Page 167 of The Daughters of Avalon
She frowned, wondering where he could be, wishing so much that she could find a way to convince the fool to ally himself properly. Deep down, she believed Cael had a good heart, even if he wasn’t a good man. It was merely that he was enthralled by a demon, and so it seemed, like the entire realm, he was blind to Morwen’s evil as well. It didn’t help matters any that he was ambitious and bitter—why she’d yet to discover, but she was coming so close to the truth.
Coward, she thought again.
Thrusting a palm across her sleepy face, she yawned into her hand and crossed her arms as she waited to see what his lackeys wanted this time.
Without a word, one of the guards slid a now familiar turnkey into her lock, rotating it with a vicious twist, then pushing the cell door open. The very instant the door came open, in rushed two guards, and before Rhiannon could guess their intent, they’d pounced upon her, grabbing her by the arms. “What in the name of the Mother?”
“Silence!” screamed a stranger, his tone full of venom, as his men used undue force, despite that she’d never once fought them, not from the instant they’d tossed her in the tumbril.
The night before leaving Llanthony, she’d had a vision from the Goddess to show her what destiny she must seek, and she’d come to this place willingly.
Why this? Why now?
“What does it appear we’re doing?” snarled the man, as he entered, dangling a pair of shackles and Rhiannon laughed ruefully. Little by little, she was learning to master herdewineskills. If she so wished, she could shed those silly manacles; and therefore, she allowed their pageantry, leaving the guards to do what they must, despite the fury welling inside her. She was ever only kind to these imbeciles, and despite the bitter words they’d shared yesterday evening, she was ever only guileless to their lord.
Cael d’Lucy was originally intended to wed her sister, but Elspeth was now well and duly wed to the Lord of Aldergh—a traitor to the Crown, so Stephen had proclaimed. Now, the King wished for Cael to marry Rhiannon, but despite a fine bunch of carrots dangled by their king, d’Lucy had yet to agree to commit himself to any but Henry’s favored daughter. To a man, the Welsh sorely despised Stephen, more so than they had Henry, but at least Henry had treated the Welsh lordswith some measure of accord. The moment Stephen stole his uncle’s throne, the Welsh revolted. Little doubt Elspeth herself was needed to bring peace to these lands, for she was not only elder-born, and blood to a king, she was also the rightful heir to Blackwood, and Cael was wise enough to know that if he was going to keep his entitlement in the face of so much opposition, he would need to wed the heir of Blackwood—something Rhiannon would never be so long as Elspeth lived.
As for her own druthers, she had none. Cael d’Lucy was like any other man—as unpleasant in demeanor as he was blessed in countenance. One marriage shackle was as loathsome as another. “Where is your lord?” she asked, spitting the question like an oath.
“Gone,” said the man dangling her new silver bracelets.
Rhiannon didn’t recognize the odious fool. The other two must have come along with him from whatever infernal hole they’d crawled from, but, alas, they were only doing Cael’s bidding. It was not their fault their lord was a traitor to the realm.
But never mind, because she was biding her time.
Day by day her powers were growing stronger, and little by little she was learning what tricks she could wield against her captors. She wanted to crow that their puny bracelet would never bind her, but before she could wonder why they’d approached her in the wee hours of the morn, and with such expediency, when all her senses were dull and drowsy, the shackles were on her wrists and locked. But at least her hands were in her lap, not strapped behind her back.
The man smiled as he stepped back, inclining his head in a gesture of mock deference. “William Martel at your service,” he said, and Rhiannon narrowed her eyes.
William Martel?The man her mother would have Seren wed? The betrayer who’d poisoned one king already, and who stood ready to murder another?
“The King’s steward?” she asked, surprised.
His smile was too smug, and Rhiannon would have enjoyed wiping it from his face, except… she moved her arms and felt…weaker.
Confused, she furrowed her brow.
It was only a sense, she supposed, but in a matter of seconds she felt inordinately lethargic—as though she’d gone too long without supping and left wasted.
“What is this?” she asked, confused, weaker by the second. Far too late, she realized… it was… the shackles…
The metal stung her flesh wherever they touched her, and it was the strangest, most uncanny feeling, but even theaethersurrounding her was somehow depleted.
“A gift from your mother,” Martel said, then snapped his fingers before Rhiannon could recover herself well enough to respond—it was almost as though she were drunk now, impaired. The guards were long gone before she could speak another word, and darkness enfolded her in their absence. Little by little, the fire in her brazier grew dimmer.
Rhiannon struggled to put her thoughts into theaetherto seek help from her sisters—a thing she would never have done had she not had such a terrible sense of danger. It was too dangerous tomindspeakoutside proximity because all thoughts put into the firmament were left vulnerable to all who might seek them—including their mother.
It was far too late when she understood what Morwen had done... and not until her room grew uncomfortably cold and she could not bolster the fire in her brazier…
She was bound, not only by the iron shackles, but bymagik. The shackles were enchanted, she realized, and if they wereenchanted, it meant… not only was she well and truly alone, powerless to do aught… her sisters were on their own as well.
Elspeth! Seren! Rose!
“Cael,” she called weakly, but this time, there came no reply from the shadows. Cael was truly gone. Her answer was a silence so complete that it left her shivering in its void, and for the first time in all Rhiannon’s entire life, she was afraid. Not since the time before time in her mother’s womb had she sensed such bewildering darkness… helpless… only waiting, waiting. But this time, not to be born… todie.
Chapter
Eleven
