PREPARE the antidote. I needed a number of ingredients. Dragon teeth and powdered frog saliva I carried in my sach. Milk to contain the dosage and honey to bind the ingredients together I’d find in the kitchen. Certain flowers and minerals I needed, also dyed thread for weaving. I might find them in the women’s bower.
“Highness, I need some help preparing your husband’s cure,” I said.
“Who would poison my husband?” Ygraina asked. She stared into the distance beyond me. Worry lines deepened around her eyes and mouth. For a moment, the image of her face grown very old shadowed her beauty.
My sense of time and place wavered forward and back and then slammed me between the eyes with a headache. I had seen in a vision when I was five, myself grown old and sad because I was alone. Now I saw the same fate for Ygraina.
“I don’t know who would dare poison the Ardh Rhi or why, Highness.” I clutched her elbow to keep her from falling as her knees gave way. Mine weren’t much stronger. Sharply, I pinched her arm where I held her, hoping to rouse her from a state of shock. “Will you help me cure him?”
She didn’t flinch from my painful grasp. Recognition dawned in her eyes, followed by resolve. Finally she looked at me. “Yes,” she said. “What can I do?”
I outlined the list of things I needed and my reluctance to send a servant lest they substitute the wrong ingredient if the right one proved elusive.
I didn’t know how to explain in a few words my need to gather everything myself so I would become a part of the cure. I’d milk the cow and harvest the honey, too, if I had time.
“Come. Your father prefers to do everything himself, too.” Ygraina took my arm and led me out of Uther’s chamber.
o0o
“I tell you, Morgaine did not return to her bed until dawn!” exclaimed a young woman to a gaggle of other ladies gathered in the women’s bower. “Last night was the dark of the moon, when witchcraft is most powerful. Who knows what evil magic spells she worked! Or which man she worked them upon.” She dropped her voice into a supposed whisper, but it carried throughout the large solar. She tossed her freshly washed and lustrous auburn hair over her shoulder with a disdainful flip of her head.
Ygraina stopped short in her drifting progress toward her private chamber. “Nimuë! You know I will not tolerate malicious gossip,” the brenhines reprimanded the striking young woman. “If you have a complaint about my daughter’s behavior, you will bring it to me in private. Or would you rather I had your father, Lord Carradoc, remove you from court?”
“I understand, Highness.” The young woman stood and dipped a brief curtsy to her brenhines, but her head remained high and her face determined. Her haughty expression reminded me of her father — the dark-haired giant who had detained Da and me when we first entered the citadel.
Nimuë’s beauty stunned me. Where Ygraina appeared pale and graceful with her fair hair and skin, Nimuë sparkled with color and life. Her bright green gown beneath a gold brocade Roman stola matched and enhanced the color of her eyes. Flawless white skin made her look as if she had just bathed in milk. She stood tall and slim with her shoulders thrown back to emphasize her lush bosom; hips thrust slightly forward in a provocative stance I had seen other girls assume after their Beltane initiations. Her perfume hinted of musk and secrets and pleasure.
Next to her, I knew myself to be small, plain, and dowdy in my homespun gown, splattered with mud. My feet and hands seemed too large for my suddenly clumsy body. I smelled of smoke and the sweat of fear.
“I will speak with you later, Nimuë,” Ygraina said, dismissing the young noblewoman. She turned to a hovering maidservant. “Maeve, assist Arylwren with all she requests, no matter how unusual. Treat Lord Merlin’s daughter with the same respect you grant my daughters.” Then she mounted a winding staircase in the far corner of the high-ceilinged solar. The two maids from our escort trailed in her wake.
Absolute silence descended upon the bower. All gossip ceased. Not even the gentle swish of a needle working through a tapestry whispered in the large room. Seventeen pairs of eyes stared at me with curiosity, suspicion, and malice. I was a stranger here, dressed as a filthy peasant who had suddenly, and without apparent cause, become closer to the brenhines than any of them.
I would find little comfort and no friendship among these women. Nor would they willingly give me any information should I be foolish enough to ask after Lord Ector’s foster sons.
Then I remembered that many considered poison a woman’s weapon. And if I had spied upon a Druid seeking an elusive plant, any one of these women could have as well.
Nimuë? Was she the same Nimuë who had left Avalon as I arrived? I couldn’t remember. Four years and many emotions separated me from that day.
