BLACKNESS roared through my ears. My skin turned to ice while fires burned through my blood. The world tilted and I slid downward...
Strong arms grasped my waist, preventing me from falling off my horse. I leaned into the man who held me, knowing instinctively that Curyll would cradle and protect me. His familiar scent filled my head and lulled my panic.
“Stand aside and let the poor girl breathe,” a woman ordered. Her even voice and authoritative tone grated on my nerves. I almost opened my eyes. But I didn’t want to confront Nimuë yet.
“She’s merely tired after a long ride. This babe wearies her,” Carradoc said. His tone dismissed my faintness as if I did it every day. I’d never fainted in my life and certainly not in his presence. I’d never reveal a weakness to the monster I had married.
Reluctantly, I stirred within Curyll’s embrace. I wanted him to go on holding me forever.
Then I remembered why we had come to Camlann and who my childhood friend truly was. My father’s marked attention to a boy shunned by his foster family, his careful tutelage of Curyll when others thought him stupid, my own observations of his intelligence and political insight, had told me the truth long ago. I had grasped at his lack of royal trappings and entourage as evidence that Da had chosen another as Ardh Rhi, making Curyll into a royal courier in my mind.
With a sigh of regret, I found my feet and my balance, pushing myself away from Curyll. He sighed also as he dropped his arms to his sides.
“Wren!” My father enveloped me in a hug that threatened my restored breathing. “You came.”
I couldn’t return his embrace. Part of me wanted to. Part of me remembered all the manipulative things he’d done to bring us all to this situation.
“But what is this, Daughter? Am I truly to be a grandfather at last?” He held me at arm’s length surveying my travel-stained gown and muddy boots. His eyes lingered on the growing bulge of my belly.
“Oh, but you’re a grandfather already, Merlin,” Carradoc slapped his back with comradely enthusiasm. I was getting tired of that overhearty gesture. “We left my son, Yvain, at home with a wet nurse. He’s a bit young to travel so far. A fine healthy boy who promises to grow tall and strong as any warrior in Britain,” Carradoc continued proudly, as if he was totally responsible for the boy’s being and I had nothing to do with it.
“Yes, you told me last winter that she was expecting. I hadn’t received word of the birth, so I assumed she’d lost the child,” Da said softly, looking at Carradoc and not me.
A wall of silence grew between us. We both knew why I hadn’t bothered to send a messenger to him. He’d thrown me into a marriage I didn’t want merely to exert his control over the lives of all he encountered — of all Britain.
“Merlin, dearheart,” Nimuë said, her voice soothing, placating, and far too sweet to be real. “Let the girl wash up and rest. We wouldn’t want her to lose this child because you need to keep her standing in this windy courtyard too long.” Solicitously, my stepdaughter took my arm and led me toward a large circular hut next to the hall, a place of honor reserved for the Ardh Rhi’s favorite adviser.
She hadn’t greeted her father with any more enthusiasm than I had greeted mine.
Too many conflicting emotions swirled around us. Everyone here had secrets, me most of all. I needed time and privacy to think. More than that, I needed to watch and listen from the shadows, gathering information. The habits of my childhood would serve me well. I knew how to hide in the shadows.
But so did Nimuë and The Merlin.
o0o
From the sheltering shadows, I watched a myriad of servants and retainers prepare the Great Hall for a night of feasting after the wedding of Ardh Rhi Arthur Pendragon to the Lady Guinevere. Only hours separated us from the ceremony. A huge round table, open in the center, filled the hall. Sections of it could be removed to make it smaller for Arthur and his Companions to sit in council. Arthur would not preside at the “head” of this table, he would sit on the same level, in a circle of equality with his men. The table had been a wedding gift from King Leodegran. But I doubted the idea of equality originated with him.
For tonight, every one of the one hundred table sections was in place to accommodate the hundreds of wedding guests. Wherever Arthur and his bride sat would become the head of the table. Prestige lay in proximity to him. I wondered where The Merlin would place me. My father certainly would be on Arthur’s right, Guinevere on his left.
Rumor said that Morgaine, her husband Lot, and their children would not have the honor of a place near the king. I wondered what this insult would do to Morgaine’s bitter personality. But Lot had not honored his promise to keep the Picts from attacking Britain. Twice this past summer Arthur and his companions had ridden out from Campboglanna to defend British settlements near Hadrian’s Wall. Lot hadn’t sent a warband when requested to aid the Ardh Rhi in his latest conflict with Uriens of Gorre.
Guinevere entered the Long Hall, scattering servants, flowers, and instructions in her wake. She giggled at each fragmented statement.
Her golden-blonde hair was braided and coiled into an intricate design that highlighted her long neck. Her skin was almost as colorless as her hair. She couldn’t be more than twelve. Child slim and fragile.
Curyll, you can’t do this! My heart ached. How can you love this pale child after you loved me last Beltane?
“Flowers! Lots and lots of spring flowers, here and... and wherever,” Guinevere giggled.
