The sky was gold and crimson in the west, a luminous mirror of her ardent spirit, when Angharad arrived in the grove that evening with her load of driftwood. She slid from Tan's back to unload, humming to herself happily.
Eilwen, hurrying down from ministering at the altar, embraced her in the customary way and then pushed her back at arm's length to study her. Her green eyes glinted knowingly. "Well, you're positively glowing. Must've been a good day."
"The weather was lovely," Angharad retorted, deliberately evasive, but unable to repress a smile, or the warmth that flooded her face. Eilwen chuckled.
"You'll have to tell me all about it. Come, I'm done for the day and I'm starved. Anything in those saddlebags of yours besides sand and shells?"
"No, sorry. I've left everything at the cove."
Eilwen was already peeking into the bag, and shut the flap with a disgruntled sigh. "You certainly have, haven't you," she muttered low, out of the hearing of the girls who were milling around, cooing over Tan and stroking her glossy sides. "I suppose his appetite is quite equal to all you bring him," she added, with a suggestive quirk of her eloquent brows.
"Oh, honestly," Angharad grunted, and her sister laughed, tucked her arm into the crook of her elbow, and pulled her away, leaving Tan content under the adoring ministrations of the acolytes. Eilwen steered them both toward the storehouse that held the food offerings for use of the priestesses, disappeared inside, and came out laden with a basket full of bread, cheese, honey, strawberries, and mead.
"I'd kill for a lamb roast," she grumbled. "Nobody's brought meat in weeks."
"Wrong time of year," Angharad reminded her, amused. "Better for you anyway to avoid it, the healers say."
"Half the healers are old crones with no appetites left of any kind," Eilwen sniffed disdainfully, as they strolled across the lawn. "Ask them what they were eating when they were our age. You'll never hear Branwen or the other midwives telling a young mother not to eat meat."
"Different then, though, isn't it? And she's apt to tell them to have more fish than anything," Angharad pointed out, snatching a strawberry. The sweet fruit crushed between her teeth and she realized with some surprise that she was ravenously hungry. "Llyr, I'm famished. You should have gotten more."
Eilwen sank to a grassy embankment with a saucy grin. "Forgive me; I thought you'd had your fill already. Go ahead, have whatever you want. I can always go back." She pulled the bread into sections and ate, studying her sister sidelong. "You're a sight, by the way; looks like you've been through a tempest. I hope you've got nothing ceremonial coming up tonight. Your hair's going to take hours."
Angharad raised a hand ruefully to her head, crunching its salty locks in her grasp. "Just needs washing is all."
Eilwen bent toward her and sniffed. "Oh! You went seabathing. It's about time," she snorted, her grin widening. "Did he enjoy it?"
"The weather was lovely," repeated Angharad, around a mouthful of bread, and Eilwen laughed and threw another strawberry at her.
"You're utterly maddening. The only person whose details I actually want to hear and the only one who won't give me any." She heaved a dramatic sigh. "Perhaps I'll just have to take a stroll over there sometime and see for myself." At her sister's horrified expression she laughed again, and then fell silent, suddenly thoughtful. "For that matter, I hope you're being careful to avoid witnesses. Aren't there fisherfolk who use that stretch now and then?"
"Occasionally. But I keep an eye out." Angharad frowned uncomfortably, realizing she had been quite a bit more impulsive than usual on this day, having come to take the lonely location a bit for granted. Still, in all likelihood... "Sorry to disappoint, but most of the time there's nothing remarkable to observe. Geraint helps me gather wood, and keeps me company while I collect herbs and ormer, or we sit and talk. He tells me stories of his wanderings, and teaches me things."
"What sort of things?"
"What he does to survive. How to craft and build, garden and forage, and store food...all sorts of things."
Eilwen tossed her head, puckering her mouth in a sullen pout. "Oh, darling. That sounds dreadful."
Angharad laughed. "Not at all. It's fascinating; you've no idea. He knows so much, it makes me feel... stifled, somehow, despite all the skills we're taught. There is so much done for us that we never even think about, and it's...satisfying, somehow, to perform such practical tasks."
Her sister raised an eyebrow, her saucy grin returning. "Satisfying, is it? So that's what you've been doing so often, then? Oh, I've noticed how much wood you've brought in. You've been out almost every day or night, one way and another, since baths. Don't tell me he's only giving you lessons in knot-tying and porridge-cooking every time you manage to visit."
