The Queen’s Resistance. Rebecca Ross

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ put a rightful queen back upon the northern throne, to snuff out the darkness and the terror that had become the once-glorious Maevana.

      Two other Maevan Houses had joined his secret revolution—the Kavanaghs, who had been the one magical House of Maevana and the origin of queens, and the Morganes. But Maevana was a land of fourteen Houses, as diverse as the land, each holding their own strengths and weaknesses. Yet only three dared to defy the king.

      I think it was doubt that held most of the lords and ladies back, because two precious artifacts were missing: the Stone of Eventide, which gave the Kavanaghs their magical power, and the Queen’s Canon, which was the law that declared no king was to ever sit upon Maevana’s throne. Without the stone and the Canon, how was the rebellion ever going to completely overthrow Gilroy Lannon, who was deeply rooted on the throne?

      But twenty-five years ago, MacQuinn, Kavanagh, and Morgane had united and stormed the royal castle, prepared to wage war. The success for the coup depended on taking Lannon by surprise, which was spoiled when my biological father, Lord Allenach, learned of the rebellion and ultimately betrayed them.

      Gilroy Lannon was waiting for Jourdain and his followers.

      He targeted and killed the women of each family, knowing it would take the heart out of the lords.

      But what Gilroy Lannon did not anticipate was for three of the children to survive: Luc. Isolde. Aodhan. And because they did, the three defying lords fled with their children to the neighboring country of Valenia.

      They took on Valenian names and professions; they discarded their mother tongue of Dairine for the Valenian language of Middle Chantal; they buried their swords and their northern sigils and their anger. And they hid, raising their children to be Valenian.

      But what most did not know … Jourdain never stopped planning to return and dethrone Lannon. He and the other two fallen lords met once a year, never losing faith that they could rise again and be successful.

      They had Isolde Kavanagh, who was destined to become queen.

      They had the desire and the courage to revolt once again.

      They had the wisdom of years on their side, as well as the painful lesson from the first failure.

      And yet they were still missing two things that were vital: the Stone of Eventide and the Queen’s Canon.

      That was when I joined them, for I had inherited memories from a distant ancestor who had buried the magical stone centuries ago. If I could recover the stone, magic would return to the Kavanaghs, and the other Maevan Houses might join our revolution at last.

      And that was exactly what I had done.

      All of this had happened mere days and weeks ago, and yet it felt like it had happened very long ago, like I was looking back upon all of it through fractured glass, even though I was still bruised and battered from battle and secrets and betrayals, from discovering the truth of my own Maevan heritage.

      I sighed, let my reveries fall away as I continued to regard Jourdain sitting at the table.

      His dark auburn hair was pulled back by a ribbon, which made him look Valenian, but a circlet crowned his head, a glimmer of light. He was dressed in simple black breeks and a leather jerkin with a golden falcon stitched over the breast, the proud sigil of his House. There was still a cut on his cheek from the battle, slowly healing. A testament of what we had just endured.

      Jourdain glanced down into his chalice, and I finally saw it—the flicker of uncertainty, the doubt in himself, the haunting unworthiness—and I took a goblet of cider and drew out the chair close to his, to sit at his side.

      I had grown up in the company of five other ardens at Magnalia House, five girls who had become like sisters to me. Yet these past few months surrounded by men had thoroughly taught me about their natures, or, more important, how fragile their hearts and egos were.

      I remained quiet at first, and we watched his people bring forth steaming platters of food, setting them down on the tables. I began to notice it, though; quite a few of the MacQuinns talked in hushed tones, like they were still afraid to be overheard. Their clothes were clean but threadbare, their faces deeply grooved from years of hard labor, decades absent of smiles. Several of the boys were even sneaking slivers of ham from the platter, stuffing the food in their pockets, as if they were accustomed to being hungry.

      And it was going to take time for the fear to fade, for the men and women and children of this land to heal and find restoration.

      “Does this all feel like a dream to you, Father?” I eventually whispered to Jourdain, when I felt the weight of our silence.

      “Hmm.” Jourdain’s favorite sound, which meant he was agreeing in half. “Some moments it does. Until I look for Sive and realize she is no longer here. Then it feels like reality.”

      Sive, his wife.

      I could not help but imagine what she had been like, a woman of valor, of bravery, riding into battle all those years ago, sacrificing her life.

      “I wish I had known her,” I said, sadness filling my heart. I was familiar with such a feeling; I had lived with it for many years, this longing for a mother.

      My own mother had been Valenian, having died when I was three. But my father had been Maevan. Sometimes, I felt broken between these two countries: the passion of the south, the sword of the north. I wanted to belong here with Jourdain, with the MacQuinn people, but when I thought of my paternal blood … when I remembered that Brendan Allenach, lord as he was traitor, was my blood father … I wondered how I could ever be accepted here, in this castle that he had terrorized.

      “What does this feel like to you, Brienna?” Jourdain asked.

      I thought for a moment, savoring the golden warmth of the firelight and the happiness that swelled in Jourdain’s people as they began to gather around the tables. I listened to the music Luc spun on his violin, melodious and sweet, rousing smiles from the men and women and children, and I leaned toward Jourdain, to rest my head upon his shoulder.

      And so I gave him the answer that he needed to hear, not the one that I fully felt yet.

      “It feels like coming home.”

      I didn’t realize how ravenous I was until the food was set down, platters of roasted meats and herb-sprinkled vegetables, breads softened by butter, pickled fruits, and plates of sliced cheese with different-colored rinds. I piled more food than I could possibly handle onto my plate.

      While Jourdain was preoccupied with speaking to the men and women who continually ascended the dais to formally greet him, Luc pulled his chair around so he could face Cartier and me.

      “Yes?” I prompted when Luc continued to smile at us.

      “I want to know the truth,” he said.

      “About what, brother?”

      Luc cocked his brow. “About how the two of you knew each other! And why you never said anything about it! During our planning meetings … how did you not know? As far as the rest of our rebel group went, we all believed you two were strangers.”

      I kept my eyes on Luc, but I felt Cartier’s gaze shift to me.

      “We never said anything СКАЧАТЬ