Page 273 of The Daughters of Avalon
How was this possible?
Even by her own admission, Marcella was a witch. For obvious reasons, those two professions didnotalign.
Disbelieving what she’d heard, Rhiannon met Jack’s gaze, only to be sure. He nodded swiftly at the question in her eyes, and Rhiannon blinked yet again.
How was this possible?
For ages, theirdewinefolkhad been hunted by paladins—and not merely in past times. From its conception, the Papal Guard had ruthlessly hunted her kind, dragging them out from their homes only to be burned at the stake—like her grandmother. Shortly before Rhiannon was born, her grandmother was sentenced to death, and executed by a company of paladins.They were, essentially, no more than executioners for the Church.
But she shouldn’t be so surprised because her own forebear was said to have aided huntsmen. The great and esteemed Taliesin was Uther’s mage, and Uther was said to be a founding member of the Papal Guard. There wasn’t a living witch who knew theirdewinehistory who didn’t feel some measure of ambivalence over the conflicts of their past. There might appear to be clear sides—right or wrong—but the truth was far more complicated.
A pure blooddewineherself, Cerridwen should have been the one to whom their loyalties were bound. After all, she was a Goddess, and Taliesin was her child, natural born though he was not. And yet, it was her blood that made him, and in the end, he’d betrayed her—as he later betrayed theirdewinekindby aligning himself with Uther Pendragon.
As the story was told to Rhiannon, Uther huntedfaefolkand slew them till their numbers had dwindled. He was the reason her people hid themselves in the sacred forests and buried theirgrimoiresfor fear of persecution.
And yet… here was Marcella… aiding Rhiannon… at hercousin’sbehest. It was enough to make Rhiannon’s head ache as much as her heart. Even with the burden of her manacles lifted, she could scarcely think to make sense of all the things she’d learned. Everything was clear as sludge.
And yet, she knew that not all paladins were agents of destruction. Proof of that was her brother by law; Giles de Vere was Rosalynde’s champion and now her husband. For love of her sister, he’d turned his back on his paladin vows.
Had Marcella as well?
And what, pray tell, was Marcella’s connection to Cael?
Whose side was she on?
And so, it seemed, even after so many centuries, there were still no clear lines to be drawn… Morwen was evil, perhaps because she was betrayed, and despite that this alone was no true defense, neither was Taliesin an innocent man. Their ancient feud—fanciful though the bards might make it—was as real as the nose on Rhiannon’s face, vicious besides.
There was no way around it; Morwen must die. And yet, despite this, Rhiannon suddenly understood something about her mother’s plight—perhaps even sympathized with her as well.
And now, if she sensed ambivalence in Marcella, at least she understood why: Marcella might, in truth, be herdewinesister, but she was a slayer of her own kind. Therefore, she was not to be trusted nor trifled with, and, yes, indeed, Rhiannonmustkeep her wits about her, until she chanced to discover what it was that motivated the paladin.
In the meantime, one thing was certain: It was going to be a long, long journey to Warkworth.
Chapter
Fifteen
By the time they crossed into England, Rhiannon felt her strength nearly returned. Although her body wasn’t so hale as it was before the confinement, her head felt clearer than it had in ages—as clear as it could possibly be while plagued with thoughts of Cael.
Unfortunately, there was little she could do for Blackwood’s lord, and she must accept the truth. Her husband had chosen his fate. Whatever his attachment to Morwen, his consequences were his own to bear. But it still made her miserable—as miserable as she’d been over the loss of her sister, although, in truth, they shouldn’t be the same.
She’d known Arwyn her entire life.
In contrast, she’d known Cael but a small portion of that.
And furthermore, Arwyn was an innocent, a good woman, who’d spent her entire life following the dictates of her heart.
Rhiannon didn’t know what Cael was, but he wasn’t particularly “good,” and neither was he innocent.
Inherently, it was a waste of time to grieve for a man like him. And nevertheless, she was coming to realize that love was not reasonable, and neither was it kind—not if the ache in her heart was any indication.
Distracting herself from her wayward thoughts, following her guides, she idled away the hours honing her Craft, summoning water from theaether, then tossing it away—a tiddly little spell that didn’t require much manipulation so it shouldn’t call undue attention. Their proximity to Blackwood was still too precarious and she wasn’t yet strong enough to cast a big enough protection spell to make the gamble worthwhile. But this spell was so simple that she performed it by rote, casting it again and again, strengthening her connection to thehudby virtue of the repetition. She was desperate to prepare herself in case her mother should appear, and they were far enough now that it should be safe.
On the bright side, they’d been traveling for most of the day, and still, there was no sign of Morwen or Cael. If luck remained their ally, perhaps by the time they made camp this eve, she would be strong enough to cast a proper protection spell. If not, she’d find some other way to defend herself and her companions—whether or not they deserved her protection. One way or the other, the onus must fall to Rhiannon. Only she had any true chance to prevail against Morwen, because, skilled as she might be, Marcella’s sword was a poor defense againsthud du. Paladin, or nay, her Craft left much to be desired. Bravado would take her only so far. With that sword, she might fare well enough against brigands, but Morwen was another matter entirely. Potions were weak and ineffectual, compared to elementalmagik.
Although, at this point, the sword had returned to her scabbard, all day long, she’d been swinging it as though in warning, casting narrow-eyed glances toward Rhiannon each time Rhiannon dared perform a new spell. This was the extent of their interaction, and Rhiannon quickly came to realize how much that woman resented her.
Envy perhaps?
