Page 154 of The Daughters of Avalon
If only.
If only!
But nay. She’d left her alone on that ship, and now she was dead. The realization made her long to empty her belly. Tears scalded the rims of her eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
“Nay,” she spat, lunging at him and clutching hissherte. “Take me back! You must take me back!”
“She is gone,” he said again, and every time he spoke those grotesque little words so calmly, Seren longed to scratch out his eyes. For every day of her past twenty-one years, she had been the gracious one, always reasonable, always serene, the peacekeeper in all things. At the instant, nothing Seren was feeling was vaguely familiar. She was a glowing ball of rage, burning as hot as the firestorm she’d left in the harbor, growing stronger with every word this man spoke.
He caught her wrists and held them away, as though he meant to cast her away, but he did not. His dark eyes were a mirror to her anguish, and he said very firmly, but calmly. “I cannot allow it.”
“Youcannotallowit?” Seren raged. “Who areyoutoallowaught? Iwillgo back. With, or without you.”
Sheneededto see that ship again—needed to be sure her sister wasn’t out there, frightened and alone, seeking help. “Arwyn,” she sobbed, because she knew in her heart it wasn’t true. She could sense her sister’s absence down to her marrow. Once more, she probed theaether, and knew beyond a doubt.Arwyn was gone.
Forevermore, the world would be deprived of her sister’s sweet smile—her quiet wisdom and endless fervor. All these things were turned to ash—and why?
What happened?
What in the name of the Goddess happened?
What could possibly have happened?
She asked herself these questions over and over, but even as she did so, she suspected the answer…Morwen.
Somehow, inexplicably, her mother must’ve discovered their plans—but, nay… wouldn’t she simply take Arwyn away? Why would she kill Arwyn? Would she truly have been so heartless to have murdered her own flesh and blood?
Seren’s eyes burned with unshed tears; rage frizzled them away—rage against her mother, rage against herself, rage against this rude beast who’d wrenched her away from the harbor. Without a by your leave, he’d seized her away from the docks, flinging her over his saddle, and for all she knew,hecould have been the one to set that fire.
“I will not go with you,” she said. “You cannot make me.”
“I can, and will.”
“Nay! You’llnot,”Seren said, flying at him again.
He caught her and held her firm, and if she glared at him with ill-repressed fury, Wilhelm more than anyone understood how she felt.
He knew because he’d stood in her shoes… except for the fact that he hadn’t had the luxury to stand there, raging against fates. Perforce, he had been the one to march into those ruins in search of their dead. And yet, more than he could bear, Seren’s sorrow and pain was his sorrow and pain, and even now, all these months later, he hadn’t properly mourned. The unrepressed grief and anger so apparent on her face was a mirror to his own.
Like a torrent, the sound of rushing blood deafened his ears. His heart pounded against the cage of his ribs, and he wanted desperately to shout back at her that shemustlisten. But he swallowed his words, constraining himself, holding her steady when he felt her knees might buckle.
But even then, her fingers wrenched at hissherte, clutching him desperately. Tears stung his eyes as her pale eyes beseeched him. It was that piteous look that nearly unmanned him. “Please,” she begged, and he was nearly undone.
He hadn’t wept that day while burying their dead, nor any day since, but he longed to weep with her now. His own grief throttled his words, and he swallowed with difficulty, assaultedby the image of Ayleth of Bamburgh’s body lying scorched before him. But this wasnotLady Ayleth weeping. This was Seren Pendragon. Nor was she dead. She was alive. She was only broken as Wilhelm was broken.
In that instant Wilhelm felt a communion with Seren unlike any he’d ever experienced with anyone—not even with Lady Ayleth of Bamburgh. He’d pitied Lady Ayleth, in truth, much as he pitied Seren Pendragon, but this wasnotwhat rendered him speechless as he gazed into Seren’s shimmering blue eyes—eyes that were so pale a shade they reminded him of the silvery hue of a winter sea.
And… unlike Lady Ayleth, whose fingers were so rigid in death that he’d had to break them to rest them in repose, Seren Pendragon’s hands were clutching him in desperation, pleading with him to return her to the harbor… but he couldn’t.No, he wouldn’t.
For the longest time, she clung to him—or perhaps Wilhelm clung to her. He didn’t know, precisely. But he swore in that instant he would do all in his power to aid her—not only because he’d promised her sister. He would champion Seren Pendragon because they were one and the same. He would protect her, not because she was his sweet lady’s sister, but because there was a small boy inside him longing to do what she was doing right now… a boy as lost to the world as she was lost. “Shhhh,” he said. “Only think,” he begged. “Wouldst your sister wish you to put yourself at risk?”
Wrenching herself away,Seren shoved at his chest. “What can you possibly know of my sister?”
What in the name of the Goddess could he know about anything?
Her face twisted with anger, and in that moment, she couldn’t have cared less if she looked like a demon possessed. If, in truth, men wept with longing o’er her beauty, there was naught in her countenance now that would lend truth to this tale. She felt as hideous as Morfran of legend—Morfran whose countenance was so hideous that his mother had pledged herself to the worsthud du. Filled with anguish, Seren let loose a scream at the top of her lungs.
