Daughter of the Sea

XXXIII: Trial

She had learned to control her revulsion when she looked upon the distant faces of the two men who had remained the only contenders for her hand, and given up wondering why no one else came. She felt now, on the surface, nothing at all when she thought of them, except a calculated acknowledgment that her decision must be wholly practical, based on who brought the most useful skills to the table.

Of Regat she had seen little, beyond court appearances. Eilwen's reports had filled in the details of goings-on beyond the walls of her confinement; there were still meetings in secret with Achren, who had naturally expressed surprise at the change in company, but, to all appearances, coolly accepted the explanation that Angharad was preparing for her wedding, and the rituals and traditions involved made her unavailable for other spellwork. There seemed, indeed, little other work necessary; so far Arawn had not shown any sort of retaliatory move after Achren's repulse.

"She's empty as a dry sponge," Eilwen had summed up, with a disgusted twist of her mouth, after her first encounter. "I would call her a snake, but even snakes have their good points. I never saw anyone with so much wasted power. Nothing but death where there should have been so much life. It would make me sorry for her if she didn't seem to revel in it." She had shivered, and made the crescent sign in a protective gesture. "Even Mother knows inviting her was the worst idea she's ever had, but she can't admit it now."

They all knew, and silently despaired over it, though Achren remained apparently content to stay sequestered in her quarters, and made no move to exert what could have, now, been considerable influence. That very circumstance was worrisome — it seemed out of character for a woman so ambitious, yet she could hardly be accused of nefarious plotting when she never made any trouble or went anywhere, a thing confirmed by the elite guard assigned to her door.

But Angharad had little energy to spare on Achren. It was, perhaps, ironically helpful that she had begun to feel too exhausted, physically, to give much vent to her emotions. She had nearly fallen asleep during a court session four days previous, barely keeping her eyes open to the end before stumbling up to her chamber and throwing herself on her bed, waking two hours later feeling nauseous and no more alert. Even now, sitting at her dressing table, she felt an urge to lay her head among the cold and comfortless jewels of her station and sleep, heedless of the damage to her dressed hair and formal gown. Instead she closed her eyes, pulling her consciousness to some deep place within, and let herself drift in the fluid darkness that waited there - a presence that had crept upon her awareness within the last week, strange and new, but safe and comforting, a sensation hard enough to find these days. It was magic, obviously, but no sort of magic she had ever accessed before, and Arianrhod had nodded knowingly when she had attempted to describe it.

"The presence of Rhiannon. Spend all the time you like there," she had said, the weary lines around her eyes deepening in sympathy. "Embrace all she gives you, and you'll know what to do with it when the time comes."

She was drawn out of it, now, by a knock at the door, and sensed both her companions' stiffening before she even saw that the queen had entered the room, with Arianrhod just behind. Elen dropped into a curtsy and retreated to the background, as the princess rose slowly to her feet. The weight of her gown, full layer upon layer of jeweled silk, seemed to pin her to the ground.

Regat was robed in crimson, her handsome head crowned in gold. She looked, behind the ceremonial poise of her practiced expression, tired - the weariness of one who does what must be done, but takes no pleasure in it. Her dark eyes surveyed her eldest daughter, mingled resolution with resignation. It was an expression not without compassion, but Angharad found nothing comforting in it.

"It is nearly time," Regat said, "and all are assembled." She tilted her head in mild concern. "How do you feel?"

Angharad almost laughed at the weight of the question, but only blinked, staring at her mother. "Does it matter?"