“Do you remember me, Wren?” A young woman with Ygraina’s pale hair and features detached herself from the knot of needleworkers by the window. “I’m Blasine, Ygraina’s younger daughter. We played together one Solstice when we were both too young to participate in the revelries.” She smiled sweetly.
Behind her, Nimuë gasped. Her face turned red with suppressed words. She obviously held sway over many of the ladies in the room, but she could not compete with the young princess for rank. The princess was a year my junior and much the same small stature as myself. She had singled me out for preference.
Nimuë narrowed her eyes and looked down her straight, haughty nose at Blasine.
I clasped Blasine’s hand tightly and returned her smile. Now I knew where the lines stood between ranks in the women’s bower.
“I remember you and that Solstice festival, Your Highness. ’Twas fun eavesdropping on our elders through a hidden peephole. Do you think anyone ever realized we were there and what we overheard?”
Nimuë gasped and blushed furiously. What did she have to hide? If she was indeed the same Nimuë who had left Avalon four years ago, then she had been too young to participate in that wild Solstice party five years ago. Or was she ever too young for anything
Nimuë had no way of knowing if Blasine and I had watched her or not when a drunken Solstice revelry became an orgy.
“Oh, yes. What fun we had.” Blasine laughed, peering at Nimuë through lowered eyelashes. “We must discuss that scandalous party while you freshen up.” She winked at me as we wandered through a side door to the bathing chamber reserved for the women.
I caught a glimpse of Nimuë shredding her embroidery with furious fingers as we left the room.
I wasn’t about to tell her that Blasine’s nurse had whisked us off to bed before we saw anything truly interesting.
Silence, too, could be a form of power.
o0o
Uther’s cure seemed ridiculously easy after the trauma of the vision. We forced mundane compounds down Uther’s throat, a few drops at a time. Quickly his body purged itself of new toxins. Then we had to bathe him again and change the linens.
A second mixture began neutralizing the more deeply rooted poison. By moonset the Ardh Rhi slept peacefully, healingly.
Da dismissed me with a wave of his hand. I stared at him with longing in my heart and an ache deep in my soul. Prayers for forgiveness sprang to my lips, but I couldn’t utter them.
We needed words to heal the breach between us. I had acquired forbidden knowledge. By ancient tradition and law, Da must now kill me rather than allow the knowledge to spread.
Was his love for me stronger than his covenant with the Gods?
No words had passed between us that entire evening and night.
We didn’t need words to know that one of us must remain at the Ardh Rhi’s side at all times lest he relapse and need a repeat of the antidote. Nor did we need words to know that one of us must taste for poison in the strengthening broth and fortified wine we dribbled into Uther’s mouth.
I tiptoed out of the room, silent lest I remind Da that I carried forbidden secrets with me. I had never been so frightened or alone in my life. I had no friends here in Venta Belgarum until I found Curyll among the jumbled masses. Not even the faeries could find me surrounded by straight walls and sharp corners made by men.
The Christian chapel and its aura of blessing called to me. But I feared the power of the place. I wanted only the love of my Da right now, not a confrontation with gods I didn’t understand.
Hugging the shadows at every turn, I made my way to the women’s bower. I needed a place to rest until dawn when I would relieve my father of his bedside duties. Ygraina had not offered another refuge within the Citadel for me. The women of Uther’s castle were all locked up — if not with their husbands, then under the protection of the Ardh Brenhines.
Locking women away made no sense to me. In Avalon, the Goddess was all-powerful and Her priestesses revered as the embodiment of Her. Sexual union was a sacred rite of fulfillment. Raping a woman and defiling the Goddess were the same, the vilest crime a man could commit. Yet here, Ygraina warned me, women were locked away so they would not tempt men to prey upon them.
Puzzled and still leery of who — or what — my father might have sent after me, I passed the dozing guards outside the bower and crept inside.
The solar was empty and silent. The women had placed all of the needlework into baskets. Their spindles and looms rested. Not even a mouse stirred the rushes covering the floor. Such absolute silence seemed unnatural. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck bristled. Goose bumps climbed my spine.
Samhain was very near. The boundaries between reality and the Otherworld faded with each passing moment. Ghosts and demons could easily have heeded a summons from my father to kidnap me back to their Netherworld.
A single oil lamp on a ledge by the door sent shadows leaping. I cringed away from them. Cautiously I tiptoed toward the large sleeping chamber reserved for servants and ladies of low rank. The widows, unwed sisters, and daughters of kings and lords had separate chambers farther along the corridor.
