The Queen’s Resistance

“Cartier.” She tried to speak my name; I drank the sound from her lips. I felt her hands move up my back and take fistfuls of my shirt, tugging. She was warning me, because I could now hear the footsteps scuffing loudly, just beyond the office door.

I struggled to break away from her, my breath shallow as I somehow recovered enough to whisper, “You taste like a stolen honey cake, Brienna MacQuinn.”

She smiled, laughter in her eyes. “Does nothing evade the lord of the Swift?”

“Not when it comes to you.” I dared to kiss her again, before whoever it was reached the office, but something sharp pressed into my leg. Surprised, I leaned back and traced my hand down to her skirts, to her thigh. There was the hard shape of a dirk beneath the fabric, and I met her gaze, speechless yet deeply pleased she was wearing a concealed blade.

“Yes, well,” she all but stammered, her cheeks flushing. “We women can’t hide everything in our pockets, now, can we?”

(#ulink_d1d16890-ed11-5270-ba3e-4cd0eb87c0c0)

Lord MacQuinn’s Territory, Castle Fionn

Brienna

I planned to skip dinner in the hall that night, to prepare for Neeve’s first reading lessons. I was carrying a tray of soup and bread to my chambers, reflecting on how nice the afternoon had been visiting Cartier and his people, when Jourdain loomed before me out of the shadows.

“Saints, Father!” I almost spilled dinner down the front of my dress. “You should know better than to sneak up on me!”

“Where are you going?” he asked, frowning at my tray of food.

“My room,” I drawled. “Where else?”

Jourdain took the tray from my hands and passed it to a servant who just so happened to walk by at that moment.

“I was going to eat that.”

Jourdain, though, did not seem to hear my exasperation. He waited until the servant disappeared around the bend, and then he took my hand and pulled me along to my bedchamber, shutting the door behind us.

“There’s a problem,” he finally said, his voice hoarse.

“What sort of problem, Father?” I tried to read the lines in his brow, to prepare myself for anything.

“Tell me all that you know of the House of Halloran, Brienna.”

I stood frozen before him. “The Hallorans?” I cleared my throat, still caught off guard by Jourdain’s request and trying to remember everything Cartier had taught me. “Queen Liadan gave them the blessing of the Upright. They are known for their orchards and their steel goods—they craft the finest swords in Maevana. Their colors are yellow and navy; their sigil is of an ibex standing in a ring of juniper. Their territory is known as the hinge of Maevana, as it is the only one to touch seven neighboring territories. They historically had a strong alliance with the Dunns and the Fitzsimmonses, which was broken when the Lannons took the throne. Since then, they have pledged their allegiance to the House wielding all the power.” I paused, feeling the constraint again of my head knowledge. “I can recite their noble lineage if that is what you are seeking. Even the bastard daughters and sons.”

“So the name Pierce Halloran should mean something to you,” Jourdain said.

“Yes. Pierce Halloran is the youngest of Lady Halloran’s three sons. Why?”

“Because he is here,” my father all but growled.

I could not hide my surprise. “Pierce Halloran is here, at Fionn? How come?”

But I had a suspicion as to why. The Lannons were our prisoners. The Hallorans’ alliance with them had begun to crumble …

“He wants to get a look at you.”

“He wants to look at me?”

“He wants to present himself as a suitor to you,” Jourdain amended, as it would have been phrased in Valenia.

This revelation shocked me at first. But then the shock dissipated as I began to strategize.

“My, he must think he is very clever,” I stated, which thankfully loosened the tension that had been building in Jourdain.

“So you see what I see in this?” my father said, his shoulders sagging a bit.

“Of course.” I crossed my arms, glancing to the fire. “The Hallorans have been in bed with the Lannons for over a hundred years. And that bed has just been overturned. By us.” I felt Jourdain watching me, hanging on to my words. “The Hallorans are scrambling right now, as they should. They are seeking an alliance with the strongest House.”

“Aye, aye,” Jourdain said, nodding. “And we must tread very carefully, Brienna.”

“Yes, I agree.”

I took a moment to sort through my thoughts, to weave a plan together, walking about my room, absently touching the braids in my hair. I had decided to start plaiting my hair, as many of the MacQuinn women did. Warrior braids, as I liked to think of them.

When I came to stand before Jourdain once more, I saw a slight smile on his face.

“By the gods,” he said, shaking his head at me. “I never thought I would be so happy to see that scheming gleam in your eyes.”

I grinned and playfully laid my hand over my heart. “Ah, Father. You wound me. Why wouldn’t you be happy to hear of my plans?”

“Because they give me gray hairs, Brienna,” he responded with a chuckle.

“Then perhaps you should sit for this.”

He obeyed, taking the chair Neeve had graced the night before, and I sat beside him in my favorite armchair, our boots stretched out to the fire.

“All right, Father. Here are my thoughts. The Hallorans are seeking to form an alliance with us through marriage to me. I cannot say that I fault them for their effort. I’m certain they were tools of the Lannons during the past twenty-five years. And the political landscape of Maevana is dramatically shifting. The Hallorans need to rebrand themselves, to win the favor of the queen in some way. Marriage is one of the easiest yet strongest ways to forge a new alliance, hence why Pierce has shown up on our threshold.”

“Brienna … please do not tell me that you are considering this,” Jourdain said, covering his eyes for a moment.

“Of course not!”

He dropped his hand and let out a relieved huff. “Good. Because I do not know what to think about this! More than anything, I would like to spit on the gifts Pierce brought us, to send him off with a kick to the breeks. But both of us know that we cannot afford to be so rash, Brienna.”

“No, we cannot,” I agreed. “The Hallorans want to ally with us. Should we let them?”

We were both quiet, contemplating all the possibilities.

I broke the silence first. “We were just discussing alliances, rivalries. The four of us sat down and parsed out Houses to win over for Isolde. We are still trying to decide what to do with the Lannon people, but what about the Carran House, the Halloran House?” I shrugged, betraying my uncertainty. “It nearly makes me ill to think about letting them join our fold. They thrived the past twenty-five years while so many of your people suffered. But if we refuse them … what sort of ramifications come with that?”

“There is no way to be certain,” my father responded. “All I can say now is, I do not want the Hallorans in our alliance. I do not trust them.”

“You think they would deceive us?”

Jourdain met my gaze. “I know that they would.”