Page 270 of The Daughters of Avalon
“Take me, but turn the blade, and we will see,” she said aloud, again. Unfortunately, those words meant nothing to her, and by now, she had turned the blade more times than a cake in a pan. Nothing ever happened.
She was adewine, indeed, a Promised One, according to Isolde, but she hadn’t any notion how to entreat the Mother Goddess for all the gifts she’d been promised.
“Seren? What are you doing at this late hour?” asked Rose from the doorway.
Seren turned to find her youngest sister peering into the workshop. “Oughtn’t you be sleeping?”
“I woke to feed the babe,” said Rose. “I saw the light pass my door and I thought it might be you.”
Seren drew a weary hand through her hair. “I could not sleep.”
“More dreams?”
“Nay. The bird.”
Rosalynde hitched her chin. “Isolde,” she whispered softly.
“I cannot help but feel she is trying to tell me something.”
“What do you suppose?”
Seren shrugged. “I don’t know. Something has changed. Nothing I can put my finger to, but I can feel it in my bones.”
Intuition was itself a form ofmagik. All creatures were born with a sense of it—men, women, even dogs, cats and birds… it was imperative to listen.
“Shall I wake Ellie?”
“Nay,” said Seren, without bothering to consider. “Let her sleep. She has her hands full with the boys. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”
Rosalynde smiled fondly. “Why don’t you come back to my room?” she suggested. “We’ll snuggle like the old days.”
Whilst at Llanthony, all five sisters had slept together in the same bed, and, far from being a burden, it was the one thing Seren most missed.
“I think I will,” she said, abandoning the sword. At the door, she handed the pricket to Rose so she could lock the room.
Chapter
Thirteen
The hounds were getting close.
Unfortunately, it was impossible to say from which direction they were coming, although Rhiannon feared it must be Cael.
By now, they must have found her ruined gown. She only hoped Marcella’s masking potion would do its job and send them searching in another direction.
Unfortunately, they daren’t mount until the terrain was even enough to ride, and much to Rhiannon’s dismay, it was nearly daybreak before they climbed into their saddles. Only then, finally, they were able to gain some distance from the barking hounds—thankfully, because they were still much too close to Blackwood to take any chances. Any experienceddewinewould recognize the scent ofmagikand intuitively follow it. To hell with those hounds, a nose like Morwen’s would smell the tiniest disturbance in theaether.
Essentially, all things were born of theaether, all things returned to it, but if one had the skill to do it, theaethercould be manipulated. Still, it was impossible to do so without some form ofresidua. Ofttimes, with smaller spells, the scent was imperceptible, but it was completely unmistakable with larger-scale manipulations. Knowing that, Rhiannon held back, even with the smallest incantations.
Silently, she followed Jack through the brambles as he cleared a path before them. Directly behind Rhiannon, agile as any man, Marcella followed with her blade in hand, riding as though she were born to her saddle. Her hooded cloak hid her ebony tresses. And her bright green eyes assessed their surroundings with a shrewdness born of experience.
How old was she? Rhiannon wondered.
She behaved as though she were a hundred and Rhiannon’s elder, though she couldn’t be much older than Rhiannon.
For his part, Jack couldn’t be more than nine and ten, though it was difficult to say for certain, because he, too, wore the same concealing cloak. Both seemed far too young to be able protectors.
Dressed in black, the young man shouldered a darkness that belied his youthful countenance, and, even by night, the haunted look in his pale blue eyes was unmistakable. Rhiannon wondered what travails he’d encountered to make him seem so glum. Whatever it was, she suspected it must have something to do with her mother.
