Page 45 of The Cornish Princess
Peering up at theAwenyddwho’d accompanied her for this occasion, she tried not to consider the Shadow who’d deposed her dearest friend.
“Do you feel different?”asked Ely.
Gwendolyn weighed the question carefully, because truly, although she didn’t feel changed, she also didn’t feel the same as she did before, though it wasn’t merely because of the heavy chain she now wore about her neck.
Somehow, in the bright light of day, it seemed heavier than before.
“Nay,” she said, “not truly.”
It wasn’t a lie, not precisely. She simply didn’t know how to explain this restless feeling that had been plaguing her since donning the torc and chain. Even with the Prince’s absence, he would remain with her always, morning, noon, and night, only because of the torc.
In truth, she now looked forward to her instruction with Málik, because that was the only time the removal of the chain was allowed.
Last night there had been quite the celebration, or so she’d been told. Everyone, including Demelza, had remained to toast the occasion until well into the small hours.
Ely didn’t even arrive at her bower until well after sunup, and she’d barely caught Gwendolyn as Gwendolyn rushed out the door to catch the Loegrian party’s departure. This wasn’t Ely’s way, but she must have been celebrating her own future as well now that she was officially Gwendolyn’s maid.
By now, the Prince was long gone.
For at least a full bell now, their silhouettes had vanished from the horizon, and despite that, she and Ely stood, peering down at the littered courtyard. Never once did Prince Loc look back, nor did he seek her on the balustrade.
But of course, why should he? she reasoned. He knew, as everyone knew, that she was not supposed to see him again, nor should he dare to gaze upon her. It was bad luck to do so before her bride’s day. But Gwendolyn hadn’t cared. She’d needed to see what she would feel as she watched him leave…nothing.
But not nothing, precisely.
More like…relief.
Why?
Unwittingly, her gaze was drawn toward the Mester’s Pavilion, where Málik now practiced with Bryn. At least that much was unchanged.
“I hope one day, I, too, will be wed, Gwendolyn.”
“You will,” Gwendolyn promised, reaching for Ely’s hand and cradling it. “I shall see to it, my dear, sweet friend. I swear it.” She gave Ely’s hand a good squeeze.
Admiration shone in Elowyn’s eyes. “I am so grateful you spoke to your mother on my behalf,” she said. “I cannot believe she has released me.”
Gwendolyn offered a smile and jested as a matter of habit. “I suppose she must be sure someone will be around to see toherinterests.”
Silence met her declaration. And only after she’d said it did Gwendolyn realize how it must have sounded to Ely—as though she didn’t trust her.
“I am loyal toyou,” said Ely after a moment.
“I know,” said Gwendolyn, quite certain that Ely would never knowingly betray her confidence—and her mother must know it as well.
“Alas, I supposed in part it could be true,” allowed Ely, reconsidering. “Now that Bryn is no longer to accompany you, I can imagine she feels better knowing I will be there instead. But you have always thought your mother to be so ill-natured, and I have never seen her this way, Gwendolyn. Neither does my mother, and my mother’s intuition is good. Queen Eseld loves you truly.”
Gwendolyn thought about the dowry chest, filled with so many thoughtful gifts—gifts that were not only beautiful, but representative of all the things her mother must hold dear to her heart. All these years she had believed her mother was embarrassed by her Prydein blood, but the opposite must be true.Clearly.She had saved everything she’d arrived with, perfectly cared for, and she’d saved it for Gwendolyn. So, was it that she didn’t feel brave enough to set herself apart from others? Did she sense Gwendolyn was brave enough to do so? That she would wear her Prydein heirlooms with pride?
Gods.All these years… There was never anything about Queen Eseld that had seemed weak or unworthy. She carried herself like a queen ofalltribes, although mayhap, deep down, she was still a frightened little Prydein girl, who didn’t feel as though she belonged.
Considering that, Gwendolyn stared ahead at the open gates—gates that remained open by day, for it was her father’s practice to keep an open door to all people and their grievances. Now that he was ambassador to all, this included people ofalltribes, although they saw few emissaries from Prydein. And despite this, there was peace. The Prydein were far more respectful these days, although Aldermans Crwys and Aelwin were also right: No matter that everything seemed harmonious at the moment, they would be fools to forget that King Brutus was, in so many respects, an opportunist—someone who had already amassed a powerful army, and who had, for all intents and purposes, lifted himself above even Gwendolyn’s father. Gwendolyn hadn’t wished to acknowledge this, but she could see it in Brutus’ demeanor, and that of his son’s as well.
Moreover, Prince Loc’s disclosure about Plowonida settled poorly with Gwendolyn, and although she’d yet to tell anyone about it, there was something about Brutus’ foray so deep into Pretania that gave her pause.
Now, if King Brutus should smell weakness, would he renege upon his promises? Should Cornwall and Loegria find themselves at war, the rest of the tribes would quickly forswear the alliance, and the land again would bleed.
There was so much Gwendolyn daren’t voice—not to Ely, nor to Bryn, not yet. And yet, though the Bearer of Tidings rang bells, crying “All’s well!”, all didn’tfeelso well.
