Beauty

  She didn’t want them, but they would come. They would come whether she stood up or not. They would come if she escaped. They would come if she burned. She’d spent thirteen years believing that staying alive was all that was important. But weren’t some things worth dying over?

  She thought about the note Gillian had sent through Niall. She knew exactly what Gillian would do. She would run. Bron wasn’t sure how she’d convinced the guard to help them, but Gillian would sacrifice anyone she had to in order to ensure Bron’s continued existence. Gillian would save her and move on to the next far-off province, hiding and concealing their identities.

  And waiting for what? For her brothers to return? For Bron to grow up? She was twenty-seven. She wouldn’t get any more ready to become the focus of a revolution.

  “I’m not telling you where she is. I won’t say a word. Not about my sister.”

  A plan was ruminating, forming in her brain. A really bad plan, probably, but a plan. She’d waited long enough. It was time she gave to the cause. Gillian seemed to think that Bronwyn was the cause, but Bron knew differently.

  Ove was the cause. Everyone who had been hurt by the pretender was the cause. Bronwyn was merely a pawn, and it was time to make her move. The pawn could take the king if it was played correctly.

  “You’re stupid, Isolde.”

  “I’m not Isolde.” She finally got up and walked to the door. Her feet felt a bit unsteady, but she caught her balance.

  “What are you trying to say?”

  She gave him a feral little grin. “Figure it out, Micha. Think for a minute, and it’ll come to you.”

  He stared at her, his face a blank. “Isolde, just tell me where your sister is. The fire will make you scream.”

  Would it? She was fire. It leapt from her fingertips. It sat in her womb. “I’ll take that chance.”

  “Isolde…”

  “Don’t call me that.” She couldn’t stand it. It wasn’t her damn name. It wasn’t her place. “Call me by my name. Call me Bronwyn.”

  He took a quick step back, a gasp on his lips. “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not.” She wouldn’t go down quietly. Whether Niall saved her or she died in the fire, it didn’t matter. She needed to have her name. There was power in her name. “Call me by name. Call me Bronwyn.”

  His head shook. “You’ll burn then, dumb bitch. If you think for a second I’ll tell anyone what you’ve said, you’re wrong. I wouldn’t let anyone know I planned to marry someone who is utterly insane. You’re just a stupid girl. You’re not a princess. And if you think that this ploy will buy you time, you’re wrong. I stood up in front of a crowd and said I wanted to marry you. Too many people know. I won’t go down with you. No. You’ll burn before you can even open your mouth and spout such vicious lies.”

  She walked to the door, staring at Micha through the window, its bars mocking her. She was in a cage, but then she’d been there for thirteen years.

  What could she do? She’d been quiet for so long. She’d hidden her existence. It had kept her alive, but now she saw a distinct problem with it. No one would believe her. She’d been a child when she’d gone on the run. She was a woman now, and no one with the exception of Gillian had watched her grow. She looked like her father. Gillian said it, but did anyone remember? The knife. It had the Finn crest on it. Did it prove a damn thing? There were only two weapons made with that crest—the sun and the moon. Beck had the sword. She was sure of it. He wouldn’t have left without their father’s sword.

  And the knife had been used on her. She’d pulled it from her body. Torin had to have taken it from her father’s body. He’d given it to his assassin to kill her. Her own father’s knife. It was her only proof beyond her face. It was still in its hiding place in the tower. “I am Bronwyn Finn. I was born in the White Palace and I died there. I was given a second life. I am my father’s daughter.”

  A huffy laugh came through the window. “Those can be your last words, though no one will believe it. Good luck, Isolde. When you’re nothing but ashes, your sister will run. You’re nothing. Nothing at all.”

  The window slammed shut. She was so much more. She was the revolution, but perhaps she’d waited too long. Leaning against the door, she felt her head swimming. Not enough sleep. Not enough food. Not enough life.

