Page 97 of The Daughters of Avalon
Suddenly there is a knock at the door, and I slam my hand down so both my daughters are brought to their knees, their beautiful faces contorting with pain as their knee-joints crack against the hardwood floors. They should be so fortunate if all I do is break their legs. Summoning all my composure, I press a finger to my lips, bidding them to silence, hoping our visitor will leave.
Seren’s anger is like a crack of thunder against the silence. “I will not?—”
I don’t care what she is about to say. “Gwnïo ar gau!” I cut my hand through the air, viciously, whispering the words as another knock beats upon the door. And, even as I turn, I sense the stitches piercing the insides of my daughters’ lips, sewing their mouths shut with invisible but infrangible threads. By the time I place my hand on the door knob, they are duly silenced, kneeling dutifully, as though preparing to pray.
“My lady,” says the matron who greets me. She peers nervously within, and I, of course, have naught to hide, so I swing the door open, smiling with certainty that my daughters appear beatific in their reverent poses. I, too, join my hands together as though in prayer, and my daughters both mimic my gesture and bow their heads as I do.
“What pious young ladies,” says the maid admiringly. And her brows slant with apology as she adds. “I beg pardon fordisturbing you, Lady Blackwood, but his Grace begs you join him in his chambers.”
It is all I can do not to shriek with despair. “Right now? Are you quite certain?” I tilt her a forbearing glance. “You see, I have only just returned from the hall.”
“Aye, Lady Blackwood. I am certain. And in his present mood, ye’d best not keep him waiting.”
She hasn’t any clue how close I am to cutting out her tongue for daring to advise me.
“My dear, you are too kind,” I say. “You must know well enough the title is no longer mine, but I thank you just as well for your deference—and your advice. Please, my dear, can you not apprise the king that I am… indisposed?”
The woman shakes her head. “Nay, my lady. He stated quite clearly that you must come at once, and?—”
“And what?”
She fidgets nervously. “If you do not, he shall provide an escort.”
I exhale annoyedly and turn to my daughters, cutting them a warning glance. I wave a hand to release them, and say, “Please, my dears, find your sister at once. I expect she will be waiting here, in this room, when I return.”
Both girl nod at once, and, reluctantly, I move to follow the king’s messenger. Alas, there is no way to avoid this summons, so I must deal with the missinggrimoirewhen I return.
“Pray she is not lost,” I say to them, and I know the menace in my tone is not lost to the woman at my door. She shivers as I pull the door closed behind me, and she hurries away, leaving me to follow.
Never mind… I know the way…
Chapter
Six
The simple fact that Rosalynde had managed to escape London without any sign of Morwen’s birds was no cause for celebration. Her mother might not care so much about her, but she wouldneverstop searching for the Book.
The undyed wool gown was chaffing her skin, and she longed to rip off the itchy wimple, but, until she knew for sure that no one was pursuing her, she must keep her wits about her and her disguise in place.
Intuitively, she sensed that she had already pushed the mare as far as she could for the night, and despite that she’d covered a fair distance, she couldn’t have traveled more than two or three leagues. Sadly, so much as she longed for more distance between her and her mother, she also had to consider the night’s precautions. Tomorrow, once she had her bearings, she could travel longer. In the meantime, hopefully Morwen would think her stupid and reckless and more than prepared to travel the night through. Then, she might not concentrate her hideous birds so near, and, thanks to Elspeth, she hadn’t enough of them to do a wide search.
Was it too much to hope that she had tested Stephen’s patience once-too-oft, and he’d locked her in a tower?
Sadly, she had no doubt that, even then, Morwen would find a way to extricate herself. The scope of her influence and power was frightening.
But she couldn’t worry about that right now—right now, she must find a good place to rest for the night.
By now, she was certain her mother would have returned to her quarters, and with Mordecai gone, the first thing she would do would be to interrogate Arwyn. Considering what was at stake, Rose had no doubt Arwyn would remain strong, but when Morwen didn’t get the answers she sought, she was bound to be enraged and there was naught so frightening as Morwen in a fit of rage. She feared for Arwyn, but her one consolation was that if Morwen should ever harm her twin, Rosalynde would know it, and right now, she sensed Arwyn’s heart beating strong.
Nevertheless, when Arwyn proved useless, Morwen would consult her crystal, and this was where Rose must depend on the strength of hermagik.
And for this, she must thank her sister Rhiannon. Even as a wee one, Rhi had understood that someday they would all need theirdewinegifts, and so often she had defied Elspeth, teaching them in private.
Essentially, whilst Rose and her sisters worried about being discovered by Elspeth, Elspeth had worried about being discovered by Ersinius. And, perhaps in the end, Elspeth had been right to worry, because the instant she’d left the priory, Rhiannon openly defied Ersinius—where she was now nobody knew for certain. Theaetherremained dreadfully silent—silent as these woods.
All day long she’d been repeating the only vanishing spell she knew by rote, over and over again. But, no matter how desperately she wished it were otherwise, no spell could make anyone vanish. It only dimmed one’s presence to the perception of others. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it did not. And,regardless, her simple concealment spell was not proof against the full force of her mother’shud du. Rosalynde’s only hope would be a proper warding spell, and she knew none in practice, only in theory. For that, she needed the book. After all, thehuditself was one thing—it was a gift ofmagik—and the Craft of the Wise was another. Inherently, it was a practical study of thehud, and thegrimoireheld every recipe and every spell her ancestors had ever performed.
Guiding her stolen mare through the forest, she searched for a suitable refuge, and, at long last, she came upon a well-concealed thicket and slipped inside, leading her mare into the covert as well.
