The Black Prince: Part II (56 page)

Rowena and Cariad, both were gone.

Like her father.

She understood Tristan’s decision. Had never questioned it, or him. Cariad’s poison might make her doubt herself, but never the man who’d saved her in every possible way that a person could be saved. Tristan was her love, her light, her better half. He’d been there for her when no one else had. Including Cariad. For Cariad to think that a few well chosen words could destroy all that, she must have led a truly empty life indeed.

Isla should have felt triumphant, but all she felt was sad.

Cariad had been right about one thing: with Rowena gone, the immediate threat to the castle was past. There would always be fear that another hand might turn against them, but treachery was part of life. Evil, even, was part of life. The human heart was fickle and greed, along with the other sins, would ever keep a foothold on even the best of them.

But Isla couldn’t spend her life worrying about what might be. Or she’d never truly live it at all. For however she long she was allowed to live it.

The only thing left that truly concerned her was that Maeve was missing. Hart would find her tunnel and Maeve, having suffered one defeat after another, would gradually lose support. As Piers continued to bring prosperity to their kingdom. The sort of people Maeve attracted were opportunists, not truly loyal to her cause but to what they believed—at least for the moment—that she could bring to theirs. They wouldn’t keep fighting, once they saw that defeat was assured.

For one brief moment, she’d had them all in a stranglehold. But that moment had passed, revealing in its wake the truth of who had what. Maeve had fear. Fear, and a dream. Tristan had Caer Addanc and, more importantly, the loyalty of his people. The loyalty of the Northern tribes. The loyalty of his brother, the king. King Piers, First of His Name. A man who’d be a father soon, as Isla had once again become a mother.

“Do you intend to keep the name?” Tristan asked.

“It’s a father’s right to name his daughter.” And, with that most hesitant of pleas, her heart froze. Waiting.

“Yes,” he agreed. “But I would like your input.”

She breathed. In. And out. Her heart expanded.

“I think so, yes. But perhaps her second name could be for your mother.”

“She’d like that. Wherever she is.”

Amelie Sienna Mountbatten. A mouthful, to be sure. But she’d survived this long; she’d grow into it.

“Will Maeve come back?”

“She might.”

Amelie eyed Tristan, and burped.

Outside, the rain began to slacken.

A storm had come, passing over and through them, and had lifted. Who knew what the world they’d wake up to might hold. Storms left destruction in their wake, so that other things might grow. They were agents, not of death but of life. For there could truly not be one without the other, as she’d told Cariad. What mattered, wasn’t that they’d continue but that their family would.

Their family and their shared dream, for a better world.

Isla turned to Tristan. “So what happens now?”

His eyes on hers were dark, his gaze intense as he absorbed her, every part of her, into him. Eyes that had once frightened her but that she’d grown to love. Along with the rest of him. Her demon. Her lover. Her partner and confidante and best friend. Her husband.

He took her hand. “We go home.”

R
udolph and Greta married one month later, at House Draca.

They wanted to say their vows where they’d begin their life and as Isla watched them, their eyes on each other as their clasped hands were bound by the sacred cord, she knew that that life would be good. Not easy, maybe. A life well lived was never truly easy. But good.

Rudolph had proposed to Greta shortly before his and Hart’s departure. Which had been postponed as long as possible but which could not be postponed indefinitely. Chilperic was still in a vulnerable position; its people needed their lord. And needed, too, their new sheriff. A man whom Hart had called incorruptible and who would make it his business to see that justice, true justice, came to Northerner and Southerner alike. Greta had accepted Rudolph’s proposal because, as she’d explained to Isla, she would have married him after their first conversation in the chapel. Even though he’d been a stranger then and was, in many ways, a stranger still.

But the love in both their eyes, as they exchanged their words, had been there then.

