Page 149 of The Daughters of Avalon
It was an instant too long before Bran understood what she held in her hand. The shard transmuted. The blue flame in her hand illumined the entire room. And before Bran could stop her, she hurled the crystal at the door where it burst into bright blue flames.
Chapter
Two
Excitement danced down Seren’s spine.
Come nightfall she and Arwyn would be far, far from this nest of vipers, but at the instant, with the sun shining so brilliantly, she sorely regretted having left her cooped up aboard that ship—on her birthday no less.
After nearly asennightof raging storms, today was the Saturday Feria, and the entire affair reminded Seren of the merchant days at Llanthony, when Father Ersinius entertained his artisans. Naturally, that was always a crush, but nothing like this. The market affected an air of celebration, with jugglers and musicians in attendance and balladeers singing at the top of their lungs.
A wistful reed and a bullish lute vied for attention, even as the scent of Frankish perfumes competed with the aroma of smoked meats and the bright, inescapable hues of artisanal crafts.
Excited by the prospect of returning with a treat for Arwyn, she dug a hand into the pocket she’d sewn into her dress, searching for coins, and frowned when she encountered only loose bits of a philter for a glamour spell, and a shard of Merlin’s Crystal—worthless to anyone who didn’t know what it was.“Jack!” she called out, but he was already off around a corner, in a hurry to return to his father.
She quickened her pace.
Her escort this morning was a sweet lad, whose sense of duty was inarguable. Ignoring tarts and mouth-watering pastries, he hurried past fine, wooden boats with beautiful silk sails, but it was inconceivable to her that a boy could turn a blind eye to so many treasures.
There were desirables in every booth they passed, everything from intricate, wooden carvings inlaid with gold and beautiful, soft furs to sweets and strange, fire-colored fruits from faraway lands.
And, ye gods! If her nose spoke true, there must be every sort of bread to be had—biscuits, bloomers and barm cakes, walnut, fig, sourdough and rye. It was enough to make her mouth water and her eyes bulge with desire.
“Care t’ try a boit?” asked a jolly looking fellow holding a morsel of pie. Seren shook her head, though regretfully. Jack was moving so swiftly now it was all she could do to keep up.
Sweet tarts. Oh, my!
“Jack!” she called again, reaching once more into her pocket, as though by sheer will alone she could alter their circumstances—and perhaps Rhiannon could, but Seren could not. Hermagikwas scarcely more puissant than Arwyn’s, although at least Seren could keep aglamour, and failing that, she wasn’t terrible with concealment spells, although at Jack’s breakneck pace, a concealment spell wasn’t necessary. They must be a blur to everyone’s eyes.
Arwyn would love one of those tarts.
This year was the first year she and her sisters had spent their birth anniversaries apart. After all they had already endured, Seren hadn’t wished to remind Arwyn she was spending hers so far from Rose, but she was fooling herself if she believed Arwynwasn’t already lamenting the fact. From their very first breaths, and perhaps before, those two had shared an uncommon bond, as twins always must.
A tart would put a smile on her face, but, unless she could convince Jack to slow down and part with a copper or two, there wasn’t any reason to linger.
She caught up to him at long last, and asked, “How long have you been sailing with your Papa, Jack?”
“Since I was a wee boy,” he said.
Tall for his age, with sweet blue eyes and hair as yellow as the blossom of the broom, he mustn’t be older than twelve.
Seren smiled at his choice of words. “You are still a boy,” she said warmly, and he blushed fiercely.
Truly, it wasn’t that she meant to disparage him, only that she wished to remind him that one day all-too-soon his opportunities to smash meat pies down his gob would be gone. He would be a man grown, with a man’s duties, and if sweet tarts held any appeal at all, he would be honor-bound to spend his coin far more sensibly.
Without slowing, he lowered a hand to his knee cap, and said, with his odd accent, “Since I was here. Now, I am three and ten—hardly a boy.” And he tossed her a backward glance, with want-to-be wayward eyes.
Seren was all-too accustomed to such glances, but, alas, so it seemed, even thirteen-year-olds were not immune to her gifts. His gaze fell briefly upon her bosom, and quickly darted away. But he deepened his voice, and his cheeks turned rosy. “I have seen more than most,” he said, straightening his spine, and Seren smiled, suspecting it could well be true, but she refrained from pointing out that he wasn’t even born yet when Stephen stole her father’s throne. Still and all, he seemed wise beyond his years, and he was responsible to a fault. Today, his Papa had tasked him with escorting Seren to the courier, and come whatmay, he hadn’t been willing to deviate from that task, not even for the promise of a sweet tart.
Ah, well.There would be time enough for treats later. Matilda was sure to have bakers by the dozens.
“Do you think we will be in Calais by nightfall?” she said, getting excited again.
Jack cast her a backward glance, and said, sounding too much like a chiding Papa, “Not if we are haggling wi’ every peddler we see.”
Alas, point well taken.
Avoiding eye-contact a bit more dutifully, Seren kept her chin down, following her escort, and so it was that she missed the smoke curling up into the mid-morning sky… until they rounded a corner and emerged onto the Marine Parade. But even then, she thought little of the unfurling smoke, or even the congregation, until she overheard a snippet of conversation:
