Page 96 of The Daughters of Avalon
“He’ll make a fine stallion. Alas, my dear, he is not for you,” I say, and still, she remains silent, a pillar of genteel strength even as I grit my teeth in fury. “I have someone else in mind,” I say sweetly. “Do you remember William Martel?”
Stephen’s loyal steward was a rotund man, with a head like a melon, and a face only a mother could love. As of yet, he hadn’t any title to his name, but as loyal as he is to the king, I know Stephen is predisposed to rewarding him, and, after all,Martel is the one man closest to Stephen, with access even to hisgarderobeand cupboards. Already once, I have persuaded him to do my bidding—when he was steward to Henry. My daughter says naught, and I continue, “Alas, he’s hardly the most attractive man, but I have a use for him.”
“He’s twice my age,” she says, finally, providing the first note of unease I detect.
I smile victoriously. “Since when does age matter, my dear? Your father was thrice Adeliza’s age when he wed her—fifty-three to her eighteen, and you are older than she.”
“Well, we know how that went. She bore him no children, and since remarrying for love, she has borne William d'Aubigny five babes, and counting.” There was a wistful sigh in her voice. “By the by… I hear she is expecting again… apparently, that’s why Lord Arundel went rushing out the door.”
My daughter is a silly little fool. The only reason Adeliza of Louvain did not bear Henry any children is becauseIcursed her womb. What good would it have done me to allow more brats to his list of successors? But her silky tone grates on my nerves. A flap of nuns passes by. I smile for their sake, nodding serenely, though I am filled with rage—in truth, not so much for my daughter’s forbearing as I am for Stephen’s offense to me. I know that man too well. He will undermine everything I have accomplished, only to best me. Thank the cauldrons his son has more sense, and the sooner I get him on that throne, the better off I will be.
I laugh softly. “Dearest, do you think I give a damn whether you bear Martel’s brats? In fact, I would greatly prefer you did not, as I will be certain to have myself named heir to your dower, in the event you should pass before I do.” My smile thins, as I cast her a sideways glance. Her enduring silence does not assuage me, and I continue, “It happens all the time you realize?Only think of your dear grandmamau, taken from us all too soon.”
“Thanks to you,” she says, in her sing-song voice.
Alas, all my daughters are bitches, but despite Seren’s confidence and even tone, I know she is unnerved.
“That man is an ogre,” she says, her mettle weakening. “And nevertheless, I maintain faith in our Mother Goddess. Whatever she sees fit to provide me, I will embrace. After all, I must remember Elspeth as my example.”
Elspeth.
It is all I can do not to shriek. Her very name sends a burst of heat through my veins, and if I am not careful, it will ignite the world as I pass. If I could have my eldest here before me right now, I would introduce her to suffering unlike anything she has ever endured.
My daughter.
My betrayer.
My little Judas.
How she could best me, I do not know. None of these backwater girls have ever had the least bit of instruction and whatevermagikthey possess can never match my own. Simply havingdewineblood is not enough to perform great feats. Much the same as an archer may not find his mark with his first shot, simply being adewineis not proof against failure. Even with practice, success is not assured. She must have found some wellspring to strengthen her, and I would not put it past my mother to have imbued each of my daughters with her dying breath. The thought infuriates me—that woman doted on my brats and never once gave me a bit of praise. How it galls, even now, to hear the fruit of my loins described as beauteous! Unparalleled—as though I, myself, am not gifted with the prophet’s blood!
“Seren… I would caution you, my dear. Do not tangle with me, or you will find yourself twisted in so many directions you may never recover.”
Again, she answers with silence—silence!—as though she must be concentrating every effort to block me.
I turn slowly, regarding her with canny eyes.
Sheisblocking me,I realize. And suddenly, as we near my apartments, I catch the tang of fear on my tongue, even as it drifts to me on theaether. I smell it stronger, and stronger as we approach my quarters, and I know instinctively before we arrive: Something has gone awry.
My reaction is swift as an adder’s. Reaching out, I grasp Seren by the tender flesh of her arm, and wrench open the door to my apartments, pushing her inside. “What in the name of the Goddess have you done?”
Inside the room, Arwyn faces me, her face pale, and I sense both my daughters trembling as I slam the door, realizing at once that my prickly little Rose is gone.
“Where is she?”
Arwyn shakes her head and I narrow my gaze, attempting to read the girl’s thoughts. Like her sister, her mind is now closed to me like a padlock against thieves.
I bristle, shifting my attention to Seren, doubling my efforts, and Seren, I realize—the tricky little witch—has mastered the art of artifice. Some of her thoughts are open to me; others have receded to the darkest corners of her mind, like little cockroaches hiding from the light. But they cannot persevere, and I will break them. And nevertheless, a frustrated growl bursts from my throat as I shove my loveliest daughter toward her cowering sister. And then… another thought occurs to me, even before the two chance to embrace—thegrimoire.
My eyes fly to the trousseau where I have safeguarded the Book so long. My feet do not move as I summon my mother’sbox. The lock clicks. The lid flies open to reveal a void that seeps into the marrow of my bones.
Mygrimoire…it is gone.
The single word that roars from the depths of my lungs is thunderous enough to bring a shiver to the rafters.“Where?”
“How should I know?” says Seren all-too sweetly. “I was with you!”
“Liars!” I shout. “Filthy liars!”