Isla understood the feeling. Of plunging headlong into risk, and yet knowing that doing so was right. Even if she couldn’t explain why to anyone else. She, too, hadn’t been able to imagine a life without Tristan. At what point she’d fallen in love with him she couldn’t say, but she’d known almost from their first meeting that her life was bound to his. Was meant to be.

The rest…the rest she’d had to figure out.

As Greta would.

But she hadn’t been alone, and neither would Greta be.

The chapel was filled with all their friends. Isla, Tristan and their children sat in the front pew, as was befitting for the liege lord. Asher alternated between gazing with rapt attention at Greta’s rather low cut bodice and sneaking glances at Aveline. Who seemed quite taken with the romance of the situation. Aveline was not truly their child, of course. Nor did Isla attempt to pretend otherwise, although Aveline was included in all things and treated as an equal.

Asher would hate it, Isla thought with some amusement, if he was told that he had to start thinking of her as a sister.

Across the aisle sat Hart. His mistress at beside him. Solene, relieved to be back among familiar sights, had taken to her bed.

Lissa looked radiant in blue embroidered with coral. Her smile, when she turned to Hart and whispered something, was even more a thing of beauty. And Hart…Hart was not one to ever seem precisely happy, but Lissa had made him content. He was fortunate to have found her and more fortunate still that she was willing to accept their arrangement.

Although she and Solene had formed an interesting sort of friendship over the span of the journey south. Lissa, it seemed, understood difficult situations. And the people they sometimes created. She’d sat with Solene by the campfire, one night, as Solene cried. About what, no one knew except Lissa. Who’d merely comforted her, speaking in low tones until Solene subsided.

And, at one point, even laughed.

Arvid sat to Lissa’s right, resplendent in his tribal regalia. With him was a stout but very pretty woman who’d introduced herself earlier as Jeanette. She seemed quite taken with Arvid, but no more so than he was with her. With those teeth of his, Isla wondered how they kissed.

Apple sat with them as well. After their experience at the inn, she’d once again reverted to near silence. It had come as a surprise to all when she’d announced that she wanted to come along.

But by far the biggest surprise, in terms of guests, had been Eir. Who’d spent a great deal of time with Apple. They’d ridden together during the day and camped together at night. Not as pillow friends. That was apparent. As something…else. More like comrades in arms. Possessed with a grim determination, jointly shared, rather than any sort of thrill in each other.

Greta was resplendent in green, the traditional color for brides in Morven. Green for growing things, for fertility and new life. Her gown reminded Isla a little of her own, although without so much fur to keep her warm. Spring was blooming into summer and the chapel was, if anything, a little hot.

Rudolph wore his uniform. Black slashed with red, for the man to whom he’d sworn fealty. He wore no ornament. And, indeed, needed none.

The priestess officiating was someone Callas knew, who’d come south with them to join Hart’s household. To provide aid, comfort, and spiritual counsel to those among his men who followed the old ways. Callas himself had remained behind, to govern in Tristan’s stead.

Her voice rang out, filling the chapel. “As above are the stars, below are the stones. As time passes, thus, remember: like a star should your love be constant, like the earth should your love be firm.” She smiled at each of them in turn. “Have no fear, moving forward. For Bragi is with you.”

Rudolph still followed the Mediator, but he nodded.

Greta’s own smile deepened.

“And let not the ways or words of the unenlightened cause you unease, for Freja walks by your side.”

Amelie, waking, began to fuss. Isla gave her a finger to play with. Amelie was fascinated by fingers, her own and everyone else’s. And the children were fascinated by her. She’d been worried that Asher, in particular, would be jealous. But so far the only problem she’d had was convincing Asher—and Aveline—that Amelie couldn’t be played with all the time.

The priestess raised one hand over her head, while leaving the other atop the couple’s. “I now pronounce you man and wife; this work of joy is done, and yet begun! Go now from this place in peace, and honor one another as you work the magic of your new life.”

Rudolph and Greta kissed.

