Trials of the Hierophant: Vol. II of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (5 page)

She looked at him, her thoughts drowning out the sound of his voice. She watched as the soft stubble of his unkempt face caught on the top of his lip as he spoke. She loved him. Despite all of it, she still loved him.

“If you will excuse me, my lord husband, I will take my leave from your table.” Bronwen stood, ignoring the stunned faces of the council who believed a woman should not interrupt their arguments. “Talk such as this is for men, and I have grown tired.”

Rhodri gave her a quick nod before he returned to the conversation, and she left the hall.

She did not know why she had chosen to join him this night. Perhaps she had grown tired of taking her meals alone in her quarters. Now, she longed to sit in the warmth of her bedroom in front of the roaring fire. Her feet ached and her back felt as though she had slept beneath a stampede of stallions.

Her legs were still unaccustomed to the added weight of her womb, something she took notice of as she lumbered her way up the central staircase to the second floor.

The room was warm and cheery with the fire burning brightly. The heavy tapestries which covered the window had been pulled back, per her orders. While she enjoyed the warmth of the hearth, she still had hot spells, and the room grew far too closed for her liking. The fresh winter air was a blessing in all but the deadest night.

“Are you well?” Mara asked as she carried a warm pitcher of water into the room. “I heard you left the hall. Did you wish to sup alone?”

“I could not bear to listen to them argue politics any longer.” Bronwen turned to face her.

“You have always enjoyed political tidings.” Mara poured the water from the pitcher into the bedside basin before setting it down and wiping her brow. “But, with child, I am sure you tire far more easily.”

“Yes, thank you, Mara,” Bronwen said with genuine gratitude. The warm water would be a welcome comfort.

“Are you certain you are well?” Mara studied her. “You do not seem yourself.”

“I could say the same of you‌—‌winded from carrying a pitcher of water.” Bronwen sat on the bed and reached for the cloth draped over the side of the basin. “I feel uncertain as of late.”

“What ails you, child?”

Bronwen paused to gather her thoughts, but felt the words pour from her mouth. “I miss my father. I miss Annwyd. This place, even after all these months, it is still so foreign to me. It has grown cold, distant.”

“It will take time.” Mara sat down on the small stool beside the hearth, her hands on her knees.

“Mara, did you send a messenger to my father?”

“Of the child? Yes, m’lady. He left earlier today.”

“That is good. My father will be pleased at his status as grandsire. More so should I give birth to a son, but he will be pleased nonetheless.”

“I am certain he shall send tribute to you and the High King at the joyous news. Gweliwch and Helygen will surely send tributes as well.”

“Mara, do you think it wise to have sent messengers to them?” Bronwen placed her hand on her belly. “What if they seek to harm me or the heir to Cærwyn?”

“It would be far more unwise to exclude either province from the announcement of the High King’s firstborn. We live in a most precarious political climate, and it would not be best for either Gweliwch or Helygen to think they had been scorned by the kingdom. Worse yet for them to think Cærwyn was aligning itself to Annwyd and forgetting its provinces.”

“That is true.” She wiped the cloth across the back of her neck, leaning forward to allow the water to trickle into the basin.

“It is bad enough that your husband is lacking in his duties.”

“What do you mean?” Bronwen already knew the answer. She too had noticed how Rhodri had not only withdrawn from their marriage, but also ignored his duties as High King.

Mara frowned. “Do not play the fool, it does not suit you.”

“I feign ignorance to the goings-on of the kingdom. I do not feel it wise to appear more knowledgeable than the High King.”

“That may be true for others, but you should know after all this time that you may speak candidly with me.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Do not be so sure that Cærwyn would reject a queen as their ruler.”

“What?” Bronwen scoffed. “Mara, have you lost your faculties? You have seen how Rhodri’s advisors treat me.”

“Cærwyn is not Annwyd, my dear. Allow yourself your own advisors. If Rhodri refuses, or is unable to rule, you must guide this kingdom to prosperity. He could sit as a mere figurehead while you lead from his side.”

