The Queen nodded, and Gwen could see that she understood.
“It is I who am sorry,” she replied. “You are an exceptional daughter. And an exceptional Queen. A far greater Queen than I ever was. And a far greater ruler than even your father was. He would be proud. You deserved a better mother than I.”
Gwen brushed back tears.
“You were a fine mother.”
Her mother shook her head.
“I was a good Queen. And a devoted wife. But I was not a good mother. Not to you, at least. I think I saw too much of myself in you. And that scared me.”
Gwen squeezed her hand, crying, wishing they could have more time together, wishing they could have talked like this earlier in their lives. Now that she was Queen, now that they were both older, and now that she had a child, Gwen wanted her mother here. She wanted to be able to turn to her as her advisor. Yet ironically, the time she wanted her around the most was the one time she could not have her.
“Mother, I want you to meet my child. My son. Guwayne.”
The Queen’s eyes opened wide in surprise, and she lifted her head on her pillows and looked down and saw, for the first time, Gwen holding Guwayne in her arms.
The Queen gasped, and she sat up more, then burst out sobbing.
“Oh, Gwendolyn,” her mother said. “He is the most beautiful baby I have ever seen.”
She reached out and touched Guwayne, laying her fingertips on his forehead, and as she did, she cried harder.
Her mother slowly turned and looked over at Thor.
“You will be a fine father,” she said. “My former husband loved you. I have come to understand why. I was wrong about you. Forgive me. I am glad you’re with Gwendolyn.”
Thor nodded solemnly, reached over, and clasped the Queen’s shoulder as she reached out for him.
“There is nothing to forgive,” he said.
The Queen turned and looked at Gwendolyn, and her eyes hardened; Gwen saw something inside them shifting, saw the former hard Queen coming back to life.
“You face many trials now,” her mother said. “I’ve been keeping track of all of them. I still have my people everywhere too. I fear for you.”
Gwendolyn patted her hand.
“Mother, do not trouble yourself with this now. This is no time for affairs of state.”
Her mother shook her head.
“It is always time for affairs of state. And now most of all. Funerals, do not forget, are affairs of state. They are not family events; they are political ones.”
Her mother coughed for a long time, then breathed deep.
“I haven’t much time, so listen to my words,” she said, her voice weaker. “Take them to heart. Even if you do not wish to hear them.”
Gwen leaned in closer and nodded solemnly.
“Anything, Mother.”
“Do not trust Tirus. He will betray you. Do not trust his people. Those MacGils, they are not us. They are us in name only. Do not forget this.”
Her mother wheezed, trying to catch her breath.
“Do not trust the McClouds, either. Do not imagine you can make peace.”
Her mother wheezed, and Gwen thought about that, trying to grasp its deeper meaning.
“Keep your army strong and your defenses stronger. The more you realize that peace is an illusion, the more peace you will secure.”
Her mother wheezed again, for a long time, closing her eyes, and it broke Gwen’s heart to see what an effort this was for her.
On the one hand, Gwen thought that perhaps these were just the words of a dying Queen who had been jaded too long; yet on the other hand, she could not help but admit that there was some wisdom in them, perhaps wisdom that she herself did not want to acknowledge.
Her mother opened her eyes again.
“Your sister, Luanda,” she whispered. “I want her at my funeral. She is my daughter. My firstborn.”
Gwendolyn breathed, surprised.
“She has done terrible things, deserving of exile. But allow her this grace, just once. When they put me in the earth, I want her there. Do not refuse the request of a dying mother.”
Gwendolyn sighed, torn. She wanted to please her mother. Yet she did not want to allow Luanda back, not after what she had done.
“Promise me,” her mother said, clutching Gwen’s hand firmly. “Promise me.”
Finally, Gwendolyn nodded, realizing she could not say no.
“I promise you, Mother.”
Her mother sighed and nodded, satisfied, then leaned back in her pillow.
“Mother,” Gwen said, clearing her throat. “I want you to give my child a blessing.”
Her mother opened her eyes weakly and looked at her, then closed them and slowly shook her head.
“That baby already has every blessing a child could want. He has my blessing – but he does not need it. You will come to see, my daughter, that your child is far more powerful than you or Thorgrin or anyone who has come before, or will come since. It was all prophesied, years ago.”
Her mother wheezed for a long time, and just when Gwen thought she was done, just when she was preparing to leave, her mother opened her eyes one last time.
“Do not forget what your father taught you,” she said, her voice so weak she could barely talk. “Sometimes a kingdom is most at peace when it is at war.”
Chapter Seven
Steffen galloped down the dusty road, heading east from King’s Court, as he had been for days, trailed by a dozen members of the Queen’s guard. Honored that the Queen had endowed him with this mission and determined to fulfill it, Steffen had been riding from town to town, accompanied by a caravan of royal carriages, each laden with gold and silver, royal coin, building supplies, corn, grain, wheat, and various provisions and building materials of every sort. The Queen was determined to bring aid to all the small villages of the Ring, to help them rebuild, too, and in Steffen, she had found a determined missionary.
Steffen had already visited many villages, had dispersed wagons full of supplies on the Queen’s behalf, carefully and precisely allocating them to the villages and families most in need. He had taken pride in seeing the joy in their faces as he’d doled out supplies and allocated manpower to help rebuild the villages outlying King’s Court. One village at a time, on Gwendolyn’s behalf, Steffen was helping to restore faith in the power of the Queen, the power of the rebuilding of the Ring. For the first time in his life, people looked past his appearance, people treated him with respect, like a regular person. He loved the feeling. The people were starting to realize that they, too, were not forgotten under this Queen, and Steffen was thrilled to be a part of helping to spread their love and devotion to her. There was nothing he wanted more.
As fate would have it, the route the Queen had set him on was leading Steffen, after many villages, to his very own village, to the place he was raised. Steffen felt a sense of dread, a pit in his stomach, as he realized his own village was next on the list. He wanted to turn away, to do anything to avoid it.
But he knew he could not. He had vowed to Gwendolyn to fulfill his duty, and his honor was at stake – even if it entailed his going back to the very same place that occupied his nightmares. It was the place holding all the people he had known while he was raised, the people who had taken great pleasure in tormenting him, in mocking the way he was shaped. The people who had made him