Sisters Three (Completed)

50. Brenna (1/2)

The palace was achingly silent. No boots crashed through the halls, no sounds of children playing in the courtyards while their parents cleaned and maintained the vast rooms. Even the riots had gone silent on the other side of the still locked gate, even though the soldiers had long since deserted and the palace was now at the mercy of whoever could manage to climb or bomb their way in. It had been this way for three days, ever since Robbin's troubled confession in the barracks. The servants left that night, the soldiers the next evening. She and Robbin had been alone in the gargantuan building since, keeping to their room and wondering what exactly was to happen next.

Well, Brenna was, at any rate.

Robbin stayed in bed, curled into a ball on his side, staring at the wall. Partially this was due to his wound reopening and becoming infected, and partially it was due to his mental shut down. Sometimes she wondered if somehow speaking the words that he'd killed his father and that he was the reason his brother was murdered, had spirited away the brash and confident Robbin she'd known. Now he was merely more than a shell, one which wouldn't talk to her and left her to worry over the silence by herself. She sometimes even missed his yelling and scolding. Anything would have been better than sitting in the stifling dark without even a dog barking to let her know she was still alive.

Turning over in the bed, Brenna kicked off the blankets, knowing that Robbin wouldn't protest even though it had to have come half off him as well. The heat from his fever always made her stuffy as well, and she got up to cross to the window. The wood felt splintered under her hands as she shoved it up and let in a gentle breeze. It surprised her that the palace was already falling apart even though the servants had only been gone three days, but then she realized it had been crumbling long before that.

She stayed by the open window a few minutes, her arms crossed over the ledge and she knelt so that she could rest her chin. The breeze felt so welcome and she wondered what it might feel like to just throw on a dress and run out into the streets. Would anyone recognize her if she wasn't dressed the part? She wondered if she could escape the city and live somewhere out in the countryside. A farm perhaps. She summoned up the image of a sturdy but handsome farmer with a lined and kind face, and his dog that would instantly bond to her. There'd be sheep and flowing green grass, and not a single citizen would realize who she was. She'd just be Brenna, a girl in a simple frock living her life.

As she blinked her eyes open, dispelling the daydream, she realized she'd had that life before. Or, at least, something near to it. First at her Nurse's house, and then with her aunts. She'd been free to live that idyllic life on a farm, yet now she remembered that it wasn't about wandering in the fields and picking wildflowers. It was cooking and cleaning and raising ten children. She wouldn't be facing a rioting crowd, but she'd be facing the obscurity of a worthless woman just barely getting by on the pittance her husband brought in.

Sighing, she rubbed her eyes and stood. Maybe she was catching whatever illness plagued Robbin. She'd never thought this way before. Being queen was everything she wanted, and she had to remind herself of this. The riots would stop soon, once Morna returned, and they could perhaps continue ruling until the child was old enough to take the throne. They only needed a bit more time.

But Robbin's deeds had ruined that. She paused, half way to the bed.

No, not his deeds, but his words. His deeds had secured their place as king and queen, but his confession had muddied the waters. Brenna had no idea if they could clear them enough for the people to continue to let them rule.

But perhaps if she came to the power, and Robbin was reduced to merely Prince? He'd be out of direct power, but she'd still be able to rule and make the decisions that an infant obviously wouldn't be able to. The people couldn't fault her that. She'd done nothing to dirty her hands.

She climbed back into bed with her new plans floating absently in her head. Ruling queen was a nice title. She liked it. For the first time in three days she felt hope again, and almost happiness. A smile crept at the corners of her mouth, and she slipped into sleep as if she hadn't even known it was waiting for her.

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The door slammed against the wall so hard that it splintered around the handles. Brenna jerked to a sitting position, her mind swimming through the thick waters of sleep, her eyes unable to make sense of the shadows of men spilling into her room. Robbin struggled to his elbows, his breathing loud even despite the noise of jangling armor and boots against the wood flooring.

At first Brenna thought they were the servants come to get Robbin ready for the day, until she realized that they had no servants left. Then she began to pick out the faces in the darks as lanterns were brought in, and she saw they were all men with grim faces and the Anjeluund colors over their breastplates.

A shiver ran down her spine as she clutched the blankets to her chest. "What is the meaning of this?" she said. It was meant to sound imposing and regal, but as she looked back at the faces that were so unforgiving and blank, her voice wavered and she almost whispered it.

"We're here representing the true heir of Anjeluund, and we will act on his behalf in the issue of those who took the crown by nefarious and treasonous means."

They had already decided Morna's child was a boy, as well as that it would survive past infancy. Not to mention that they had any right as common soldiers to act in the name of the crown. Brenna clenched her fists, wanting to spew all this at them, but noticing the guns and swords they held by the sides.

"I demand you leave my chambers at once. Not only am I woman in her own private quarters dressed in her nightgown, but I am also the queen and deserve the respect of the men under her employ. You should be ashamed of yourselves, storming in here without even knocking!" She knew it was a long shot, a desperate ploy to be rid of them in enough time to come up with a plan. For she could guess why they were in her room late at night. Her hand stole to Robbin's, clenching it under the cover of the blankets.

"We don't take orders from treasonous usurpers and king slayers," the soldier said. A scar stood out in startlingly detail beneath his thick beard. She didn't recognize him, yet she could tell he knew Robbin very well by the way his eyes burned as he stared at her husband.

"I'm no such thing," Brenna said, moving the covers back and reaching for her robe at the foot of the bed. She slid on one sleeve, making to stand and try and rake back whatever commanding presence she had once exuded. "Now if you would please go back to your homes until the morning, when we can talk about this in a civilized manner-"

The soldier didn't wait for her to finish her sentence. He signaled to his men and they came forward, grabbing Robbin's arms and hauling him from the bed. A single soldier caught Brenna by her arm, instantly bruising her flesh with his iron grip. He spun her around the bed, and she nearly tumbled to the floor. Her wide eyes fixed on Robbin, his face contorted as his wound ripped and tore as they shoved him toward the door.

"Stop it, you're hurting him! He's injured, you dolts!" Brenna shouted, struggling to free her arm from her guard. But he didn't even have to try to keep her in place. She cursed her frustratingly small form as she watched them haul Robbin into the hall.