Morgan Rice - A Sky of Spells

“Luanda,” he said, holding her. “I love you. I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“I love you too,” she said through her tears, unable to let go, to back away.

She pulled back and, unable to look into his eyes, lowered her head, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Forgive me,” she said softly, unable to meet his gaze. “Please. Forgive me.”

He embraced her again, holding her tight.

“I forgive you for everything,” he said. “I know it wasn’t the real you.”

She looked up and met his eyes, and she saw that they did not look at her with scorn. She could see that he still loved her as much as the day she had met him.

“I knew that you were just caught up in the grips of something,” he continued. “Ambition. It overwhelmed you. But it wasn’t you. It wasn’t the Luanda I know.”

“Thank you,” she said. “You’re right. It wasn’t me.”

She smiled, breathing deep, collecting herself as she wiped away her tears.

“And what of the others?” she asked nervously. “Thorgrin? My sister? Are they alive?”

She knew that if the answer was no, she would face an angry mob who would blame it on her and want her dead.

Bronson smiled and nodded back, and as she saw his face, she was overwhelmed with joy and relief.

“They are indeed,” he replied. “They have all gone to King’s Court, which is where we head now. I am sure they will accept you back.”

He took her hand, but she stopped and pulled it away, shaking her head.

“I am not so sure,” she said. “How can they ever trust me again?”

“That’s her,” came a dark voice.

Luanda turned to see several soldiers approaching, one pointing at her.

“There’s the MacGil girl,” he added. “The one who betrayed Thor.”

A group of soldiers marched forward and grabbed Luanda from behind, quickly, before she could react, and began to bind her wrists with rope.

“What you doing?” Bronson called out, indignant, approaching them. “That is my wife!”

“She is also a traitor,” the soldier replied firmly. “The one who sold out our army. She is under arrest. It is for the queen to decide her fate—not us. And not you.”

“Where are you taking her?” Bronson pressed, blocking their way. “I demand for her to have an audience with the Queen!”

“An audience she will indeed have,” they replied. “But as a prisoner.”

“No!”

Bronson lunged forward to free her, but a group of soldiers blocked his way and drew their swords.

“Bronson, please!” Luanda cried out. “Let it go. They are right to take me. Please don’t fight them. They’ve done nothing wrong.”

Bronson slowly lowered his sword, realizing they were right. In a just society, justice needed to be served. There was nothing he could do about it. He loved Luanda; but he also served the queen.

“Luanda, I will talk to her for you,” Bronson said. “Do not worry.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but the soldiers were already taking her away, to the distant horizon, to King’s Court. It was a city that Luanda had once entered as royalty—and now, ironically, she would enter as a prisoner. She did not need honors anymore; she only prayed her sister would allow her to keep her life.

Gwendolyn walked through the remains of King’s Court, accompanied by Thor, her brothers Kendrick, Reece and Godfrey, and flanked by Erec, Steffen, Bronson, Srog, Aberthol and several new advisors, the large group taking stock, surveying the damage that had been done to this once-great city. Gwendolyn’s heart broke as she walked through, this city she had been raised in, this city that embodied her childhood. Every corner was haunted with memories, time she had spent here with her father, her brothers, the places she had learned to ride a horse, to wield a sword, to read the lost language. It was the place where she had learned to leave childhood behind.

It was all changed now, a place she barely knew. The bones of it were there, remnants of stone walls, charred by dragon’s breath, crumbling buildings, traces of ramparts. The ground was still littered with corpses, and she held back tears as she walked between them, all the brave Silver and MacGils and Silesians who had died for their country, making a heroic stand against the Empire. She was in awe at their bravery, at what they had sacrificed.

“They all put up a stand knowing it would mean their lives,” Gwen said aloud as she walked, the others listening. “Yet they made a stand anyway. This is the very height of courage. These are the great heroes of the Ring. The unknown and unnamed fallen warriors all around us. It is to them that we owe our greatest debt.”

There came a grunt of affirmation from among the warriors as they walked with her. Gwen was overcome by the honor and courage that ran in her people’s veins, and she felt a huge responsibility to live up to it, to be as honorable and fearless a leader as her people deserved. She hoped she could.

“Our first task must be to bury our dead,” Gwendolyn said, turning to her entourage. “Summon all of our people to collect all of these bodies, and to prepare them for a great funeral pyre, which we shall have tonight. The corpses of the Empire can be discarded in the fields, beyond the walls of the outer ring of our city, where they can be eaten by the dogs.”

“Yes my lady,” one of her generals said, turning and hurrying back to the crowd, dispatching officers immediately to do her will. All around them soldiers broke into action, as they began to collect the dead. Gwendolyn could not look at their faces anymore; she needed the city cleared of them to not be haunted.

They finished circling the perimeter of the inner courtyard, past the toppled statue of her father, past the fountain which no longer bubbled, and Gwen paused beside it. She looked down at the huge stone figure of her father, now lying in several pieces, and was inflamed with rage at Andronicus and the Empire.

“I want my father’s statue rebuilt,” she commanded. “I want the fountains around him bubbling again, and I want this walkway lined with flowers.”

“Yes, my lady,” said another of her men, hurrying off to do her bidding.

“But my lady,” one of her new advisors said, “would it not be more appropriate for there to be a statue of you up here now? After all, this is the center of King’s Court, and this is where the ruler’s statue stands, and you are our ruler. Your father is no longer with us.”

Gwen shook her head.

“My father will always be with us,” she corrected, “and I do not need a statue to honor myself. I would rather remember those whose shoulders we stand on.”

“Yes my lady,” he said.

Gwendolyn turned and saw the approving eyes of all of her men, and her eyes rested on Thor’s. More than anything, she just wanted time to walk with him alone. The two of them never seemed to have enough time alone together, and there was something she needed to say to him. She was burning to tell him about her pregnancy. About his baby. She felt the baby flip in her stomach even as she thought of it.

Soon, she told herself. When all of this was done, all these affairs of state, all settled down, she would tell him. Perhaps even tonight. She felt a rush of excitement just thinking about it.

They continued circling the courtyard, until finally they reached the doors to King’s Castle. Gwendolyn looked up, and felt a pain in her stomach at the sight. It had once been the finest castle in both kingdoms, sung off, praised by poets, even outside the Ring. It had been the seat of MacGil Kings for seven generations, the seat of her own father.

Now there it stood, half destroyed, half its walls standing, the other half open to the sky. She could hardly fathom it, how something of this height and breadth could be damaged. It had always seemed so impervious to her. It felt like a metaphor for the ring: half of it destroyed, and half of it still standing, a foundation on which to rebuild. A daunting task lay ahead of her, not just here but everywhere, in every town throughout the Ring.