  She’d spent too long in her dreams. She’d wanted to be somewhere else for so long she’d neglected the here and now. Shim and Lachlan were dreams. They were a way out of her destiny, and now that she was finally ready to face it, she would probably get her ass fried in a fire.

  Her brothers wouldn’t know. They would always think she’d died. They wouldn’t know she’d been burned at the maypole—the stake. Half an hour passed, the minutes running by like molasses dripping off a spoon toward a well-cooked piece of bread. She drank more water. Ate the last of the bread. Slow. So slow. She was able to go over most of her life. She was shocked to realize how much of it she’d spent in dreams. When she looked back on her life, she saw the times Cian had played with her and her mother had rocked her, stroking her hair during thunderstorms. She remembered holding her da’s hand as they walked through the streets of the village. But mostly she saw Shim and Lach. She saw them as children, laughing and playing through fields of golden wheat and swimming on a pebbled beach, the ocean water foaming around them. There were mermaids in the waters, but they didn’t need to worry about it because mermaids only called to the unfaithful and the unwary. They played and played, telling secrets and stories. Stories she’d heard but could barely remember the next day. When she’d begun to gain her womanhood, the dreams had changed. Her Dark Ones had started to touch her. Little glancing strokes at first and then a kiss here and there. Her cheeks and her forehead and sweetly enough, her nose. Finally they had pressed a mouth to hers. A tongue had caressed and then…

  Death.

  So long was the darkness. The aloneness. It was worse, she thought, because for so long she’d been with them. And then the connection had been cut as though it hadn’t existed.

  Years had passed. She’d run and run. So many provinces. So many new faces.

  She’d been scared, reaching out every night for that connection she’d counted on all her life. Nothing, until one night, a little tendril had reached back, like a light in the darkness. She reached for it and finally she’d seen them. They hadn’t been solid at first, but she’d felt a touch, a caress that made her skin light up.

  She’d been twenty. Six years had passed in loneliness and then another three in a frustrating reaching. She would grasp and then the dream would be gone, like a ghost that had never really existed. Every morning she’d awakened aware that she hadn’t gotten what she wanted and then…

  That kiss.

  Her whole life, the happy part, played out in a long dream.

  She’d given up everything for a damn dream.

  There was a scratch at her door.

  “They’re coming.”

  Niall’s voice.

  “What should I do?” She kneeled before the door. It was time to make her play, but she felt so tired. Her hands shook slightly. The world was a little fuzzy. Was she starting to panic?

  “I don’t know.” The words were hesitant. “They’re coming early. It was supposed to happen at noon. It’s only ten.”

  Micha was running early. He probably thought that if he could get rid of her, Gillian would stop her assault. He would burn her before the township was up and able to protest that she hadn’t had a fair trial. She hadn’t even seen the town magistrate.

  She’d made a terrible mistake. Micha had upped the timeline because now he didn’t want her talking. Goddess, she was terrible at this. Horrible. She didn’t know what to do except to try. She wouldn’t be walked to her execution calmly. Dignity wasn’t going to help her. Besides, no one had gathered. No one would bear witness. And no one would help her.

  They had all turned their backs.

  She would fight until the flames took her.
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  “They’re coming, Your Highness. Please don’t call attention. I have a plan. Someone has run to tell Gillian.” Niall’s voice was thin through the cracks of the door, and then the only sound she heard was the hard thud of boots against the floor.

  The door slammed open, and she was faced with two of the largest guards in the village. They were each a foot taller and had a hundred pounds on her, but they were armed to the teeth as though she was the most dangerous criminal on the plane. They each held a sword and had knives at their belts.

  She knew how to use a knife. She could certainly get one of them, but could she get both?

  Niall had begged her not to draw attention. There was some plan in place.

  Your Highness. Goddess, Niall had called her “Your Highness.”

  “Isolde, are you going to come quietly or should we cut out that pretty tongue of yours right here?” Arik, the older of the two guards, asked.

  “I think we should have a bit of fun with her before she goes out. Seems a shame to leave this life without ever knowing the touch of a man.” Theo leered at her.