Pain shot up my foot. A fierce scraping sound, nearly as loud as thunder brought me to an abrupt halt. I had kicked a stool.
Clumsily I hopped and stumbled away from the stool as if it were my enemy. I gritted my teeth and bit my tongue to keep from screaming my fear.
A shadowy, ill-defined figure arose from a dark corner. It held a long object like a sword. I clutched my throat and backed toward the door and escape. My heart pounded in an odd, rapid rhythm. Cold sweat broke out on my brow and chest. What kind of assassin had Cernunnos and Da sent?
“Forgive me if I frightened you,” the figure said in a soft feminine voice made husky by weeping. “I thought you might be Nimuë come to condemn me once more.”
The owner of the voice smelled of power. I wondered if she had been working magic in her secluded corner. Weak magic, ill formed, and poorly directed by the wispy nature of the scent. But dormant strength seethed around the edges. Was the sword truly only an athame, or perhaps a spindle? Should she ever discover her powers, she could be a magician to rival Da and The Morrigan.
And yourself, a little voice whispered in the back of my mind. You are a magician, too.
“I’m Wren, The Merlin’s daughter.” I stopped dancing around and placed my foot — stubbed toe and all — back on the floor.
“I’m Morgaine. Ygraina’s daughter.”
I endured a moment of sagging weakness from sheer relief. Father had not yet planned my death. I knew in that moment that I couldn’t meekly wait for his decree, I had to confront him and know the truth of his decision.
After I dealt with Uther’s weeping stepdaughter who scattered magic about the room indiscriminately. To what purpose?
“Nimuë told the truth,” I said. “You don’t sleep in your bed in the room you share with her. Do you use these dark nights when the walls between worlds grow thin and weak to summon demons?”
“I might as well, now that she has ruined my reputation,” she returned. She smiled slightly with only half her mouth. “But I do not summon demons unless you consider a love charm to be a denizen of the Otherworld. That is the only way I can get a husband and leave this haven of malicious gossip and ugly power struggles.”
“Were you weeping because of Nimuë?”
“The lies told by Carradoc’s daughter don’t touch me. Not anymore,” she said. She stepped closer with a firm step and determined chin. “I weep because my mother, the Ardh Brenhines, has closed her door to me and to the world. When Uther dies, she becomes the property of the next Ardh Rhi, as do my sister Blasine and I. In times gone by, the next Ardh Rhi would be determined by whom the Ardh Brenhines marries. Mother should rule and I after her. I am no man’s property! I am a widow with a son, I should have all the rights and freedoms of a respected matron. But no. I’m an Ardh Brenhines’ daughter, still young enough to trade in a profitable alliance, so I am kept a prisoner here.”
“Uther will not die tonight, nor tomorrow. His disease wanes for a time. I do not know how long, but you have a reprieve, a few months to find a husband who will protect you.”
“I’d rather protect myself. My father would have allowed it. I could have joined the Ladies of Avalon. I could have become The Morrigan. But Mother arranged for my father to die in battle while she lay with Uther. Uther didn’t even have the decency to slay Gorlois, King of Tintagel, in ritual combat before claiming his wife and titles.” Her nostrils flared with anger. A new scent hovered around her, of sulfur and decay.
I backed away from her, uncertain what forces she tapped. I’d never smelled the like in my limited magic repertoire.
“My father could have sent you to Avalon years ago if you asked. You have wasted the opportunity. Avalon is no more. The Morrigan died. The few remaining Ladies have dispersed.”
“I know. But your father has the authority to send me to Avalon to start anew. If you ask for me, he will do it. He can deny you nothing.”
Except my life.
“You would be the maiden to my matron. We’d need recruit only one of the crones, then the magic would be complete again. No man would rule over women again. I’d see to that.”
“There is too much hate in you. You cannot honor the Goddess while you plan revenge against Uther and Ygraina.”
She gasped and stepped away from me. “You really are The Merlin’s daughter. You read my mind!”
Had I? I didn’t think so. I only guessed what actions her emotions would lead her to. Perhaps I could direct her energies elsewhere.
“An entire army of men camps a league east of here. Many of them are ambitious as well as strong and virile. They will welcome the opportunity to gain power and prestige by marriage to Uther’s stepdaughter. That is a safer route than confronting the Goddess with hatred in your heart.”
“If Uther and my mother haven’t found me a husband yet, think you they’ll bother now? They dangle me in front of kings and lords who oppose them. But they never agree to the marriage, even after their victim accedes to their demands.”
