The Queen's Resistance Read online

  DEDICATION

  To my grandparents—

  Mark and Carol Deaton & John and Barbara Wilson,

  who continue to inspire me every day.

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Map of Maevana’s Territories

  Cast of Characters

  Allenach Family Tree

  MacQuinn Family Tree

  Morgane Family Tree

  Kavanagh Family Tree

  PART ONE—The Return

  1. The Enemy’s Daughter—Brienna

  2. A Trail of Blood—Cartier

  3. To Take Up Grievances—Brienna

  4. The Swift Are Born for the Longest Night—Cartier

  5. Confessions by Candlelight—Brienna

  6. The Lass with the Blue Cloak—Cartier

  7. Bring Me the Golden Ribbon—Brienna

  8. Where Are You, Aodhan?—Cartier

  9. The Sharp Edge of Truth—Brienna

  10. Orphan No More—Cartier

  PART TWO—The Trial

  11. Half-Moons—Brienna

  12. Bitter Portions—Cartier

  13. Late-Night Quandaries—Brienna

  14. Once a Lannon, Always a Lannon—Cartier

  15. Brothers and Sisters—Brienna

  16. Let Their Heads Roll—Cartier

  17. Dark Discoveries—Brienna

  PART THREE—The Snare

  18. Ride the Currents—Cartier

  19. At the Mark of the Half-Moon—Brienna

  20. A Bleeding Princess—Cartier

  21. Lady of MacQuinn—Brienna

  22. Rosalie—Cartier

  23. The Beast—Brienna

  PART FOUR—The Reprisal

  24. Ultimatum—Cartier

  25. To Thwart and to Hope—Brienna

  26. Hidden Threads—Cartier

  27. Blades and Stones—Brienna

  28. The Southern Tower—Cartier

  29. To Hold Fast—Brienna

  30. Where Are You, Declan?—Cartier

  PART FIVE—The Lady of Morgane

  31. Revelations—Brienna

  32. The Account—Cartier

  33. The Dragon and the Falcon—Brienna

  34. Between Darkness and Light—Cartier

  35. The Queen Rises—Brienna

  36. The Best of Your House—Cartier

  37. To Meet the Light—Brienna

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Rebecca Ross

  Back Ad

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  MAP OF MAEVANA’S TERRITORIES

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  HOUSE of MACQUINN—The Steadfast

  * * *

  Brienna MacQuinn, mistress of knowledge, the lord’s adopted daughter

  Davin MacQuinn, lord of MacQuinn (formerly Aldéric Jourdain)

  Lucas MacQuinn, master of music, the lord’s son (formerly Luc Jourdain)

  Neeve MacQuinn, weaver

  Betha MacQuinn, head weaver

  Dillon MacQuinn, groom

  Liam O’Brian, thane

  Thorn MacQuinn, castle chamberlain

  Phillip and Eamon, men-at-arms

  Isla MacQuinn, healer

  HOUSE of MORGANE—The Swift

  * * *

  Aodhan Morgane, master of knowledge, lord of Morgane (formerly Cartier Évariste)

  Seamus Morgane, thane

  Aileen Morgane, wife of Seamus, castle chamberlain

  Derry Morgane, stonemason

  HOUSE of KAVANAGH—The Bright

  * * *

  Isolde Kavanagh, queen of Maevana (formerly Yseult Laurent)

  Braden Kavanagh, father to the queen (formerly Hector Laurent)