  Arik held out a hand. “Don’t touch that one. You weren’t here yesterday. It’s best that one just goes out in the flames. Come on, wench. Time to go.”

  Bron took a deep breath and made her decision. She would give Niall some time. He knew something. Gillian had brought him in on the secret, and that meant Gillian trusted him. She nodded to her captors and smoothed out her dress before stepping forward to follow them.

  The hallway was utterly silent as they moved toward the stairs that would lead them up and into the main hall. She followed Arik, who lumbered in front of her. All the long walk, she could feel Theo’s eyes on her. She began to feel an ache low in her gut. Fear? It was a horrible rolling sensation.

  “Got a hot fire going for you, witch.” Arik’s voice echoed off the stone walls.

  “But not so hot it won’t take a little time to work. Wouldn’t want you going out too soon, now would we?” Theo said with a hollow laugh.

  “Wouldn’t want to disappoint the crowd.” Bron frowned, her feet shuffling in front of her. One foot in front of the other. She had to get through each moment. She tried to focus. Her skin felt hot. Was it starting again?

  Arik stopped at the bottom step. “Ain’t no crowd. Heard they was too afraid of you. The mayor is trying to calm them, tell them he has you under control. I’m sure by the time the magistrate passes sentence, they’ll come out in droves and see you ain’t nothing to be afraid of.”

  But Theo was frowning. “I heard they wouldn’t come because they love her. She gave a lot of people in this village food. That sister of hers healed a lot of Fae.”

  Arik’s eyes went hard. “That’s the way witches work. They bring you in. Who knows how many she really hurt? My neighbor lost two cows last week. I bet it was her.”

  Theo seemed to pull his energy back around him. He nodded. “You’re right. Me ma’s wrong. She’ll see when the witch dies and things get better around here. Move it, Isolde. Don’t think just because a few of us are too stupid to see that you’re evil, that they’re going to help you. More’s like those who don’t come will get punished.”

  She found a comfort in the fact that they were rebelling, even if it was in a quiet way. The people of this village seemed so deeply content with the status quo, but perhaps that was because Torin hadn’t really touched them yet. Things were changing. Bronwyn just had to find a way to live long enough to see it happen.

  She tried to focus on the heat that threatened to take over her body. It needed to be in her hands, not low in her gut.

  Arik turned back around and had a foot on the first step of the stairs. Bron began to follow. There was nothing else to do. The corridor was narrow and didn’t lend itself to fighting. But if she could start a fire, maybe she could run.

  Bron heard Theo shuffling behind her. He gave a soft grunt, and then there was a hand on her elbow. She turned and looked into Niall’s brown eyes. He held a finger to his lips, an obvious request for silence. Theo was on the floor, his body in a crumpled mass. Bron checked her gasp.

  Niall held a blade in his hand, the knife slick with blood. Theo’s blood.

  The enormity of it grasped her. Niall was killing to protect her. Did she want that responsibility? Did she have a choice? The choices she would make if she pursued this path hit her squarely in the gut as Arik moved up the stairs and Niall stalked him.

  Bron clung to the side of the wall, her eyes moving between Theo’s body and Niall’s arm as he reared back. The burning sensation hadn’t gone away. What in all the planes was happening to her? She had to think.

  She made the decision. There would be no going back. There would be blood and death, and she could not shrink from it. She would eat the guilt because that’s what it meant to be a leader.

  Niall slit his throat, the knife moving in utter silence. He held Arik against his body, his arm around Arik’s shoulders in an odd approximation of intimacy. Niall brought the larger man to the ground. He never had a chance to shout or say a word.

  Her protector eased him to the floor and held the blade at his side. “Your Highness, I need you to trust me.”

  “Gillian told you. Gillian trusts you.”

  His face contorted in confusion. “Gillian? No. Gillian knows who sent me. I talked to her yesterday. I knew she wasn’t your sister so I figured she had to be the Unseelie princess who went missing.”

