Page 54 of The Dragon Ring
“To the High King, not you.”
“Your time in the West has addled your brains, brother. You forget who you’re talking to.”
“And you forget that our father still lives. You’re not King yet. And you’ll never be High King.”
“I soon will be. And then I’ll deal with you.”
“You think the Council will elect you High King?”
Doubt slid across Cadwy’s face. It was plain this thought had already occurred to him. “They will enact my father’s instructions.”
“You think our father will have told them to make you High King?” Arthur’s voice rang with mockery.
Cadwy opened his mouth to form a retort, but the words didn’t come. Dubricius came hurrying into the chamber followed by Euddolen. The archbishop took in at a single glance the suppressed fury emanating from the two brothers and stepped between them, forcing them apart.
“You sent for me?” he addressed Cadwy. “Is he worse? Am I to administer the Last Rites?” He had a hand pressed hard against the chests of each of them.
The bony hand beneath mine stirred and Uthyr opened his eyes. “I’m not dead yet,” he snapped. “You’re here to witness a marriage.” He followed this with another coughing fit.
“What?” I almost snatched my hand back from Uthyr’s. I hadn’t forgotten about the fate hanging over me, but it had been gone from the forefront of my thoughts for several days, as I didn’t think Arthur believed in the prophecy or was that interested in me or marriage. Especially not after the bath house incident.
To say that Arthur was taken aback as well, seemed to be an understatement. “Now?” he asked, his face off with Cadwy all but forgotten. “You want us to marrynow?”
Uthyr’s thin dry lips drew back in a travesty of a smile, showing his yellowed teeth. They were in a surprisingly good state compared with the rest of him. “Now,” he repeated. “Fulfill the prophecy and marry the Lady of the Ring.”
Cadwy’s face contorted with rage for a moment before he could get it under control. With an enormous effort he schooled it into something resembling compassion. If I’d been Uthyr, I wouldn’t have been fooled.
“We can’t do a wedding here,” he protested. “And you’re too weak to officiate.”
The fiercely alert eyes flashed at him. “I won’t be doing it,” Uthyr said. “You will.”
An expression of furious shock flashed across Cadwy’s face, and he looked at Morgana as though appealing for help.
She shrugged her slender shoulders. “You’ll be head of the family after he dies. He’s right. You can carry out the ceremony.”
The old man gave a snort of laughter. “To fulfill the prophecy one of you has to do this. You can hardly marry her yourself, can you?”
Thank God.
“Being already married, that is.” Uthyr closed his eyes again. That outburst had taken it out of him. His chest rose and fell as his breathing labored.
Cadwy blustered. “I could put aside Angharad.”
“Well, you haven’t. It’s too late for that. Arthur will wed her.”
No one had thought to ask me what I thought about it. I let go of Uthyr’s hand and got to my feet. “I don’t want to get married,” I said, but I might as well not have bothered, for all the good it did me.
Arthur glanced at me, then back to his father. “I don’t need anything to forge my future. And I don’t believe in prophecies. Especially not this one.”
He was paid as much attention as I was.
“The chest,” Uthyr grunted. “In the chest.”
It was old Breanna who went to the iron-bound chest up against the far wall. She lifted the lid, and after a few moments, stood up. In her hand was a length of soft rope. What the hell was that for?
“What you believe does not matter,” Euddolen said to Arthur. “What is true is what matters. And this prophecy is true.”
Arthur gave a snort of derision.
