Page 171 of The Daughters of Avalon
“I will not fail my lord husband. Nor will I betrayourcause,” she said, dismissing Elspeth’s complaints.
Mother’s mercy! Everything for the cause.
Elspeth more than anyone understood the importance of deposing the Usurper, but to leave another of her sisters vulnerable was unthinkable—not even to support Matilda.
Already, they’d lost Arwyn. Elspeth could not bear to lose Rosalynde as well, not even for the sake of the realm. Their sister Matilda had more than enough men to defend her, and proof of that was plain to see… if not, Morwen would have already found a way to kill her long ago—which was, in itself, heartening, because if Morwen could not destroy the one person she most loathed in this realm, there must, indeed, be some way to stop her—some way that did not involve losing yet another sister.
Months ago she’d taken to picking at her thumbnail. Now it was raw. Really, so much as it pleased her to see Rosalynde rallying behind Matilda, and so much as it relieved her to see that something was being done about the currentpolitikalclime, she absolutely loathed the thought of putting any of her sisters in danger. At one point, she herself had been prepared to lay down her life forthe cause, but now that she had two sweet babes, she must reconsider. If she died, what then would happen to Lachlan and Broc?
Nay, there was only one reason in the entire world she would ever leave them… and that was to aid her sisters. But considering Giles de Vere’s occupation, she had come here thinking Rosalynde would be very well defended. That did not appear to be the case, and they would be better off scheming at Aldergh, with three times the number of men, and a well-fortified castleanddonjonfilled with loyal stewards who would all die to defend them.
But here they were…
With a vengeance, Elspeth flicked her thumbnail, aggravating the flesh beneath.
What about Seren—where was she?
What about Rhiannon?
In the direst of moments, both she and Rosalynde always managed to hear from Rhi. For Elspeth, throughmindspeaking. For Rosalynde,mindspeakingand dream visitation. But no matter how many times they engaged her now, Rhiannon remained eternally silent. Theaetherwas as devoid of her presence as it was of Arwyn’s… except that Rhiannon’s absence was more like a closed door. Arwyn’s was a terrible, empty void.
With a weary sigh, she gave up the fight for the moment, thinking that so long as Rosalynde’s sword was not glowing, she must take comfort in that. And yet, no matter that it lay so quietly beside them, she couldn’t keep her eyes off the shining metal blade, with its intricately crafted serpents. She couldn’t believe all the things Rosalynde told her…
A gift from her husband, the sword was crafted by one forebear to give to another; it was the same weapon that once belonged to a son of Uther, by all accounts, as fine a warrior as ever did live. When the time came to choose his allegiance, he chose, not his father’s Roman kinsmen, but the people of Wales. And yet, the troubadours had this story wrong: Avalon was gone before Arthur ever took his first breath. He was only blessed by Avalon by virtue of his association with Taliesin. Moreover, Arthur’s sister was not responsible for his death.
What the troubadours did have correct was this: With that sword Rosalynde now possessed, Arthur slew hordes of Saxons, and eventually, he and his armies caused the Romans to flee Wales. But how ironic it was that the very men he vanquishedwere the very men who’d, somehow, not only come to possess his sword, but were also the ones Matilda now called in defense of the realm—the Romans with their Paladins.
Even now, Elspeth could hardly believe Giles was a member of the Papal Guard—defenders of the realm, so ’twas said, but huntsmen nevertheless. They were the ones who’d carried out her grandmamau’s sentencing—a fact Elspeth was still coming to grips over.
Sighing ruefully, she watched her sister pore over the ancient tome. TheBook of Secretswas ancient and irreplaceable. There was no other of its kind. Within its hallowed pages were hundreds of untold mysteries, alchemic prescriptions and long-forgotten spells. To the wrong eyes, it could be infinitely dangerous, and therefore, the Book was bound by bloodmagik; only adewine’sblood could reveal its true nature. To keep it safe, Rosalynde had risked her life to steal it north, and if Morwen ever retrieved it… well, then, the realms of men should hide beneath their beds.
Embossed upon the aged volume were endless, ever-changing symbols emerging and receding into the leather surface—a wonder to be sure, and she marveled that not so long ago she would have considered this utterly impossible. And yet, here they were, and there was Rosalynde—wife to a huntsman—reading theBook of Secretsin plain sight.
Truly, it was a marvel, and Elspeth was glad to be a witness to it, even if she missed her babes so much it hurt. Even now, her nipples were sore from having suckled them so long after the wet-nurse advised her to wean them. Her body remembered their weight at her bosom, and her nipples throbbed with the desperation to feed them. But, alas, dwelling on that served no one right now, and if she kept it up, she would ruin yet another gown.
Pushing her sweet boys out of her head, she peered down at thegrimoire. For hours now they’d been searching for a good protection spell, and there were many, but none powerful enough to wield the way Elspeth had wielded that spell on the battlements the eve of their mother’s attack.Thatspell was not in this Book, for it had come directly from the Mother Goddess, fully formed as it sprang to her lips.
And yet, so much as she appreciated the divine intervention, that night was a blight on her memory.
That night, whilst their mother had waited in a tent—not unlike this very tent—outside proximity of Aldergh’s missiles, she’d sent an angry swarm of ravens. Thousands upon thousands of black birds descended upon her home, and Elspeth had not known what to do.
On the one hand, she hadn’t believed she could do anything at all. On the other hand, she was mortified to reveal herself as a witch—no less before the very souls she’d hoped to impress. But in that instant, spurred by the memory of something Rhiannon had said to Malcom, she’d lifted her hand and cast a warding spell unlike any she’d ever heard.
But that was the thing aboutgrimoires; not everything was perfectly recorded; some spells were Goddess sent. And still, it was easier to imagine what could be done if only one knew what had been done—and this, no doubt, was the reason their mother would not allow them to open the Book.
That, and Elspeth had a burning suspicion there was something else hidden amidst these pages… something Morwen didn’t want anyone to see… something Elspeth had yet to discover…
“What about the warding spell you said you cast at Aldergh?”
“The one before I left… or the other?”
“The one you cast before you left.”
“Nay,” said Elspeth. “That was not precisely a protection spell. Rather, it only fortifies the spell I cast on the battlements. It would not serve you here.”
“What about this one?” Rosalynde asked, tapping a finger on the page.
Elspeth leaned closer, reading the words below her sister’s fingertip.
