did not credit the words. “Where?” she asked. “Come along, I’m certain they—”
“Mérian, no,” said Garran firmly. “Listen to me. Father is dead.”
“He was sick for a very long time, my lady,” offered Luc. “My lord Cadwgan died last spring.”
“Father . . . dead?” Her stomach tightened into a knot, and her breath came in a gasp as the full weight of this new reality broke upon her. “It can’t be . . .”
Garran nodded. “I’m the king now.”
“And mother?” she asked, fearing the answer.
“She is well,” replied Garran. “Although, when she sees you . . .”
Some of the others who had gathered around spoke up. “Where have you been?” they asked. “We were told you had been killed. We thought you dead long ago.”
“I was taken captive,” Mérian explained. “I was not harmed.”
“Who did this to you?” demanded Luc. “Tell us and we will avenge you, my lady. This outrage cannot be allowed to stand—”
“Peace, Luc,” Garran interrupted. “That is enough.We will discuss this later. Now I want to take my sister inside and let her get washed. You and Rhys spread the news. Tell everyone that Lady Mérian has come home.”
“Gladly, Sire,” replied Rhys, who hurried off to tell the women standing a little way off.
Rhi Garran led the way into the hall, and Mérian followed, walking across the near-empty hall on stiff legs. She was brought to her father’s chamber at the far end of the hall and paused to smooth her clothes and hair with her fingers before allowing Garran to open the door. She gave him a nod, whereupon he knocked on the door, lifted the latch, and pushed it open.
The dowager queen sat alone in a chair with an embroidery frame on a stand before her. With a needle in one hand and the other resting on the taut surface of the stretched fabric, she hummed to herself as she bent over her work.
“Mother?” said Mérian, stepping slowly into the room as if entering a dream where anything might happen.
“Dear God in heaven!” shrieked Queen Anora, glancing up to see who it was that had entered the room.
“Mother, I—”
“Mérian!” Anora cried, leaping up so quickly she overturned the embroidery frame. She stretched out her arms to the daughter she had never hoped to see again. “Oh, Mérian. Come here, child.”
Mérian stepped hesitantly at first, then ran, and was gathered into her mother’s embrace. “Oh, oh, I—” she began, and found she could not speak. Tears welled in her eyes and began to run down her cheeks. She felt her mother’s hands on her face and her lips on her cheek.
“There now, dear heart,” her mother said soothingly. “All is well now you’re home.”
“Oh, Mother, I-I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, burying her face in the hollow of her mother’s throat. “There are so many times I would have come to you—so many times I should have come . . .”
“Hush, dearest one,” whispered Queen Anora, stroking her daughter’s hair. “You are here now and nothing else matters.” She held Mérian for a time without speaking, then said, “I only wish your father could have seen this day.”
Mérian, overcome with grief and guilt, wept all the more. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured again. “So very sorry.”
“Never mind,” Anora sighed after a moment. “You’re home now. Nothing else matters.” She held her daughter at arm’s length and cast her eyes over her, as if at a gown or tunic she had just finished sewing. “You’re half starved. Look at you, Mérian: you’re thin as a wraith.”
Mérian stepped back a little and looked down the length of her body, smoothing her bedraggled clothing with her hands. “We have many mouths to feed, and there is not always enough,” she began.
There was a movement behind her, and a voice said, “Quel est ceci?”
Mérian’s shock at hearing the news of her father’s death was only slightly greater than that of seeing the women who had entered the room. “Sybil!” gasped Mérian. “Baroness Neufmarché!”
At the sight of Mérian, Lady Agnes Neufmarché put her hands to her face in amazement. “Mon Dieu!”
“Mérianne,” said Sybil, echoing her mother’s astonishment.
Prince Garran stood to one side, a half smile on his face, enjoying the women’s surprise at seeing one another again so unexpectedly.
Mérian saw his smile and instantly turned on him. “What are they doing here?” she hissed.
The baroness crossed quickly to her. “Mon cher,” she cooed, placing a hand on her shoulder. “How you must have suffered, non?”