Page 184 of The Daughters of Avalon
Stupid fools.
Kill me?
I’d like to see you try.
I may not see my Avalon again as it is not in my power to resurrect paradise, but I will not rest till I see the blood of my betrayers expunged from this realm. Yay, I know mydaughtersbelieve I live to defy an empress, and no doubt, I will snuff that bitch’s Heart Flame before I am done, but nay. I will avengeallI have lost.
“You will not have died in vain, Bran,” I promise.
Taking my time, I fill the cauldron… water, the elixir of life. Lavender. Catnip. Milk of the poppy. The petals of a blood red rose. A wee bit of coltsfoot—all that I have remaining. Perhaps that will do. And finally, a pinch of my most prized receipt, complete with newts, moon snails and a pinch of human remains. One day, I will use this very philter to create an army ofmeirw byw, whose hearts will beat in their breasts, but whose loyalties belong to me. Once that day arrives, I will sweep through these lands like an avenging flame. And, in the meantime… I remove the divine athame from its scabbard, then slash the ancient blade across my open palm, holding it above the steaming cauldron.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
One drop of blood for every facet of the human spirit I wish to vanquish. Then, I return my blade to its sheath, all the while lapping the remaining blood from my flesh, wiggling my tongue into the fresh wound, taking pleasure in the sting as I watch my blood come alive, swirling in silver rivulets inside the cauldron, spreading, spreading… until the surface appears mercurial, and finally, once I have enjoyed the anticipation long enough, I whisper…
Blessed flame, shining bright,
Aid me now in my fight.
Unveil to all another self,
Liken me to Elspeth herself.
Power of three, let them see, let them see, let them see.
Power of three, let them see, let them see, let them see.
Power of…
Ah, now. `Tis done. My face isherface. My eyes,hereyes. My chin,herchin, willful and defiant. Smiling, I wave at the visage of my eldest living daughter.
“Good day to you, Lady Aldergh. How lovely you are. But is it any wonder? You were born of me.”
Chapter
Eighteen
Seren cast Wilhelm another glance. Leaning against a tree, he stood carving a point into his stick, all the while watching Jack, and she wondered how he managed to save his fingers from the blade when he never once stopped to look down to see what he was whittling.
By now, this was becoming a routine. She knew precisely how long she had before Jack returned. It was one thing to perform the Craft in front of Wilhelm, who understood who and what she was, but she daren’t draw pentacles or cast spells in front of an unsuspecting boy, no matter how much Jack appeared to like and respect her. She simply couldn’t bear it if he ever looked at her the way some folks did—as though she were an abomination of nature.
Once they learned who she was, it was impossible to miss the whispers and backward glances. She and her sisters were aberrations, merely curiosities to divert the court.
Somehow, Wilhelm was different. No matter what he claimed, there was no fear or revulsion in his gaze when he watched her, merely curiosity… and perhaps something more—something that never failed to make her heart quicken a beat. She was unfailingly aware of the man, and he seemedequally mindful of her, but she couldn’t account for it. Nor was it remotely appropriate considering his association with Rosalynde.
Were they affianced?
Was she his lover?
For the first time in all her life she felt a stab of envy that her sister had encountered Wilhelm first, and yet, she was never a jealous spirit, so envy was not a feeling she cared to explore. Putting her dark thoughts out of her head, she picked out a new stick to draw with, and gave Wilhelm a nod.
Against all odds, he had become her co-conspirator, sending Jack after firewood, then keeping watch while the boy foraged. Fortunately, Jack needn’t go very far, only far enough that he couldn’t spy Seren at work. And, naturally, as boys were wont to do, his task became a veritable adventure: He gathered two sticks, picked up a stone, then hurled it at some imaginary foe, before returning to his chore. A task that should have taken him only fifteen minutes oft took thirty. At the instant, she could hear him talking to himself all the while he played, and meanwhile, she drew her pentacle, then cast a hasty warding spell, and when she was done, she gave Wilhelm another nod, after which he returned to his stump to fix dinner, watching between thick lashes as Seren studied her artwork.
So far as she could tell, her warding spells appeared to be working, though it was impossible to say for sure unless they were tested. Unfortunately, the only true test was the continued absence of her mother and her minions, and if Morwen should ever appear, Seren would know her casting was wrong. Only then it would be too late. Her warding spell was not the same sort of spell Elspeth had cast from her ramparts. Judging by all those dead birds, her sister’s spell had had a defensive property to it, though its source and words were a mystery to Seren. She wouldn’t know how to do that. Rather, a warding spell of the sortshe was casting was more like aglamour—a suggestion by the Goddess to passersby that there was no one abiding within her circle. It was no more than a trick of the eyes. And regardless, she considered the weaving threads a positive sign—the bright striations and smoky coils evoked by her words were in fact evidence of her manipulation of theaether.
Matter—even the smallest, most ethereal particles—could not be rearranged without evidence.
While Jack remained otherwise occupied, Seren took time to cover the periphery with leaves so he wouldn’t discern her diagram, and finally, she let it be. It wasn’t the best crafting, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances. Later, when everyone was abed, she would do what she could to fix her lines again. Casting another glance at Wilhelm to find him staring, she blushed hotly, averting her gaze.
