Page 236 of The Daughters of Avalon
And aye, she might use him as well—as she used everyone—but he would gladly allow it because… in the end, his goal was her goal: a reckoning for the Pendragon’s heirs.
“Ah, Nesta,” he said, with a heartfelt sigh, and then he attempted with some difficulty to summon her golden visage… all that materialized was a flame-haired beauty, whose words cut like diamonds and whose eyes, like a mirror, reflected the same sense of fury as his own.
Rhiannon.
Very, very gingerly, he set down the reliquary, considering the irony that he would now aid and abet the very institution whose gold once sought his ruin.
Indeed, with Maelgwn ap Cadwallon’s death arrived a new day for the Empire. Uther himself became the new Dragon Lord, whose son later ascended to his throne…
And where was Maelgwn’s heir?
Dead and buried mere days after his?—
Startled from his reverie by the blast of a horn, he peered back at the door, suddenly discomposed.
This time it would not behermessenger; it would be the Witch Queen herself. Two months ago, she’d given him an ultimatum—wed Rhiannon, or wed her. No matter what he chose, the consequences were considerable: force Rhiannon and he would lose her evermore; marry her mother and he’d risk his own goals; defy the Witch Queen and he would lose more than his life…
And… he suspected… deep in his heart… she wouldn’t be satisfied until her daughter was dead.
Knowing this, something other than common sense spurred Cael from his seat.
No doubt Rhiannon had heard the horn blast as well. Even without hermagik, she must sense her mother’s presence.
It would take Morwen and her company another interval to ascend to the gate. Once admitted, there would be no turning back. If, in truth, these were the End Days of her prophecy, it must be now or never…
Chapter
Two
News of the outside world was scarce, though even in the confines of her plush apartments, without the use of hermagik, Rhiannon sensed a growing darkness, a shadow that, left unchallenged, would creep over the land and swallow it whole. For weeks now, she’d had a terrible premonition—a sense of foreboding she couldn’t shake. It multiplied tenfold when she heard the horn blast.
Minutes later, when she also heard footsteps ascend the tower, she braced herself for a confrontation.
Was it Cael?
Please, let it be Cael.
Sweet, sweet fates—let it be Cael!
What if it was Morwen?
After all this time, would he hand her over?
Glowering down at her shackles, she acknowledged that if she were whole, she would know who it was. But nay, nay… she could only wait… and hope…
But why should she care?
After five long years with only Blackwood’s mysterious lord for company, she must confess she barely knew the man. Oh, yes, they made some pretense at flirtation, but no matter howmany witty jests he made, or how long they spent in each other’s company, like the castle itself, he was a fortress filled with secrets, and his truest self remained locked away no less securely than he kept her.
Four long years without answers or speaking to her sisters. Four years without practicing her Craft.
Four years!
The footsteps came closer… louder… faster.
Once again Rhiannon peered down at her manacles—impossible contraptions that defied logic. By order of her mother, they’d clapped them upon her wrists, and with the turn of a key they’d made her into a worthless bag of bones. Her lack of ability was infuriating.
Mercifully they were no longer bound together—a kindness served by the lord of Blackwood, who’d painstakingly reworked the metal over long, long hours to gift her the freedom of movement. And despite the fact, it was difficult to be thankful for his effort, when she knew good and well that he could free her with a word if he chose to.
