Page 173 of The Daughters of Avalon
“How curious,” agreed Elspeth. “Though I do not remember a time when Rhiannon’s eyes were not afflicted.”
Rosalynde shrugged. “Aye, well, neither do I, but this is what it says.” She put the Book down again and turned another page.
“Keep looking,” said Elspeth. “Somewhere in those pages lies something Mother doesn’t want us to see.”
Chapter
Thirteen
Dawn broke with a bruised sky that mirrored the bruises in Seren’s heart. But at least she didn’t have to remind Wilhelm to keep watch for Morwen’s birds. Instinctively, he seemed to understand the threat, surveilling the skies as carefully as he did their surroundings. But, of course, she needn’t wonder why he knew to do it; surely Rosalynde had advised him. After all, they’d spent much time before Rosalynde’s departure from London, worrying about their mother’s birds—those odious white-necked ravens born and bred to serve one master. Like most rooks, they could be taught the King’s Tongue, and while messenger pigeons returned only to the location of their birth, these abominations were drawn to Morwen, making her entirely indispensable to Stephen. After all, since all her little spies were controlled by her, and spoke only to her, it was only natural she should become such a valuable resource to England’s sovereign, intercepting messages from all over the realm.
Point in case: When Duke Henry defied his mother to attack Wiltshire two years ago, it was Morwen’s ravens that warned Stephen of the invasion. Stephen’s army was already waiting to oust him when he arrived.
Seren didn’t know precisely how it worked. She suspected themagikinvolved was somehow connected to Merlin’s Crystal. This was why they couldn’t leave London without destroying the scrying stone. But, of course, Rose could have had no inkling what they’d done. She would have worried all the way north. But fortunately, without that scrying stone, Morwen couldn’t spy on anyone anymore, save through her minions and remaining birds, diminished as they must be. Thousands upon thousands of ravens were slain at Aldergh. Even in their solitude, they’d heard rumors. The court was atwitter over it all, whispering in the halls. “I knew they were witches,” she’d overheard one woman say.
Then, from her gossipmongers:
“But, of course! Have you never seen the way she defieshim?”
She, being Morwen. Him, being the King.
“With nary a word of reprimand,” hissed another.
“If anyone ever dared such things as Morwen dares, they would find themselves drawn and quartered, entrails ripped from their bowels.”
“But not her.”
“Of course not. Because she’s a witch. Can you imagine entertaining such a lover in front of your queen? How can she bear such insult?”
She, being Maude—the King’s greedy, pinched-nose wife.
“Alas, ’tis one thing to have a nice, discreet paramour, but nay. There’s no telling how many men have sampled her wares. She’s been with Henry, Stephen, now Eustace, and I rather imagine Cael d’Lucy is no less a bedfellow.”
“Eustace is a mean little?—”
“Hush now… do not speak treason. I am told ’tis only a matter of time before he convinces the archbishop to confirm that wretch and Eustace will be our rightful king before long.”
The first woman crossed herself, whispering, “God forbid.”
But nay, Seren thought. These past fourteen years, God and his saints had all abandoned them. Better that each man and woman look to their hearts and seek the truth, for the realm was filled with prevaricators, who’d much rather entertain a beautiful lie than know a terrible truth.
And, in the meantime, her mother was a master of legerdemain. With such careful slights of hand, she twistedtruthas easily as a court jester shuffled cups and balls.
Her mother would have everyone believe Elspeth was being held against her will by the traitor Malcom Scott. But the truth was more likely that Elspeth had aligned herself with him, and Malcom had defected of his own accord. After all, wasn’t he Scots-born? Surely, he must have found some cause to return to the troth of his birth. And, if, in truth Elspeth remained at Aldergh, perhaps she was there because she loved the man. Like Rosalynde, Seren preferred to believe that, for love’s sake, her eldest sister had summoned the most powerfulmagik—magikborne of love. And it made sense, knowing Elspeth—how little love she had for the Craft. Only true love could ever have forced her to acknowledge herdewinelegacy. And nevertheless, despite this, Elspeth’smagikwas not enough to save them. Scotia’s king had intervened, arriving at Aldergh with more than three thousand warriors, forcing Eustace’s army into retreat.
Only now, in hindsight, Seren wondered if Elspeth could have had a hand in that as well, because David owed them, and Elspeth was not above demanding recompense. And considering all that, she wondered why Rosalynde would abandon Aldergh for Warkworth. Could she have gone anticipating Seren’s arrival?
But nay, that didn’t make sense.
Why should Rosalynde wish to remain in the company of Seren’s betrothed when she could have remained with Elspeth?If, in truth, Giles de Vere still meant to wed Seren, her sister was not born to be anyone’s mistress. Rosalynde was far too proud to allow herself to be used so meanly, and Seren knew Rosalynde well enough to know she would never seduce another woman’s betrothed. Nor would she ever be content to be a courtesan.
Nay.Rosalynde was too smart, and too spirited.
And yet, Wilhelm had clearly said she was waiting at Warkworth for Seren, and if he was to be believed, there must be a reason for that—what was it?
Had Rosalynde quarreled with Elspeth?
That was entirely possible. Rosalynde and Rhiannon both often took umbrage over Elspeth’s officious manner.
