Morgan Rice - A Sea of Shields

Gwen rose from her father’s desk and walked through the tall, open-air arched doorway leading out onto the stone balcony. It was a beautiful summer day, and it felt great to be outdoors as a gentle breeze wafted through, and she breathed deep. She looked down over King’s Court, at all the people milling contentedly below. On the surface, all looked well; but inside, Gwen was trembling.

Gwen looked at the huge banners flapping lightly in the wind, which she had ordered to be hung at half-mast in honor of Selese. The funeral still hung heavily in Gwen’s mind—as did the cancellation of her own wedding. She felt so shaken from her new friend’s death, from her day of joy, which she had been preparing for for moons, being transformed so suddenly into one of grief. Gwen was starting to wonder if anyone would ever stay in her life permanently. She also wondered if she and Thor would ever get married; a part of her wondered if they should just run off and get married alone, somewhere in seclusion, away from the eyes of everyone. She didn’t care about the pomp and circumstance; all she wanted was to be married to him.

Gwen herself did not feel like celebrating. She felt sick, hollowed out, from what had happened to Selese. From her brother’s grief. From the whole tragic misunderstanding. She could already tell that Reece would never be the same, and that frightened her. A part of her felt that she had lost a brother. She had been close to Reece her whole life, had always appreciated his happy, joyous, carefree manner—and she had never seen him so happy as he had been with Selese.

And yet now, she could see in Reece’s eyes that he would never be the same. He blamed himself.

Gwen could not help but feel as if, one by one, people she was close to were being stripped away. She looked into the skies and thought of Thor. She wondered where he was right now. When he would come back for her. If he would ever come back.

Thankfully, at least, Gwen had Guwayne. She spent nearly every waking hour with him, holding him close, valuing so much the precious gift of life. She found herself crying for no reason, feeling how fragile life was. She prayed to every god she knew that nothing bad should ever come to him.

For the first time in a while, Gwen felt shaky, vulnerable, unsure what to do next. Her whole life, these past moons, had revolved around her wedding, and now, without warning, it had all changed. Gwen could not help but feel as if the tragedy with Selese was just the beginning, was foreboding awful things to come.

Gwen flinched as there came a sudden pounding on her father’s study door, the iron knocker slamming into it and sending a jolt through her body, as if confirming her awful thoughts.

Gwen turned and walked back into the study—yet without waiting for her, the door flew open by itself. In rushed Aberthol, joined by Steffen and several other attendants, their faces stark, urgent, Aberthol clutching a scroll as he raced across her father’s study, right for her. Gwen, upon seeing them, felt a pit in her stomach; she knew that whatever it was, it had to be very, very serious. None of these men would enter her father’s study uninvited unless it were a matter of life and death.

“My lady,” Aberthol said, bowing with the others as he came close, an urgency to his voice. “Forgive my interruption, but I bring news that bears the most urgent haste.”

He paused, and Gwen could see that he was hesitating, and she steeled herself for whatever it might be.

“Out with it,” she said.

Aberthol swallowed. He held out a scroll with a shaky hand, and Gwen took it.

“It appears that Tirus’s eldest son, Falus, has been murdered. He was found dead on his ship this morning. And all facts attest to his murder being by your brother’s hand: Reece.”

Gwen felt her blood run cold as she heard the news. She clutched the scroll and stared back at Aberthol, not needing to open it, not wanting to read one more scroll. Slowly, his words sank in, as did the ramifications.

“Reece?” Gwen asked, trying to process it all.

Aberthol nodded.

She should have known better. Reece was mad with grief, desperate for vengeance. How stupid of her not to rein him in.

Gwen’s mind spun with the implications. Tirus’s eldest son dead. She knew that his sons were beloved by the Upper Islanders. She realized that word had probably already spread to them. Who knew what actions they would take? She knew it would not be good, and that whatever followed, it would ruin her efforts to unite the two MacGils.

“There’s more, my lady,” Aberthol said. “We have received reports that revolts have erupted on the Upper Isles. They have destroyed half of your fleet, my lady. And Tirus has been freed.”

“Freed?!” Gwen asked, horrified.

Aberthol nodded.

“It’s worse, my lady. They have ambushed Srog’s castle, and Srog has been gravely wounded. As we speak he is being held captive. They have sent word that they will kill Srog and destroy the remainder of your fleet, if we do not make amends for the death of Falus.”

Gwen’s heart was pounding; it was like a nightmare unfolding before her.

“What amends?” she asked.

Aberthol cleared his throat.

“They want Reece to come to the Upper Isles, and to apologize to Tirus personally for the death of Falus. Only then will they release Srog, and make peace.”

Gwen involuntarily slammed her fist on her father’s table, the same gesture her father used to make when he was upset. She was burning with frustration; all her carefully laid plans were now laid to waste by her brother’s impulsive murder of Falus. Now Srog, her trusted emissary, was wounded, captive. Half her fleet destroyed. They were her responsibility, and she felt the guilt weighing on her.

And yet, at the same time, Gwen recalled Argon’s prophecy of the invasion of the Ring, and she knew she could not abandon the Upper Isles. She needed a place of refuge, now more than ever. What Reece had unleashed was the worst thing to happen at the worst possible time.

Gwen could not abandon Srog, either. Or her fleet. She had to do whatever it took to make amends, to bring peace to her kingdom. Especially if it only required an apology.

“I want to see my brother,” Gwen said coldly, hardening.

Aberthol nodded.

“I knew you would, my lady. He waits outside.”

“Bring him in,” she ordered. “And the rest of you, leave us.”

Aberthol and the others bowed and hurried from the room.

As they walked out, Reece came in, alone, his eyes bloodshot, looking cold and hard and mad with grief, looking nothing like the brother Gwen had known her whole life.

“Close the door behind you,” Gwen commanded, the voice of a Queen, not of a sister, as cold and hard as Reece’s features.

Reece reached out and slammed the arched oak door to their father’s study, and Gwen walked forward as he walked over to greet her.

As they neared each other, Gwen, furious with Reece for getting her kingdom into this mess, reached up and smacked Reece hard across the face. It was the first time in her life she had done so, and the sound echoed in the room.

Reece stared back, shocked.

“How dare you defy me!” Gwen said to him, fury in her voice.

Reece stared back, and his shock morphed to anger, his cheeks turning red.

“I never defied you!”

“No?!” she cried out. “Do you think that killing our cousin—a royal MacGil, Tirus’s son, one of the de facto leaders of the Upper Isles—was something that you were at liberty to do freely, without my command?”

“He deserved it—and more!”

“I don’t care if he deserved it!” Gwen yelled, her face burning with anger. “I have a kingdom to rule! There are many men who deserve to die each day whom I don’t kill. You have that luxury—I don’t.”