Daughter of the Sea

VIII: Discovered

And what would her mother say about Geraint? Almost she laughed; it was too ridiculous, blushing over a few compliments and sheep's-eyes; ludicrous, that a common roving storyteller had drawn blood where a Crown Prince had failed. The bards might come up with such nonsense; nursemaids might spin it into children's bedtime tales, but that she, Angharad of Llyr, should be subject to this madness...

She groaned out loud, startling the horse, who broke into a trot for a few yards until Angharad reigned her in.

I am a fool. But at least she could be foolish to a purpose; Geraint could be more useful to her if he stayed a little longer; could, she realized, be the one to courier her message to the Sons of Don if it came to that, especially if he had a functioning boat, and could leave the island undetected. He was, in fact, perfect for the task, for he knew the lay of the land and could reach Caer Dathyl quickly....and she had a hunch he would willingly undertake almost anything she asked of him.

A twinge of guilt pricked at her. Was it fair, to let him stay, to allow him to believe that...that she could...no, surely he could not be so naive. He was a man grown, and wise to the ways of the world, and could not be ignorant of the insurmountable distance between them. If he stayed, he did so of his own free will, not because he could have any idea of...of...

...what sort of ideas might he have, exactly?

Oh, Rhiannon. She'd breathe easier when he was gone.

She bypassed the castle and went straight to the grove, the broad circle of willows nestled in a hollow in the hills to the east, where the devotees of the Moon carried out their duties and kept the fire burning upon the stone altar. White-robed girls, their heads wreathed in hawthorn blossoms, appeared from behind the trees to unload her supplies, and Angharad noted with relief that between her labors and the acolytes', there looked to be enough for several days at least.

A tall girl at the altar called her name and hurried toward her. There were pearls nestling in her dark braids and her white robes were more ornate than those of her attendants; gold and silver and cobalt embroidery intertwined at her neckline, the hems of her skirt and fluttering sleeves. A silver crescent pendant rested upon her breast. Angharad embraced her, sighing into her hair. "Eilwen."

Her sister pulled back to arm's length to regard her with a pair of shrewd, piercing sea-green eyes - their inheritance from the father neither of them remembered. "Angharad, what's happening? Our aunt came back in a state; she didn't sleep, just paced all night. And now we're to keep the fire going indefinitely? She won't tell me anything. What did the scry show you?"

"I can't tell you either - yet," Angharad said dully. "Mother's forbidden it."

Eilwen's face twisted into a frustrated scowl. "That's never stopped you before. It must be bad."

"It is. At least...it could be. But she has a plan." Angharad frowned. "She says. It's all...complicated, and I understand why she wants everything quiet for now, but...oh, Eilwen, be on your guard."

"Is it the quakes? Did you find out what's causing them?"

"I can't..." Angharad closed her eyes, drew in a long breath through her clenched teeth. "Don't press me. She's being unreasonable, but I cannot afford to anger her. We're already on uneven ground, and this is too important."

"Mother, unreasonable?" Eilwen's mouth quirked up at one corner, a sympathetic mirror of her sister's expression.

"I expect you'll find out soon enough. She says we'll need every hand - whatever she's planning, I'm sure it'll involve all of us." Angharad unstrapped her leather bag to hand it off to an acolyte, paused, and pulled out the parcel of sweetgrass. She unwrapped the linen, selecting one bundle whose twine she had tied backwards to mark it from the others, and handed it to her sister. "Here. This one's my offering."