Gwen stared back at her, watching her sister’s face for the last time, feeling much aged herself, feeling, oddly, as if she were
“I grew up,” Gwen replied.
The doors slammed behind her, and they all stood there in the long, reverberating silence. Gwen saw the glances of the men, and saw that they looked upon her with a new respect. She had made a hard choice.
Gwen was already feeling tired, older, weighed down by her rule; she heard the distant cheer of revelers, and she wanted to be outside, to be anywhere but here. She could feel the baby turning inside her, and she just wanted to be somewhere alone with Thor.
“Is there anything else that is pressing?” she asked Aberthol, hoping the answer would be no. “I would like to go back out and join our people.”
“Just one more pressing matter, my lady,” he answered. “The fate of Tirus.”
Tirus. It all came rushing back to Gwen—his betrayal. She had been foolish to trust him, and because of her trust, many of her men, good men, had died. She felt ashamed—and determined to set wrongs right.
“He was captured, along with his sons. All of them alive,” Aberthol said.
“He must be executed, my lady,” Kendrick said. “Tirus is a traitor of a different sort than your sister. His treachery is far more insidious.”
“You set an example for all traitors, my lady,” Erec added.
“Consider it all carefully, my lady, before you perform any hasty actions,” Aberthol said. “The Ring will never be truly stable until you put an end to the scheming nature of the men of the Upper Isles.”
“As much as we may detest them, we need the other MacGils. Your father knew that—which was why he tolerated them. This might be your chance, my lady, to make history. To unite the two warring MacGil factions, as they once were,” Srog said.
“We do not need them,” Kendrick said. “They need us.”
Aberthol shrugged.
“That was what your father believed,” he said. “He chose to deal with them by ignoring them. Yet as you can see, that only left time and room for Tirus to revolt.”
Gwendolyn sat there, thinking.
“Where is Tirus now?” she asked.
“He awaits judgment outside this hall,” Aberthol said. “This matter of the Upper Isles, of Tirus, cannot wait. It must be resolved now. For the stability of the Ring.”
Gwendolyn nodded, sighing.
“Bring him in,” she said.
Aberthol sent an attendant, who rushed out the room and returned shortly, several soldiers leading Tirus and his three sons. They were all brought before her.
Tirus was defiant even in captivity, even in his haggard state. He sneered up at her.
“You inhabit my brother’s seat,” he said scornfully to her. “Yet you are but a young girl.”
Gwen was filled with distaste at the sight of her uncle; she always had been.
“I inhabit this seat because I am Queen,” she corrected in a confident voice. “The
Tirus’ three sons looked to the ground, clearly humbled, yet Tirus, still defiant, turned and looked to Kendrick.
“You are the eldest,” Tirus pleaded to Kendrick. “The firstborn of MacGil, and a man, bastard or not. It is you who should rule, if not I. Do something here. Tell Gwendolyn to know her place and get down from that throne.”
Kendrick shook his head, staring back at Tirus coldly and gripping the hilt on his sword.
“Watch your tongue around my sister,” he said. “She is our Queen, make no mistake about it, and she carries the full authority of our kingdom. Insult her again and you will face my wrath.”
Tirus turned reluctantly back to Gwen.
“If it is an apology you want,” he said, “you will not get one out of me. The throne you sit on is rightfully mine. It always has been. I was passed over for your father, who was a lesser man than myself.”
Gwendolyn felt her cheeks redden at his words, but she breathed deep, remembering her father’s advice: never let people know what you’re thinking. And never let emotions sway your decisions. There were so many traps to avoid as ruler.
“You are nothing but an ambitious traitor,” Gwendolyn said, “a disgrace to the MacGil blood line. By all rights of our kingdom I should have you executed.”
Gwen paused, debating, letting her words resonate in the thick and heavy silence.
“But I shall not. Instead, you shall be banished to live out your days back on the Upper Isles, never to set foot on the mainland of the Ring again. Furthermore, you shall be imprisoned there, under guard of my own watch. You shall live out the remainder of your days in a dungeon cell.”
Tirus stared back defiantly.
“Then I should rather you would execute me. I choose that over life in prison.”
Gwen smirked.
“You’ve lost the privilege to choose. The choices are mine now. Justice is done, for the Ring, for my family, and for my dead father. Enjoy your time underground.”
Gwen turned to her attendants.
“Get him out of my sight,” she commanded.
They rushed to do her bidding, dragging him away, and Tirus screamed and resisted, forcing them to drag him.
“You shall never get away with this!” he screamed, while being led away. “My people are a proud people! They will never allow this indignity! They will never allow their king to be imprisoned!”
Gwen stared him down coldly.
“Whoever said you were King?”
They dragged him outside, screaming, and finally slammed the door behind them.
The room was thick with a heavy silence, and Gwen could feel the fear and respect for her in the room. She also was beginning to feel tougher, stronger, than she ever had. Finally, wrongs were being set right, and it no longer intimidated her to do it.
Gwendolyn turned and looked over at Tirus’ three sons, all standing there, staring back, clearly afraid. Two of them looked like the father, and appeared equally defiant. The third, though, with long, curly hair and hazel eyes, seemed different than the others.
“He spoke the truth,” one of the sons said. “Our people are as hard as the rocks our island was formed on. They will never abide his imprisonment.”
“If your people take affront at the imprisonment of a traitor, then they are not a people who are welcome in the Ring,” Gwen replied coldly.
“My lady,” Aberthol said, clearing his throat, “I suggest you imprison Tirus’ sons as well. They are clearly loyal to their father, and nothing good can come from allowing them to roam free.”
“My lady,” Kendrick interrupted, “please do not jail the youngest of the sons, Matus. He was instrumental in helping our cause during the war, in freeing all of us and sparing our lives from death.”
Gwendolyn studied Matus, who looked different than the other two: he did not have the dark eyes and features of his brothers, and he had more of a proud, noble spirit to him. He did not look like an Upper Islander; he appeared to look more like one of her own people. He even looked as if he could belong to her own family. She remembered all of these boys from her childhood, these distant cousins they would visit once a year, when their father visited the Upper Isles. She remembered Matus’ always being apart from the others, kinder; and she recalled the other three as mean-spirited and cold. Like their father.
“Release his binds,” she commanded, and an attendant rushed forward and severed the ropes binding Matus’ wrists.
“The MacGil blood flows strongly in you,” she said approvingly to Matus, “I thank you. Clearly, we owe you a great debt. Ask anything of us.”
