she should care about love when there was still vengeance to be had.
The elder Druid studied her another moment, before saying, “If you’ll pardon me for saying so,Banríon Dragan, I see you still wear your child’s cloak. But it does not suit you.”
Blinking, Gwendolyn opened her mouth to tell him that nay, this was Málik’s cloak she wore, but then she remembered that she’d given him back the cloak, and she was wearing none.
The elder man’s eyes twinkled with mirth as he watched her, and Gwendolyn understood suddenly that the cloak he spoke of was metaphorical.
“You cannot rage against the Moirai,” he said. “Instead, you must seek the thread and staff, the spindle and the scroll, the shears and Book of Fate. They are now yours to wield.”
Like Málik sometimes did, he spoke in riddles.
The Morai were the Fates, and their sister, Aether, was the Goddess of Gwendolyn’s people. Her name was the essence of life. But Gwendolyn did not know of threads, or staffs, or spindles or scrolls. Even so, the Druid’s advice was soundly given without the least antipathy, and Gwendolyn took it in good faith. He was such a strange old fellow.
The robes of his order were bright white, brighter than any white she had ever seen before, made all the brighter by the light that entered this dwelling—a strange blue-green hue that owed its color to the trees and swirling mist. He, too, wore the ear sheathes, delicately carved, and fitted closely to his ears, as though he meant to pass them off as his own.
Clearly, he wasn’t through with his lessons. “Grief is a boon not meant for queens or kings,” he continued. “Neither is love nor hate. These are emotions that will cloud your reason. Rather, your greatest love must be this land, and your joy begot by its stewardship.”
Gwendolyn considered the elder man’s words as best she could, her gaze returning against her will to the couple in the adjacent room.
She had been little more than a bundle of emotions for so long—fury, grief, sorrow, doubt, and even fear. She knew these things had all clouded her judgment, but she did not agree that a king or a queen must live a loveless life. Her mother and father had had such a great love, and Gwendolyn once hoped for the same.
The Druid was still watching her, Gwendolyn realized, but she had no chance to ask what thoughts gave his lips such a knowing curl, because Málik returned with the woman at his heels.
The Faerie slid forward to embrace Gwendolyn, every motion as graceful as her form. “Gwendolyn,” she purred, her voice warm, like a swim in a Porth Pool. “You are indeed as lovely as I’ve been told.”
Surprised by the compliment, Gwendolyn said, “Thank you.”
But, really, she’d never felt less lovely than she did at the moment, and this was saying quite a lot, considering that betimes in her life she’d felt rather hideous based on the actions of others. But there was absolutely nothing about this woman’s demeanor that gave her pause. She clearly meant it, and Gwendolyn found she liked her, even if she was a rival for Málik’s affections.
“I am Esmerelda,” the Faerie said, pressing a cheek against Gwendolyn’s face, her skin as warm as Málik’s. “You may call me Esme.”
“Hello, Esme,” Gwendolyn said.
“Come now,” the Faerie demanded, taking Gwendolyn by the hand and drawing her away. “Let us visit whilst the men converse. You know how they can be—self-important and full of blether. You and I have far more important matters to attend.”
Disinclined to be separated from Málik, Gwendolyn peered back at him desperately, but when he gave her a nod, she went. Reluctantly.
