Daughter of the Sea

XXVI: Warped

Stand up straight. Head up. Do not laugh. Do not cry. Betray neither anger nor shock nor excitement. A clever foe could exploit them; you cannot think clearly in fury or joy. Breathe, do what must be done, and save the feelings for later.

She had gotten very good at that, at the saving for later, so good that eventually, later had often ceased to come at all. But then she had always been adept, even in her childhood, praised for her critical detachment and penchant for pointing out logical inconsistencies in a sentimental bedtime tale while her sister was scolded for crying over it. Arianrhod felt enough for both of them, it seemed; had been, since birth, suited for her destined authority in the grove — a place where the affairs of the heart that so affected her could have free rein. It was well for the state that fate had dictated their birth order as it had.

She wondered what fate had been thinking when her own daughters were born.

Oh, Eilwen was suited enough for her place. Too well, in fact; Regat was painfully aware of the amusement that already circulated within the court regarding her secondborn, widely rumored to be a virtual incarnation of the more sensual aspects of the goddess since the day, as an uncommonly well-developed twelve-year-old, she had winked and blown a kiss at a strapping young acolyte serving in her own initiation ceremony. Acknowledging the rumors would only validate their existence; Regat ignored them, and kept Eilwen out of court as much as possible. She had no great hope that time would steady her; not when everything in her environment would only serve to encourage her curiosity and appetites. Marriage might cure her, if her husband survived her enthusiasm...or it might not. But at least she did bloom where she was planted, as the old adage went.

Which was more than could be said for Angharad.

Angharad. Much loved. Her father had named her, and Regat had allowed this break of tradition from a niggling sense of obligation; he might as well get some satisfaction out of his thankless position. Not that Owen had been deceived about where he would stand; his gifting was such that it would have been nearly impossible to deceive him, even had that been her intention. He had been well aware that she had nothing to give him beyond a comfortable life, the meeting of his needs — even, in her best moments, something approaching companionship. But perhaps he had hoped, after all; the name he had chosen had felt a little like a reproach he had not the heart to speak to her face. A hope that his daughter would be much loved, though he was not.

And Angharad was — she was doted upon not only by her father, but by extended family, by the servants, even by visiting ambassadors from their allies, whose exclamations over the infant's shock of flaming hair had struck her mother as irritatingly triumphant and self-congratulatory, as though they'd just been waiting for that ancient blood connection to reveal itself after lying dormant so long. Belin-blessed, they had called her; and Regat had smiled politely, and folded away the tiny garments with their embroidered golden sunburst crests after they had gone.

Perhaps that had been the trouble; Angharad had been too coddled, made too much of, thanks to that once-in-a-century scarlet-gold crown. She'd been no more nor less precocious or strong-willed than most of her ancestry, but was humored more, had allowances made for her fiery temperament because well, what do you expect? It comes with that hair. It was nonsense, an unhealthy indulgence that had only grown worse after Owen's death, when her wide-eyed confusion and continual demands for him had been met with such smothering sympathy. In the end, only Regat had taught her the necessary restraint, regretfully suppressing most demonstrations of maternal affection for the sake of objectivity, that nothing would distract from the responsibility of grooming her own successor. It was a fine irony that she would not be present to see whether she'd been successful at it. But such was the way of things.