“Those who follow the old ways know that a woman has the final choice and the right of divorce. Fathers may urge a marriage for alliance or wealth, but the daughter says ‘aye’ or ‘nay.’ Make your choice, Morgaine. Find a husband to your liking or wait for someone else to choose a man you detest, simply because you didn’t choose him.”
“Wise words from one so young. Are you really only a child?”
“Nearly fourteen.”
“Of an age to marry. Tell me, will you marry the man your father chooses for you?”
“That isn’t likely to happen. The Goddess has chosen my destiny already.”
A husband and children fathered by Curyll, the Goddess had said.
Strange wording. For the first time I considered the possibility that the father of my children might not be my husband. My fears matched Morgaine’s.
o0o
Dawn came late the next morning. Between the lateness of the year and the depth of clouds, Belenos, the sun, caught me still sleeping long after my usual rising time.
Da had been sitting with Uther all night while I slept. I must relieve him.
I donned my clothes as I sped through the bower. No one called to stop me as I hurried past the groups of women nibbling daintily at their bread and cheese. I yanked open the door into the main passageway and slammed into the crossed lances of the guards.
These guards kept unwanted men out of the women’s bower. They had the authority to hold me until they summoned a suitable escort for me. Before they questioned my purpose, I ducked beneath the lances and ran down the length of the corridor to Uther’s chambers. Armed men guarded that doorway, too. Different men from yesterday. They glared at me sternly, awaiting an explanation.
“I am Wren, The Merlin’s daughter...” I prepared to launch into a lengthy explanation of why they must admit me to Uther’s sickroom. The guards apparently already knew it and unbarred the doorway. A third man politely opened it for me.
Inside, all was darkness. Closed shutters barred the weak sunlight. Only a few coals glowed dimly in the brazier. I paused just inside the doorway to let my eyes adjust. When at last I could make out a few shadowy outlines, I stepped forward, one hand extended to keep me from stumbling into something. My toe still hurt from last night’s battle with the stool.
“Da?” I whispered.
Uther’s light snores were the only answer.
“Da?” I asked again a little louder and took another step forward.
Suddenly a snakelike coil tightened against my throat, blocking my breathing. Black stars flashed before my eyes. Demons roared in my ears. I clawed at the constrictions with desperate fingers and nails. My right foot lashed out to sweep away whatever held me.
“Be still, or die this instant!” a raspy voice breathed into my ear.
My fingers stopped their convulsive grasp at the rope I found strangling me and discovered a man’s hand holding a knife to my vulnerable great vein. My heart rose into my throat, beating double speed in an irregular rhythm.
Blind panic brought me to absolute immobility. The rope eased just enough for me to breathe shallowly. The stars faded from my limited vision, but my loud pulse continued to compete with the demons roaring in my head. I smelled the fear on me and heard the rapid beating of my heart. Did my assailant as well?
The tip of the knife pressed against my throat. I sensed its wicked sharpness, though it did not draw blood. Yet.
“You spied on my priests. Death is the punishment for carrying forbidden knowledge beyond the Druid Circle,” the voice continued.
Had Cernunnos come for me? Had he killed Da, too?
I sought the corners of the big room for signs of my father. The shadows were too deep and unfriendly to tell me anything.
“Cernunnos says you must die. Dana commands you be protected at all costs. Which will it be, Arylwren, daughter of The Merlin? Life or death? Cernunnos or Dana?” The voice lost some of its hoarseness. I recognized my father in the husky whisper.
He offered me a choice. With relief came a flood of love. We walked a narrow path between Cernunnos and the Goddess. The choice was mine.
“The Goddess rules all the spirits of this world as well as the Underworld and the Otherworld. I choose Dana,” I said, croaking from the residual panic and constriction on my throat.
“You choose life, but you cannot continue to live with forbidden knowledge. The knowledge must die. A part of you dies with it!”
The knife moved to my right temple. A sharp pain and a sticky wetness flowed down my face. I cried out and reached to pull the knife away from my scalp. The rope around my throat tightened. I couldn’t breathe. Pain lanced from the knife wound to my eyes. My knees threatened to collapse, but the strangling rope held me up. The world grew darker. More black stars flashed across my vision. A white tunnel of emptiness beckoned beyond sight. The pain grew more intense. Sharp. Burning. Icy hot.
I screamed.
The blackness of the Netherworld claimed me.