“Do not think that your suggestion has not entered into my thoughts before this time. You know I have dreamt of ruling as High Queen and not queen consort since I was a child, but, Mara, that was long before I knew of the political ramifications of such things. I was but a child then. I know better now.”

“You do not seem yourself.”

“Perhaps I am not myself.” Bronwen took a deep breath. “I sometimes forget who I am. My husband’s advisors believe me to have the power to sway his decisions. I feel that all eyes are upon me. My gown has many lengths of linen and yet I feel naked to the world.”

“My Queen.”

Queen, she thought. Her mind had been so clouded as of late that she had forgotten what the term meant. Perhaps she had never known and was only now learning.

“Bronwen.” Mara’s tone softened. “You wished for power, and now you have all the power one could hope for. It is time for you to wield it and carve out the future for us all.”

Bronwen stayed silent. She knew Mara was right. She must reign with exacting resolve. Rhodri was no king‌—‌he was more like a child in many ways. In her gut, she knew the reason for his withdrawal, but she dare not speak it aloud. Rhodri still missed his first wife. She could hardly bear the thought. Were she to hear the words, she would not be able to hold back her tears. She could not bring herself to blame Rhodri for his actions, however. Siana had bewitched him and stolen part of his soul. That was why he appeared so hollow now. It was not his fault, it was that harpy’s. Rhodri was hers now though, and she loved him enough for the both of them. She could ignore his coldness as long as he stayed near.

“Bronwen?” Mara’s voice brought her back from her daydream.

“I am fine.”

Mara stood before her, waiting for Bronwen to continue, but the queen did not elaborate. “Very well.” She curtly took her leave from the room.

After the door closed, Bronwen heaved a heavy sigh. Though she loved Mara more than any other, she found the woman to be taxing as of late.

Bronwen wistfully turned to the window to gaze out at the north. The towers of the castle were in dark silhouette against the blood red sunset, and cast their shadows into the courtyard like black fingers climbing the walls to her windowsill.

Far to the north, beyond the forests of Cærwyn and the waters of the Dagrau was her homeland. She found herself frequently thinking of the happenings in Annwyd. Mara warned her long ago to be distrustful of her brother, but she did not find it necessary until times of late. Madoc would soon come of age to claim the throne, and she heard whispers of his growing support in the kingdom.

She knew, even before she became queen, that the fate of Annwyd would be closely tied to the fate of Cærwyn. She worried for both kingdoms and knew their unification would be the best option for all. However, her father would not be keen on the idea unless she remained firmly under his thumb. She had no intentions of ruling under his control, however. It was a thought which frightened her.

Rumors of dissension among the members of the Senate crept into Cærwyn via her spies. Mihangel, though a powerful man, was frail, and it worried her. It was through his leadership that the Senate was so prosperous. She worried that when he passed into the Maker’s realm, chaos would soon follow. Her father would not be made head of the council, as it was not customary for the Annwydian king to garner so much political influence. Were they fortunate, she thought, Vaughn Garanth would take the seat. Having jurisdiction over the magisters, he already showed great promise. He too was elderly, however. A younger member would be a better choice, but Kendric Pahne had yet to prove his worth.

What sort of council would she appoint? She smiled. She knew she set foot further into the future than she had right to, with Rhodri still seeing to affairs of the kingdom. Her thoughts quickly traveled back across the Dagrau to Annwyd.

As she thought of her brother, Bronwen felt the hair on her neck prickle, and a sourness filled her mouth. Her dreams of late had centered on Madoc. These were thoughts which she did not even dare speak of to Mara, whom she trusted with her very life. No, she would not utter such things because she did not believe in such things. It was mere superstition which haunted her mind and gave her such fright.

Yet, she could not shake the visions from her dreams. A banner of red spread out through the land from the gates of Rotham. As Bronwen closed her eyes, she could see small dots of light‌—‌flames. A line of flames flickered like candles far off in the distance. The scent was not of tallow but something she could not place. Something foul. Something wrong.

“Madness,” she whispered into the night.

Chapter IV