Daughter of the Sea

XV: Vision

Regat and Arianrhod both stared at her as though at some mad, dangerous stranger who had invaded a private sanctuary. Angharad, trembling, slammed her hand to the table and pushed herself away from it, staining the tablecloth with a streaky crimson handprint, webbed with a strange, gauzy light that died almost instantly. She thought at first to run from the room, but checked the impulse, and slowly regained her breath while she held Regat's gaze, blazing, resolute.

"May I go?" she demanded, after a long silence.

"Are you quite finished?" Regat asked coldly.

"For now."

Arianrhod looked from one to the other of them in alarm. "Blessed Rhiannon," she breathed. "Regat — no, don't speak, for once, just let her be. Go, Angharad, and lie down. You're overwrought, and no wonder: new moon tonight; I'll send you up some ginger tea." She rose, came around to her niece's side and took her by the shoulders; Angharad permitted herself to be guided past her mother, still sitting outraged at the head of the table, to the door.

"That was reckless," Arianrhod whispered, releasing her into the hallway. "I don't know what you just did in there, but you did something. I don't blame you, love, but if you'll take my advice, stay out of her way the rest of the day. I'll make sure you aren't needed for anything."

"But the rituals tonight—," Angharad began, shakily.

Her aunt shook her head. "Llyr, absolutely not, not in the state you're both in. It can wait until tomorrow night, for all the good it's doing anyway. I'll manage her on that." She hesitated a moment, and glanced back at the door, lowering her voice. "Can you come to me tomorrow morning? Early, before sunrise. I've been meaning to speak with you for some time."

Angharad nodded warily; her aunt looked relieved and added, "Bring Eilwen with you, and the spellbook. It's time she knew, whatever your mother says."

"She knows," Angharad said dully. "I told her everything, early this morning."

Arianrhod looked surprised for a moment; then her mouth pressed into a grim line. "Good," she murmured, "then I don't have to." She laid cool hands on Angharad's face, kissed her on the forehead. Her face changed for the briefest instant; she gave her niece such a piercing glance that Angharad quailed, feeling as though her very soul was laid bare, but before she could say a word the expression was gone, and Arianrhod only murmured "I'll see you then. Go - rest."

She retreated back into the chamber, leaving the princess alone in the corridor. Angharad stood still, staring at the closed door. She looked down at her palm, wincing at the sting as her blood welled up from the red line across it. She did not know what she'd just done, either; she had not intended for any magic to be part of her oath, but somehow it had intruded in. New moon magic worked that way, all blood and impulse, unpredictably entangling with the unbalanced emotional state it induced, always binding. Well, what of it, then? She had meant every word, and if an extra bit of power wanted to back up her declarations, so be it.

Abruptly she turned on her heel and stalked down the dark hallway, heading not to her own chambers but to another wing of the castle. Up a spiral stair, into the tower where the implements of the powers of Llyr were kept behind a locked door that opened to her of its own accord; she entered the chamber and took up the leather-bound spell book in her wounded hand, barely taking notice of blood smearing across the cover. She tucked it under her arm and wondered where to go. Not to her own chambers; Elen would want to know everything that had just transpired, and put her to bed and fuss over her when she herself ought to be resting.

I need someplace quiet, where I can think. An image of the cove snapped automatically to mind, and she groaned to herself and sank onto a wooden chest at the flood of warm, heady sensation that accompanied it. No, there would be no thinking involved if she went there, as much as she might desire to go; Geraint was a distracting enough presence in her thoughts, let alone in person.