Angharad opened her mouth to protest and shut it again, blushing, as memories flooded her with aching warmth. "No," she admitted at last, with a little resigned sigh. "Lately the lessons have been of a more intimate nature, but we don't usually conduct them anywhere they might be witnessed." Until today, she thought ruefully. Embarrassed at having given in even this much to her sister's curiosity, she ignored Eilwen's squeak of delight, pulling her satchel open and rummaging within. "I had another dream this morning," she announced, without preliminaries. "I brought it to Arianrhod, but you weren't around. See what you make of it."
"Sorry I missed you." Eilwen took the parchment Angharad handed her, "What did she—? Never mind, tell me once I've read it." She scanned the scrawled lines soberly, rolled it up, looked at Angharad again. Her eyes flashed as she took in that which she had missed before. "Your pendant."
"I left it with him."
"Was it acting up again?"
"It was hot as fire when I woke up."
"Are you sure he can keep it safe?"
"As sure as I am of anything." Angharad shrugged.
Eilwen shook her head. "Not much, these days. But it's much too potent to be anywhere in Achren's vicinity, if this is any indication." She waved the parchment. "What did Arianrhod say?"
"The same. We're looking into the connection with Pentre Gwyllion. I found the treaty written down after our grandfather's banishment, and studied it all morning. I need to discuss what I found with her, actually."
Eilwen waved a hand toward the castle. "She's not here. Mother called her up over an hour ago, so I daresay you'll see her tonight. What did you find?"
"That there's a lot we've been assuming. The forbidden quarter isn't forbidden after all."
"Not forbidden?" Eilwen coughed around her mouthful of bread and honey. "Are you sure?"
"I am. Geraint confirmed it, too. He also noticed that the ban on our entering the ring only applies to those of Llyr. Not foreigners."
"You're letting him read our legal documents?"
"He trained as a scrivener when he was young," Angharad said, somewhat defensively.
Eilwen's mouth twitched. "Oh, my, beauty and brains. Maybe you should send him to Pentre Gwyllion and let him sort this out with the Fair Folk. Perhaps they'd be as charmed as you are."
"Don't be silly." Angharad took the parchment back and stuffed it into her satchel, frowning at the thought. "I'd better get back. Sun's almost set."
"Twenty-first hour," Eilwen mused, and yawned. "All that wood you've brought in will be handy come solstice. I won't be sorry to see it pass. Sunrise is like a slap in the face when it comes so early."
"There you are!"
Elen hurried to her the moment she entered the door of her chamber. Angharad regarded her in some surprise; her usually placid handmaiden was flushed and agitated.
"What is it?" The princess dropped her satchel onto the low couch before the fire and followed it, flopping into the cushions wearily. "I told you I'd be gone all day. You've practically worn a trail through the carpet, pacing."
"The queen's asked for you twice this evening. I don't know what's happening but she was none too pleased the second time. You should have seen the poor boy shaking that brought the second summons. I knew it'd be trouble for you to be gone so long." Elen looked her over briskly and threw her hands up in despair. "And here you are, not fit to be seen by anyone. What did I give you a comb for if you're just going to douse yourself in seawater? Blessed Rhiannon." She made the divine sign, while Angharad tried, too late, to erase the dreamy smile that had crept to her face, despite her disquiet. "I don't even want to know what you were doing. It'll take an hour to soak all that salt out, and you haven't got one. Your mother wants you now."
"Oh, stop fussing," Angharad sighed, pulling her dusty shoes off. "She can wait a few more minutes."
Elen looked shocked at such outspoken defiance and Angharad settled stubbornly into the couch, somewhat surprised at herself, and was tempted to laugh, that a few rebellious words should seem so dangerous when they were the least of her transgressions lately. After the light and heat of the midsummer day and the unfettered freedom of the last few hours, it felt intolerably dark and chill and joyless inside the castle. She sent a burst of mental energy toward the hearth and the flames in it roared. Elen snatched up her discarded shoes and replaced them with indoor slippers, glaring at her expectantly. "Don't get comfortable. I'm not going to try to talk my way around another summons. You'll be lucky if..." she stopped, staring at her mistress in consternation. "What've you done with your necklace?"
Angharad raised her hand automatically to her bare throat. "Oh. I've hidden it. Because of Achren coming. Did you find my old one?"
"So that's it." Elen turned toward her side-table and turned back, bearing a silver chain. An unadorned silver crescent dangled at the end. "Are you telling me you left it at the cove? With...with him? With the way it's been behaving and all?"