The steward hovering two paces behind her frowned. “Lady, autumn is upon us. Our selection of flowers is limited and the colors dark rather than the delicate pastels you prefer,” he said. He looked as if he’d wearied of this conversation hours ago.
“But you know what I mean,” she apologized with an endearing pout. “You know how to make it right.”
The steward bowed and smiled and set about the half-formed plans she had hinted at. He flicked his wrist and a dozen servants scurried about.
They all clearly adored the child.
About my height, her braids seemed wispy and as thin as herself. Tendrils of hair broke free of her restraints and flew about in a wispy cloud resembling an aura every time she moved her head. She wore white and gold, the same hues as her skin and hair. Her delicate laugh sent shivers up my spine like the tinkle of faery bells.
If she’d worn a color and sported wings, I might almost believe her one of Cedar’s companions. But all of the faeries had remained in the woods near my home. Too many Christians crowded the capital. Too many iron weapons threatened them here.
From another shadowed corner, Curyll — I must remember to call him Arthur — watched Guinevere. A silly grin creased the blank look of enthrallment on his face. I didn’t think he knew I stood so near. His eyes never left his child bride.
A prickling on the back of my neck warned me of my father’s presence. I neither turned nor spoke, allowing him the illusion of surprise — for half a moment.
“We must stop this marriage, Wren,” Da whispered behind me.
“She has bewitched him,” I agreed. I didn’t flinch or respond to his startling statement as most would. I knew his tricks.
He wanted to creep up and surprise me as he did everyone, to catch them off guard so they would reveal their true thoughts and emotions. More of his manipulation.
“I have had visions of disaster.” Disappointment colored his voice. Disappointment at Curyll’s choice of bride? Or disappointment that he couldn’t startle me?
“A true vision of disaster or a convenient wish because Curyll defied you and chose his own bride?”
I’d heard enough of the story to know that from their first meeting, Curyll would have no other wife than Guinevere, even though she’d been betrothed to Uriens, Arthur’s sworn enemy.
My dream of the crystal cave on the night of Yvain’s birth had been of the test my father set to settle the dispute of Arthur’s right to rule as Ardh Rhi a few months after Uther’s death. Uriens had refused to swear loyalty to Arthur and denounced all who supported him, including his future father-in-law. Leodegran had refused to give up Guinevere to Uriens until he swore loyalty to Arthur.
Uriens had besieged Carmelide, demanding an immediate wedding and Leodegran’s allegiance. Arthur broke the siege and claimed Guinevere as his victory prize.
I don’t know what magic Da used to set the sword in stone in the crystal cave, but I knew it had to be a trick. He wanted Arthur to be Ardh Rhi; therefore the magic would allow only Arthur to free the blade. More of Da’s manipulation.
I wondered what kind of mess would develop from his tricks that I would have to clean up.
“I have had a true vision of Britain at war again, Wren. The only way to stop it is to prevent this marriage,” Da continued.
I didn’t look at him to see if his aura revealed truth. He could probably control that, too.
“We are too late.”
“But he doesn’t truly love her. He loves you. He has always loved you.”
I laughed, taking pains to do it quietly.
“I am married to another, as you ordained. If you wanted me to marry Curyll, you should have arranged it over a year ago when you had the chance. I have made promises to Carradoc, and I do not break my promises.” Only once had I broken my oath of fidelity. The fact that I believed Carradoc dead at the time had no bearing. He lived. I had lain with another.
I turned to leave the hall, sick at heart as well as mind.
“The time was not right then. He had to be free to seek the sword. He came to me and said he’d marry you rather than give you to Carradoc.”
“An offer born of duty to an old friend. He loved Morgaine then.” The memory of scantily clad Morgaine greeting Curyll in his tent froze my thoughts. “Andraste, protect us. Morgaine is his sister!”
“I couldn’t stop that affair, but I managed to make certain it ended before either of them knew of their blood relationship. That is all that saved his sanity when he found out. I thank all the gods that no one else knows of it, or his enemies would depose him.”
“You knew his heritage long ago. You could have told him, or Uther — he and Ygraina knew of the affair and encouraged it. They thought him a good suitor for Morgaine, a strong stepfather for her son.”
“The time was not right. Such knowledge would have warped his development as a worthy leader of men regardless of his heritage. I stopped the affair as soon as I discovered it. Please, Wren, you must help me before he makes another disastrous mistake. He gives his heart too easily and always to the wrong woman. Remind him of his true love — you. This is Curyll, the boy you have loved all your life.”
“No. This is Arthur, Ardh Rhi of Britain, and I, too, am the wrong woman for him. He needs this marriage as an alliance as well as because he loves Guinevere. I am married to another. I will not interfere.”
“Then you leave me no choice. I must make the girl choose another — before the marriage is consummated and can be broken, as she will certainly choose another afterward when only destruction of the kingdom will break the marriage.”
Da’s words chilled me. What did he know?