  Bron stared at him for a minute. “Who sent you? Who told you my name?”

  Niall’s eyes were on the stairs above. “You have to play your part, Your Highness. We don’t have another way out. Just take a deep breath and follow my lead.”

  He took her elbow and started to lead her up the stone steps. But she had a few questions. If she was going to be the center of this revolution, she was going to start playing the part.

  “If Gillian didn’t send you, who did?” Bron could feel the sweat on her brow, the ache in her gut. But it wasn’t her gut. Not really. It was lower, deeper—an ache with only one cure.

  Niall stopped on the second stair. They were still so close to the bodies, but it didn’t seem to bother Niall. He simply stared at her for a moment as though trying to decide how much she could handle. “You don’t remember me. Niall Younger. My father was the stableman. He took care of the horses for the White Palace. I worked with him. I took care of your pony.”

  Her mind raced, and she saw a young man, only three or four years older than she. Brown hair and bark-colored eyes, and a soft hand with the horses. His father had taught her to ride.

  “I remember you. You had a brother named Liam.”

  His face turned down. “Liam and me dad died long ago. I was left alone in the palace, but I found a friend. A shade. A sluagh. He taught me how to live, gave me information on where to find food and who would protect me. He sent me to the cook who raised me. I was only fifteen. The cook gave me a place to stay, and the sluagh gave me a purpose. He taught me how to fight, how to be a guard. He whispered to me who to get in good with so I would have my choice of assignments. And he gave me my reason to live. To find Bronwyn Finn. To locate his daughter.”

  Bron felt locked in place, the whole world spinning. Her father? “My father can’t be a sluagh. He would never.”

  It was beyond comprehension.

  “He had no other choice. When the light came, he didn’t walk into it. He couldn’t because he had work to do. His children still needed him. He stayed for you. He molded me into his emissary. As far as I know, only Torin and myself have ever seen him. He’s not haunting anyone but his brother. He had a different use for me.”

  “My father turned sluagh, and he knows I’m alive?” It didn’t add up in her head.

  “He saw the Unseelie princess make her way out of the palace with you. He would have followed, but he was weak at the time. He was tied to the place of his death. He still is for some reason. When the other sluagh left the plane, he wasn’t able to move p
ast the caves. He’s bound to Torin now. He can only go where Torin goes. So he trained me to find you. I’ve been moving up in the guard, and I’ve served ten different noblemen, all the while looking for you. I knew I had finally found you a couple of days back, but I wasn’t sure how to get you out of here. Now I don’t have a choice. Gillian is talking to the villagers. She’s trying to find a way to get you off the plane.” He stared at her for a moment. “That is not what your father wants.”

  “What does my father want?” Her father had ignored her with the exception of pats on the head and telling her she was pretty and a little insane. What could her father want for her to do?

  Niall took her by the arm. “Lead them. Take your crown back. Your brothers are gone, and it seems they will not be coming back. You’re his blood. That crown is yours. I am going to take you north to Sir Giles’s province and then on to Aoibhneas.”

  The mountain province. She hadn’t been to Aoibhneas. It was difficult to get to and rumored to be an odd place. The Fae who lived there had always been outspoken and considered a bit difficult. They were strong fighters and used the land to their advantage. Aoibhneas. She could make her stand there. The rebellion could start there.

  She could gather Fae along the way. Yes, it could work, or even if it didn’t, at least she would have tried. At least she could say she had finally stood up. If she could only get her legs to work.

  “We must tell Gillian. And I have to take the brownies with me.”

  Niall’s voice lowered to a deep growl. “Not possible, Your Highness. I am taking you to Sir Giles where he will make arrangements to see us safely to Aoibhneas. This must be done with the greatest of secrecy. Time is of the essence. And under no circumstances are we to tell Princess Gillian of our plans.”

  Not tell Gilly? Bron tried to pull away. “I can’t leave without my sister.”

  “She is not your sister, and as far as your father and I can tell, she has a completely different agenda than our own.”