Page 25 of A Crown So Cursed
“Of course now, and we know why,” said Amergin, tugging at his beard. “I do not believe magic will ever return to the mortal lands.”
“What of Trevena?” pressed Emrys.
Gwendolyn lifted a shoulder. “The city fares well enough, but the port brings fewer and fewer merchants by the day.” She sighed. “But at least there is peace—for now.”
“Oh! And the Temple of the Dead has been completed at long last. The neighboring tribes send their priests to study, even as thedawnsiohas revived. My mother is so pleased.”
“How does Queen Eseld fare?”
“Happily wed,” Gwendolyn revealed.
“Caradoc?”
Gwendolyn nodded.
“What of Baugh?”
“Gone, so I am told. He left Albanactus with the thanedom, and of course, whilethat oneis far less offensive than his brother, Loc, he renamed the entire north after himself!”
“Alba,” said Amergin, testing the name as, once again, he tugged at his beard.
Gwendolyn nodded.
“Such hubris,” said Emrys. He then added, “One can only hope Loc’s son will not follow in his father’s boots.” Gwendolyn shook her head adamantly, her gaze softening at the mention of her boy—no longer a boy, in truth. “I worry more he will not find himself a worthy bride—someone who will complete him. Habren is everything a mother could ever hope for, and I worry about him, though I trust Bryn will guide him well, and Taryn will keep him safe.”
“Taryn?!” asked Emrys. “His Shadow?”
Gwendolyn nodded.
“A woman?!”
“How…democratic,” remarked Amergin.
“No more so than to kneel before a queen,” suggested Gwendolyn with a smile.
“Well, that is true,” said Amergin. “But you know history will scheme to negate your legacy? They will build statues to Corineus, and even to Gogmagog, but never you.”
Gwendolyn shrugged. “I do not need statues,” she avowed. She was more than certain they spoke true, but she could hardly worry now about what people years from today might do. “It matters not, dear friend.Weknow the truth, and as it should be, there will arise no good king to any throne who will not have the help of a good woman. This isourway—to support and nurture.”
She smiled wistfully. “Would that it could be different, and maybe someday?”
Emrys nodded solemnly, and Amergin did as well.
Just so, they carried on and on, speaking at length as though nary a day had passed between them. It was as though, in fact, they were as they once were, because without a mirror to peer into, Gwendolyn could too easily believe no time had passed, when neither of these two old souls had aged a day since she saw them last.
Nearly two hours later, they were still chatting, now examining tomes.
“That one is quite extraordinary,” said Emrys, looking particularly satisfied that Gwendolyn had chosen it without his guidance. “It conforms to the reader,” he explained.
Amergin hurried to add, “It will tell you what you most wish to know—if it deems you worthy to know it.” He reached out, daring to finger it, brushing the cover, and Gwendolyn watched as the words on the vellum shifted, forming intricate patterns. It was quite unlike the rest of the tomes, bearing a cover made of a shimmering material that Gwendolyn did not recognize.
“Dragon scales,” Amergin supplied, noting her expression.
“From the last of the Great Wyrms,” said Emrys, his voice carrying a note of reverence.
“Wyrms?” Málik had once referred to his father that way, and to himself as well. But Gwendolyn did not understand what it meant.
“The Ollphéisteanna,” explained Amergin. “Shapeshifters, to be sure. “Some are given to the oceans, some to the mountains, and others to the sky. The greatest among them was Caoránach, the mother of all Great Wyrms of Éire.”
