Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (31 page)

He knew Connor would have arrived in Helygen, but word would take several days to reach Cærwyn. Rhodri would be thankful to have his brother there. Time together would serve both of them well.

Upon the brink of war, Alric took comfort in knowing Helygen would abstain. Though Braith might demand it, he would not call for Helygen troops. Helygen could not risk it. Many followers of the Old Ways remained in the province, including Rhodri and Declan Morehl. If pressed, the people might support the defense of Arlais and turn against Cærwyn and Annwyd. If that were to happen, Alric knew Braith would have no qualms about slaughtering the lot of them.

“Husband?”

Alric smiled when he heard Bronwen’s sweet voice enter the room.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, my love.” He turned to face her. “I was thinking of Connor.”

“Oh?”

“He should be in Helygen by this point.”

“That will be good for him.”

“Yes, and his brother as well.”

“Do not worry.” Bronwen took his hand. “Rhodri is a strong man. He will be fine. Are you well?”

“My mind races.” He wiped sweat from his brow, despite the chill of autumn in the air. “This talk of war, it worries me immensely.”

“We cannot simply condone their actions,” she said. “We must lash out at those who attacked us and injured your nephew.”

“Aye.”

Alric studied her flawless face. Bronwen was so young. She did not yet understand the repercussions this war would have on their people. He feared she would come to know it all too soon.

“Come,” she said. “Let us eat. You must be hungry.”

“I shall join you downstairs in but a moment, my love.”

Alric watched her leave the room before he returned his gaze to the landscape as her footsteps tapped the staircase. The air felt as though it was filled with salt this day. Since awakening, he had been struck with a terrible thirst that he could not quench. He reached for the goblet on the table and greedily drank the water.

His thoughts once again returned to Connor and Rhodri. He would have preferred they were in Cærwyn, but Connor had been so emphatic about leaving, he could not object. And, in truth, he did not think the young Gawain of Gweliwch would leave with all his men, which would have given him an excuse to forbid Connor from leaving. Now, he wished he had insisted on sending for Rhodri.

But if he had sent for Rhodri, it would not have been appropriate. It would have given the people of both Helygen and Cærwyn need to worry. It would have made Rhodri and him appear weak, and that was the last thing the people would need on the brink of war.

Alric decided to visit Connor’s room. He had not been in it since the boy left, worried it would have been too painful to see it without Connor’s belongings. He needed something to cling to now that his only son, in essence, was gone.

He stood at the door, staring at the wood grain for some time before he mustered the strength to turn the handle.

The light from the windows was all that kept the shadows back. He looked out, down to Connor’s garden. But was it still his? On some level, he did not believe Connor would ever return to Cærwyn.

He pulled his heavy robes tightly around himself. Cold air blustered into the room. The servants had not bothered to keep a fire, as there had been no need. After he lit a rushlight on the bedside table, he could see they had not bothered with cleaning either.

What was that?

Connor’s items laid scattered about, some strewn across the bed and some on the floor. But he would not have left without his things.

There must have been some sort of struggle.

Alric spun around, his heart racing. He had not seen Connor off, had he? He could not remember. But surely Connor would never have left without saying farewell. Did he?

A bloody smeared handprint stained the floor.

His head spun as he choked on the dryness in his throat. “Connor!”

Sharp pains shot up his arm and he slumped over the bed, panting. He attempted to cry out for help, but no sound emerged.

* * *

Bronwen placed her elbows on the table, resting her head in her hands. Alric should have been down to eat by this time. She felt as though she would starve, but could not eat without the high king. It was not proper decorum. Her stomach rumbled as she eyed the food upon the table.

She had grown fond of Alric. She had not experienced such kindness before. She knew her father loved her, but he had always been too busy for her until these recent developments. When he left Cærwyn with his men, she worried she would feel alone, despite Mara staying with her. Alric was of great comfort, however. He doted on her every whim. He did not even argue when she asked to dismantle Connor’s garden, even though she ended up not bothering.

Her stomach growled again.

“Enough of this waiting.” She left the table and hurried up to their bedroom, calling out to her husband.

Alric was nowhere in sight. It was then that she saw Connor’s door open. She headed toward it, arms crossed. What must she do to rid that boy from Alric’s mind?

“Husband, I‌—”

The setting sun dimly lighted the room. The smell of a recently burnt rushlight filled the air.

“Husband?” Bronwen saw him lying on the bed. She swallowed, a lump in her throat. Slowly, she reached out and touched him.

He did not respond.

She shook his arm slightly, but he still did not wake. She felt the air escape from her lungs and she doubled over in pain. She did not even hear the sound of her own scream until she felt Mara’s arms around her.

“Hush now, child.”

“Mara, is he‌—?”

“Yes.”

Bronwen felt immense guilt as she held onto Mara. She had wanted Alric dead in order to marry Rhodri. She wanted it for some time. Now he was dead.

“I feel so dirty,” she wailed.

“Why?” Mara looked down at her, still attempting to comfort the girl.

“I wanted this‌—”

“Be silent!” Mara whispered. “The servants of this castle hear everything. Do not utter such words. You are the queen. You must not be overheard saying such things.”

“What do we do?”

“I will alert Father Andras. Once he has seen the body, word will be sent to Duke Helygen and funeral rites will be held.”

“And Rhodri will come to Cærwyn.”

“Yes, to be crowned high king.”

“Mara?”

“Yes?”

“Send word to my father. He will convince Rhodri to marry me for the good of the people.”

“I am not so certain you will need his influence, but I shall send a messenger nevertheless.”

“Thank you.”

“Take heart, child, everything is turning out just as it is meant to. You will be Rhodri’s queen, I have no doubt.”

“Thank you, Mara.”

“Come now.” Mara helped her up from the floor. “Let us leave this room.”

Madoc lounged, fingers drumming on his father’s throne, his fingernails gouging into the soft patina of the armrest. He looked toward the door, waiting for his advisor, Steward Tristram, to return. He knew his father was currently en route to Annwyd, and he had mixed feelings about the matter. He enjoyed the immense amount of power he wielded through Tristram in his father’s absence, but he also loved and admired his father, and had missed his company terribly since his departure to Cærwyn for the clansmeet.

He threw his legs over the arm of the throne, looking up at the flickering candlelight from the four-spoked chandelier. It danced upon the wooden beams and cast shadows above. He adjusted his high collar, struggling to loosen the damnable thing. While thankful for the warmth the heavily brocaded tunic provided, he found the collar too high and stiff, irritating his chin. He must keep up appearances, however, especially while his father was absent.

Since he was born, he had been through preparations to become the king of Annwyd. There had never been a time that he did not know of his obligations. He would rather learn the ways of a warrior in order to cull the savagery from the land, but his father insisted the future king of Annwyd must be taught properly in the ways of their people. Therefore, Madoc spent most of his days indoors, cloistered away with his tutor. His lessons of late concerned philosophy, which was, in essence, religious studies of The Maker and His teachings. His father started to train him in combat before the clansmeet, but when he left, Madoc’s training stopped, and he longed for it; hence his ambivalence toward his father’s return.