  HOUSE of LANNON—The Fierce

  * * *

  Gilroy Lannon, former king of Maevana

  Oona Lannon, wife of Gilroy Lannon

  Declan Lannon, son of Gilroy and Oona

  Keela Lannon, Declan’s daughter

  Ewan Lannon, Declan’s son

  HOUSE of HALLORAN—The Upright

  * * *

  Treasa Halloran, lady of Halloran

  Pierce Halloran, the lady’s youngest son

  HOUSE of ALLENACH—The Shrewd

  * * *

  Sean Allenach, lord of Allenach, Brienna’s half brother

  Daley Allenach, the lord’s manservant

  HOUSE of BURKE—The Elder

  * * *

  Derrick Burke, lord of Burke

  HOUSE of DERMOTT—The Loved

  * * *

  Grainne Dermott, lady of Dermott

  Rowan Dermott, husband of Grainne Dermott

  OTHERS MENTIONED

  * * *

  Merei Labelle, mistress of music

  Oriana DuBois, mistress of art

  Tristan Allenach

  Tomas Hayden

  Fergus Lannon

  Patrick Lannon

  Ashling Morgane

  Líle Morgane

  Sive MacQuinn

  THE FOURTEEN HOUSES of MAEVANA

  * * *

  Allenach the Shrewd

  Kavanagh the Bright

  Burke the Elder

  Lannon the Fierce

  Carran the Courageous

  MacBran the Merciful

  Dermott the Loved

  MacCarey the Just

  Dunn the Wise

  MacFinley the Pensive

  Fitzsimmons the Gentle

  MacQuinn the Steadfast

  Halloran the Upright

  Morgane the Swift

  ALLENACH FAMILY

  MACQUINN FAMILY

  MORGANE FAMILY

  KAVANAGH FAMILY

  ONE

  THE ENEMY’S DAUGHTER

  Lord MacQuinn’s Territory, Castle Fionn

  Brienna

  The castle was brimming with laughter and dinner preparations when Cartier and I entered the hall, blue passion cloaks on our backs, the night breeze tangled in our hair. I came to a stop in the heart of the grand room to admire the hanging tapestries, the high arch of the ceiling that melted into smoky shadows, the mullioned windows on the eastern wall. There was a fire roaring in a glazed hearth, and the women of the castle were setting the best pewter and silver on the trestle tables. They did not take note of me, for I was still a stranger to them, and I watched as a group of young girls decorated the table spines with a current of pine boughs and dark red flowers. A boy was rushing behind them to light a mountain range of candles, his eyes clearly taken with one of the auburn-haired girls.

  For a moment, it would almost seem as if this castle and these people had never known the darkness and oppression of the Lannon family’s reign. And yet I wondered what wounds remained in their hearts, in their memories after surviving a tyrannical king for twenty-five years.

  “Brienna.” Cartier came to a gentle stop at my side. He stood a safe distance away from me—a full arm’s length—although I could still feel the memory of his touch, I could still taste his lips on mine. We stood together quietly, and I knew he too was soaking in the clamor and rustic beauty of the hall. That he was still trying to adjust to what our lives were about to become now that we had returned home to the queen’s realm of Maevana.

  I was the adopted daughter of Davin MacQuinn—a fallen lord who had been in hiding for the past twenty-five years—who had finally returned to light his hall and restore his people.

  And Cartier, my former instructor, was the lord of the House of Morgane. The lord of the Swift—Aodhan Morgane.

  I could hardly find the will to call him by such a name. It was one I would have never imagined him possessing throughout all the years I had known him in the s
outhern kingdom of Valenia, when I had been his pupil and he had been my teacher, a master of knowledge.

  I thought of how our lives had intertwined, from the very first moment I had met him when I was accepted into the prestigious Magnalia House, a Valenian school for the five passions of life. I had assumed that he was Valenian—he had taken on a Valenian name, was polished in etiquette and passion, and had lived nearly all of his life in the southern kingdom.

  And yet he had been far more than that.

  “What kept you?”

  I startled, Jourdain taking me by surprise as he stepped into my view, his eyes sweeping me from head to toe, as if he expected me to have a scratch. Which almost struck me as humorous, because three days ago, we had ridden into battle with Isolde Kavanagh, Maevana’s rightful queen. I had donned armor, streaked blue woad across my face, braided my hair, and wielded a sword in Isolde’s name, not knowing if I was going to live through the revolution. But I had fought for her, as had Cartier and Jourdain, and with her to challenge Gilroy Lannon, a man who should never have been king of this land. Together, we had brought him and his family down in the span of a morning, a bloody yet victorious sunrise.

