Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (19 page)

Bronwen looked out the window at the moon and sighed. She knew her husband would enter their quarters soon and expect her to join him in the marriage bed. He did so much in an attempt to please her, but she was still disgusted with the thought of sharing his bed.

“My Lady?”

“Come in, Mara,” said Bronwen, grateful it was not her husband.

Mara carried fine, silken bed linens from Ordanis, ordered before the wedding by Alric. She draped them across the chair and took the old linens from the bed while Bronwen continued to gaze at the night sky.

“Have you heard the news?”

“Hmm?” Bronwen turned from the window, lost in thought.

“Something most terrible has happened.”

“What now?” Her eyes widened.

“Apparently, on their way back to Helygen, the duke’s party was attacked by bandits.”

Bronwen gasped. Images of Rhodri’s bloody corpse, sprawled out in the dirt, raced through her mind. She was so overcome with emotion, her knees buckled and she slumped onto the bed.

“Be calm, child, the duke was not injured.” Mara put her hand on Bronwen’s arm. “He fares well.”

“Thanks be to the Maker.” She wiped her moist eyes.

“Though, something awful happened to that wife of his.”

Bronwen looked to Mara, an insidious gleam in her eye.

“As they traveled, just before passing into the border of their province, the bandits surrounded the duke’s caravan. The guards were of no match and were slaughtered with ease. Once their opposition was dealt with, they dragged the Lady Siana out of the carriage.”

“Go on.” Bronwen listened intently and suppressed a smile.

“Despite pleas from the duke, whom they held at knife point, they took turns upon her. Then, as a final act, they slit her face from ear to ear, which gave her a most unbecoming smile, to my understanding.”

“What happened?”

“Well, she is dead, of course.”

“But…‌but I did not think the Meïnir could die by means such as that.” Bronwen stood up so Mara could finish the bed.

“Apparently, the Meïnir have this odd trait‌—”

“Odd trait?”

“They call it Atynedig. It means The Withdrawn, I believe. When they suffer an enormous tragedy, a part of their spirit leaves their body, and they become an empty shell. They simply wander the world aimless. Very little, if any, of whom they were before remains. Should an event be traumatic enough, they can be killed.” Mara finished placing the blankets back on the bed. “Sleep well, my queen.”

Mara’s disaffected tone shook Bronwen, and she suddenly felt sick to her stomach. “Mara?”

“Yes?”

“How did you hear about this incident‌—‌and in such detail?”

“I saw what pain you were in when you found out Rhodri’s wife was one of them, the Meïnir.”

“So you…”

“I have taken care of you since you were a child. Logic would dictate I should take care of this matter for you as well. Good night.”

Mara left the room, and Bronwen sat upon the bed.

Rhodri’s wife was dead. A lot of good it did her now. She was married to the high king. But if she could not have Rhodri for herself, at least that Meïnir whore no longer had her claws sunken into him and Rhodri was free.

Images of Siana’s slashed face filled her mind: bloody and open, a horrific smile left by the knife’s blade. An oozing, gaping smile that she could never again close. How horrible she must have looked. What fear she must have felt.

Bronwen had not ordered it, but she was glad Mara had carried out the task. She doubled over in pain, clutching her stomach.

“Are you all right?” Alric rushed to her side, having entered unnoticed. “Should I fetch a nurse?”

Bronwen regained her composure and took a deep breath. The sour taste in her mouth subsided and she sat up. Clearly, word had not yet reached the castle of Lady Siana’s death. Bronwen must play the ignorant wife, happy to share her bed with the king.

“No, no, husband, you worry so. I am fine.”

“Is it a pang from a son?” Bronwen could hear the excitement in Alric’s voice.

“I hardly think I would feel him so soon, husband.”

“Let us retire for the night then. Perhaps fate shall shine upon us and we shall beget a son another time, when you feel in better spirits.”

“Yes, I think that best.”

As Bronwen climbed into bed, she was thankful that her husband blew out the candle and wanted only to sleep. She could feel the darkness of the room surround her, torn feelings yet again. A fleeting thought shot through her mind. If Mara had carried out such a thing, did she plot to kill Alric as well?

She took a sip of water from the cup on the bedside table.

If Mara intended such a thing, Bronwen must stop her. Alric was a good man, and wished only for her happiness. She could bear to have the death of a Meïnir on her conscience, but not the death of the high king of Cærwyn. She must speak with Mara in the morning to deter her, whatever her plans.