"It was the safest place I could think of," Angharad answered, taking the chain and fastening the clasp behind her neck; the familiar cool weight settled beneath her collarbones comfortingly. "I wanted it to be far away from here, and he'll keep it safe. It's not as though he can do anything with it, magically. More's the pity."
"Seems risky."
Angharad shrugged. "Not as risky as keeping it here with that creature on her way."
"Maybe," Elen sniffed. "Your mother's bound to notice; what will you tell her?"
"That it's hidden. That's all she need know."
Elen whistled, low. "She won't like that."
"Nothing new, then," Angharad grumbled. "She speaks often enough of my needing to make independent decisions, until I make one she doesn't like. It seems to me I'm sacrificing enough to please her. She'll just have to trust me with this." She slid on the slippers, frowning. "Don't worry - I'm going. You won't have to hear any more unpleasant messages."
Elen chewed her bottom lip anxiously. "Oh, Milady. What if she's found you out?"
"I don't see how she could have," Angharad snapped, unintentionally shrewish at having her fear spoken aloud. "Unless someone's told her."
Elen radiated shocked hurt. "You don't think I would!"
"Of course not. I didn't mean that...I just...oh, Llyr." A dull ache threatened at her temples, and she pushed back at it with both hands with a sigh, wishing she were back at the cove, or out in the woods, or...anywhere but here. "Coming home feels like walking into a web, now, Elen. It tightens more every day. I'm tired of keeping secrets, all of them, and they just keep piling on, like stones on a cairn." She bit her lip. "I'm sorry. It isn't your fault."
Elen tsked wearily. "I won't say I told you so, but..."
"But you did. I know." A bitter half-smile twisted her face. "But out of all my secrets, don't begrudge me the only one that makes me happy," Angharad sighed. She stood, and examined her reflection in the mirror. "You're right. I'm an utter wreck. Where does Mother want me?"
"West tower; she's in the cabinet."
"Nothing that needs dressing up for, then. We're probably just out of some herb I overlooked and she's cross about it. Don't sit up for me; we're doing more spellwork tonight."
Elen straightened her clothes, picking a few stray wisps of grass from her seams, looking doubtful. "I don't know. There's something in the air. It's fair tingled all afternoon. Wake me when you get in. I won't sleep well anyhow, not knowing."
Angharad promised, and hurried from the chamber, the Pelydryn lighting the way. Despite her bravado in front of Elen, uneasiness plucked at her with agitated fingers. She navigated the dark corridors without seeing them, casting her mind forward toward whatever awaited her, with an increasing sense of foreboding. It was unlike Regat to ask twice for anything - then again, it was unusual for the queen's first request to go unanswered. Clearly, some unpleasantness was about to ensue, and she must prepare herself for it. Angharad paused before the door of the cabinet, her hand on the latch, and closed her eyes, thought of Geraint's smile and the light in his eyes and the strength of his arms around her. Whatever happened...she had this, at least.
Her pounding heart slowed a little and she took a breath and raised the latch, pushed the door open.
There was magic in the room. Instantly it enveloped her, stifling and hot, as though there were a raging bonfire within the chamber instead of the sensible, tidy flame that crackled in the grate, and her first instinct was to back out and throw the door wide to let it out. It was a potent, invasive force, trying to penetrate every corner of the place, to wrap itself around her mind. She hesitated in confusion at the sensory onslaught, recoiling at the acrid taste and smell of it, all in the first moment of stepping inside, before she could even register what or who else was within. It took her a moment to comprehend that her mother was speaking, in a voice raised sharply above...what? The strange magic made her ears ring with something that was beyond silence; it was thick, somehow, as though sounds could not push their way through it fast enough.
"Angharad, come in. Shut the door."
She fumbled for the door latch and pulled it shut behind her with effort. The ache at her temples made good on its threat all at once, spreading across her forehead and pulsing painfully behind her eyes. The queen, seated at her entry, had risen. To her right stood Arianrhod, looking older than she ever had. To her left...
Another figure had risen, tall and stately and statuesque, and stood staring at her with eyes the color and temperature of a cloudless winter sky. Her face was finely-chiseled, white and hard and ageless as a marble statue. Long braids of hair, silver as moonlight, were bound around her head like a crown. Several more fell over her shoulders, glittering against her dark robes. Angharad blinked, and blinked again, trying to comprehend what she saw through the haze of magic that, she realized suddenly, emanated from this woman in a miasma. Her stomach churned, and she fought down a wave of nausea.
The woman smiled, a smile like a splinter of ice between her crimson lips.