  And now Jourdain was acting as if I had been darting through battle once more. All because I was late for dinner.

  I had to remind myself to be understanding. I was not accustomed to fatherly fussing—I had lived my entire life not knowing who my blood father was. And, oh, how regretfully I knew now who I had descended from; I pushed his name from my mind, focusing instead on the man standing before me, the man who had adopted me as his own months ago, when the two of us joined our knowledge to plot a rebellion against King Lannon.

  “Cartier and I had much to talk about. And don’t look at me like that, Father. We’re back in time,” I said, but my cheeks warmed under Jourdain’s attentive scrutiny. And when he shifted his eyes to Cartier, I think he knew. Cartier and I had not been merely “talking.”

  I irresistibly thought back to that moment when I had stood with Cartier in his dilapidated castle on Morgane lands, when he had given me my passion cloak at last.

  “Yes, well, I told you to be back before dark, Brienna,” Jourdain said, and then he softened his tone when he addressed Cartier. “Morgane. Nice of you to join us for a celebratory feast.”

  “Thank you for extending the invitation, MacQuinn,” Cartier returned with a respectful bow of his head.

  It was odd to hear such names spoken aloud, for they didn’t align as such within my mind. And while others would begin to address Cartier as Lord Aodhan Morgane, I would always think of him as Cartier.

  Then there was Jourdain, my patron-turned-father. When I had met him two months ago, he had introduced himself as Aldéric Jourdain, his Valenian alias. But, like Cartier, he was far more than that. He was Lord Davin MacQuinn the Steadfast. And while others would begin to address him as such, I would call him “Father,” and would always think of him as Jourdain.

  “Come, the two of you.” Jourdain led us up to the dais, where the lord’s family was to sit and sup at a long table.

  Cartier winked at me when Jourdain’s back was angled to us, and I had to swallow a smile of pure joy.

  “There you are!” Luc cried as he entered the hall through one of the side doors, his gaze finding me on the dais.

  The young girls paused in their pine-and-flower arrangements to giggle and whisper as Luc passed them. His dark brown hair was in disarray, which was a daily occurance, and his eyes were bright with mirth.

  He clomped up the dais stairs to sweep me into an embrace, acting as if we had been apart for months although I had seen him earlier that afternoon. He took me by the shoulders and turned me about, so he could see the silver threads stitched upon my passion cloak.

  “Mistress Brienna,” he said. I turned back around and laughed, to finally hear the title linked to my name. “It’s a beautiful cloak.”

  “Yes, well, I waited long enough for it, I should think,” I replied, helplessly glancing to Cartier.

  “Which constellation is it?” Luc asked. “I fear I am rather horrible with astronomy.”

  “It is Aviana.”

  I was a mistress of knowledge now, something I had labored years at Magnalia House to achieve. And in that moment, standing in Jourdain’s hall in Maevana, surrounded by family and friends, wearing my passion cloak, with Isolde Kavanagh about to return to the northern throne . . . I could not have been more satisfied.

  As we all sat down, I watched Jourdain, a golden chalice in his hands, his face carefully guarded as he surveyed his people entering the hall for dinner. I wondered what he was feeling, to finally come home after being gone for those twenty-five years of terror, to wade back into his role of lord to these people.

  I knew the truth of his life, of his Maevan past as well as his Valenian one.

  He had been born in this castle as a noble son of Maevana. He had inherited the lands and people of MacQuinn, striving to protect them as he was forced to serve the horrible King Gilroy Lannon. I knew Jourdain had witnessed terrible things in the king’s hall—he had seen hands and feet cut off of men who could not pay the full amount of their taxes, had seen old men lose an eye for looking at the king for too long, had heard women scream from distant chambers as they were beaten, had seen children scourged for making a sound when they should have been quiet. I watched it, Jourdain had once confessed to me, pale from the memory. I watched it, afraid to speak out.