Arvid clapped loudly and stomped his feet, forgetting for the moment that he was no longer in the mountains.

Isla exchanged a glance with Tristan.

“If she brings him a tenth of the joy that you bring me,” Tristan said, “then he is fortunate indeed.”

They stood, to follow the couple outside.

Asher and Aveline ran on ahead, nearly knocking one guest over in their rush to rejoin the sunshine.

And it was beautiful, in the courtyard and all over Chilperic. The air smelled of flowers, gardenias and lilies and phlox. And of fresh mown grass and a thousand other things. Of renewal and rebirth and joy. Isla hadn’t known, until that moment, that joy had a fragrance.

She breathed it in and smiled.

Everyone was hugging Greta, and congratulating Rudolph. Greta wore a crown of gardenias in her hair, which was already looking a bit lopsided. It wouldn’t last much longer, if she continued to be so popular. But Isla doubted very much that Greta cared.

“Well,” said Arvid. “Now we feast!”

A feast was, indeed, waiting for them in the great hall. A feast consisting of every delicacy that could be produced from the first of the spring harvests. All of which would taste wonderful, if they ever got to it. No one seemed in too much of a rush, though. Laughter filled the courtyard, like a series of single bright points over a susurrus of conversation. Some animated, some quiet, all warm.

Jeanette left to greet someone and Arvid, watching her go, smiled. “I like her almost as well as Borghild.”

“That’s quite an endorsement,” said Hart, who’d joined them.

“Yah! But she has to put on weight.”

As Jeanette was hardly a small woman, Isla found this declaration surprising.

Arvid winked. “Then she’ll be almost as beautiful as Borghild.”

“You know,” Hart mused, “I wish I’d gotten a chance to know her.”

If not, perhaps, for the reasons Arvid assumed.

“Yah. She could really throw a spear.”

“A…spear?” Isla’s eyes widened.

“My Borghild had good aim!”

Hart looked up at his friend. “Show them the scar on your foot.”

Hart knew. About Isla. About Tristan. Had known since that terrible night at the inn. But nothing had changed. He’d changed, yes. And she’d changed. But the bond between them was as strong as ever. Maybe even stronger, because it had weathered so much.

Someone came over, whom Isla had been introduced to earlier but whose name she could not now remember. “What an adorable baby!”

Amelie had spent the morning napping. Under the watchful gaze of, of all people, Hart’s castellan. And then through almost through the entire service. Until a minute ago, her eyes closing as she yawned, Isla would have said that she was heading back in that direction. However, sensing that she’d once again become the center of attention, she opened her eyes wide. And smiled.

“Oh! She’s precious, isn’t she.” The woman looked up. “How old?”

“Five moons.”

“Oh! And with all that hair. Black, just like yours. Like a raven’s wing.”

“And her father’s,” Hart pointed out.

“But not her uncle’s.” The woman laughed.

“Indeed.”

“It’s said that children always favor their fathers,” she continued, “but clearly, Your Grace, your daughter favors you. Just look at those eyes! She’ll have all the boys at court wrapped around her little finger, and make no mistake. Especially with that
smile
. Oh!”

That Amelie might some day go to court seemed too much to picture. Although of course, she would. If the Gods continued to smile on them. She’d grow and grow until, at last, she ripened into her own person. As Asher would. As Aveline would.

Isla gazed down at her baby. That this
was
her baby, no one seemed to question. Relatively few questions had been asked at all, even by those close enough to Isla to have good cause to wonder. A few remarks had been made, that Isla hadn’t looked pregnant. More with surprise than with mistrust; several of the women in the castle had seemed positively congratulatory. She’d overheard Magnus, too, shortly before they’d left, explaining to one of his helpers that some women didn’t seem able to gain weight no matter how they tried. And Isla was certainly trying; had anyone else noticed how many eggs she ate? The average hen laid one per day, which meant that Isla was responsible for the combined efforts of at least five of the hens in the coop.