  Until he had finally decided to rebel, to take down Gilroy Lannon and put a rightful queen back upon the northern throne, to snuff out the darkness and the terror that had become the once-glorious Maevana.

  Two other Maevan Houses had joined his secret revolution—the Kavanaghs, who had been the one magical House of Maevana and the origin of queens, and the Morganes. But Maevana was a land of fourteen Houses, as diverse as the land, each holding their own strengths and weaknesses. Yet only three dared to defy the king.

  I think it was doubt that held most of the lords and ladies back, because two precious artifacts were missing: the Stone of Eventide, which gave the Kavanaghs their magical power, and the Queen’s Canon, which was the law that declared no king was to ever sit upon Maevana’s throne. Without the stone and the Canon, how was the rebellion ever going to completely overthrow Gilroy Lannon, who was deeply rooted on the throne?

  But twenty-five years ago, MacQuinn, Kavanagh, and Morgane had united and stormed the royal castle, prepared to wage war. The success for the coup depended on taking Lannon by surprise, which was spoiled when my biological father, Lord Allenach, learned of the rebellion and ultimately betrayed them.

  Gilroy Lannon was waiting for Jourdain and his followers.

  He targeted and killed the women of each family, knowing it would take the heart out of the lords.

  But what Gilroy Lannon did not anticipate was for three of the children to survive: Luc. Isolde. Aodhan. And because they did, the three defying lords fled with their children to the neighboring country of Valenia.

  They took on Valenian names and professions; they discarded their mother tongue of Dairine for the Valenian language of Middle Chantal; they buried their swords and their northern sigils and their anger. And they hid, raising their children to be Valenian.

  But what most did not know . . . Jourdain never stopped planning to return and dethrone Lannon. He and the other two fallen lords met once a year, never losing faith that they could rise again and be successful.

  They had Isolde Kavanagh, who was destined to become queen.

  They had the desire and the courage to revolt once again.

  They had the wisdom of years on their side, as well as the painful lesson from the first failure.

  And yet they were still missing two things that were vital: the Stone of Eventide and the Queen’s Canon.

  That was when I joined them, for I had inherited memories from a distant ancestor who had buried the magical stone centuries ago. If I could recover the stone, magic would r
eturn to the Kavanaghs, and the other Maevan Houses might join our revolution at last.

  And that was exactly what I had done.

  All of this had happened mere days and weeks ago, and yet it felt like it had happened very long ago, like I was looking back upon all of it through fractured glass, even though I was still bruised and battered from battle and secrets and betrayals, from discovering the truth of my own Maevan heritage.

  I sighed, let my reveries fall away as I continued to regard Jourdain sitting at the table.

  His dark auburn hair was pulled back by a ribbon, which made him look Valenian, but a circlet crowned his head, a glimmer of light. He was dressed in simple black breeks and a leather jerkin with a golden falcon stitched over the breast, the proud sigil of his House. There was still a cut on his cheek from the battle, slowly healing. A testament of what we had just endured.

  Jourdain glanced down into his chalice, and I finally saw it—the flicker of uncertainty, the doubt in himself, the haunting unworthiness—and I took a goblet of cider and drew out the chair close to his, to sit at his side.

  I had grown up in the company of five other ardens at Magnalia House, five girls who had become like sisters to me. Yet these past few months surrounded by men had thoroughly taught me about their natures, or, more important, how fragile their hearts and egos were.

  I remained quiet at first, and we watched his people bring forth steaming platters of food, setting them down on the tables. I began to notice it, though; quite a few of the MacQuinns talked in hushed tones, like they were still afraid to be overheard. Their clothes were clean but threadbare, their faces deeply grooved from years of hard labor, decades absent of smiles. Several of the boys were even sneaking slivers of ham from the platter, stuffing the food in their pockets, as if they were accustomed to being hungry.