“Listen to your heart,” said Rosalynde sweetly. “As you know, I wedded a huntsman, Rhiannon. Like you, I should have never trusted Giles.”
“And yet do you?”
Rosalynde nodded fervently. “Implicitly.”
“What has he said?” pressed Elspeth, not so kindly.
We are not aligned.
We are not aligned.
We are not aligned.
“That is not the question to ask,” reprimanded Seren, and then with a smile in her golden eyes, her middle sister knelt beside Rhiannon, placing a hand to Rhiannon’s knee. Up close, Seren’s skin was perfectly radiant. Her hair shone like filaments of light. “As you once told Arwyn—remember?—you must trust your heart.”
Rhiannon blinked away a tear. “You were there?”
“Nay, I was not, my sister. And yet I have seen it.” She sighed woefully, and said, “I have witnessed more than I ever cared to see. And still, I know what I know, and I do not know what I do not know.”
“What does that mean?” snapped Elspeth. “Please, Seren! Do not confuse her with riddles. She has enough of a burden to bear.”
“Goddess, alive! You might be eldest,” argued Rosalynde. “But you are not all-knowing. Leave off with the tyranny, Elspeth!”
“Please, sisters,” begged Seren. “This is not the time to battle amidst ourselves.”
Rhiannon exhaled wearily.
So much had changed, and yet, so much remained exactly the same. Elspeth was just as domineering as ever, only this time, it wasn’t her eldest sister and her at odds. She smiled ruefully over that, amused despite the situation. In all her days, she would never have imagined Elspeth defending her… at least, not since they were children. And here she was, doing precisely that.
As usual, Seren’s patience was heroic. “What I meant is this: I have seen the past, but the future is still to be written. I do not have the ability to see it. Rather…”
She turned to Rhiannon, mindspeaking her own words, and Rhiannon gave them voice. “Life is like a spider’s web—so many threads flowing from its center, all leading to destinations unknown.”
“Precisely,” agreed Seren. “Such as it is, I cannot receive answers for which I do not know the questions.”
Elspeth frowned. “Every day, you sound more and more like that crazy old bat, Isolde—riddle me this, riddle me that!”
“Isolde?” said Rhiannon, her attention piqued, and Rosalynde explained about the old crone’s visit to Warkworth, and all about the old crow that arrived at the same time. Remembering the crow perched on Marcella’s shoulder, Rhiannon wondered… could it be?
Just in case, she told her sisters about the encounter, and all that Marcella had told her, including the tale of her mother’s death, who was also, coincidentally, named Isolde.
“Isolde is dead?” asked Elspeth, confused.
“She died moons ago,” said Rhiannon. “Marcella claimed it was the year she deposited us all at Llanthony.”
“Hmm,” said Elspeth, clearly disbelieving. “And what about Marcella? Do you believe we can trust her?”
“Aye,” said Rhiannon, remembering the sword that the paladin placed between herself and Cael—or rather, between herself and Maelgwn.
Sweet fates, she was so confused.
“Indeed, you may trust me,” said Marcella. She stood in the doorway, cocking a smile at all four sisters.
“How long have you been there?”
“Long enough,” she said, before sauntering within. “If you do not mind, this is my story to tell.” And true to form, she did not wait for permission. Without preamble, she confessed her story to the sisters—her love affair with Morwen, her departure from Blackwood after Ellie was born, as well as her very brief, but bittersweet betrothal to Cael.
Apparently, it was the real Cael d’Lucy who was once affianced to her, not Maelgwn ap Cadwallon. Ever-ready to use her minions to her own selfish purpose—even someone she claimed to love—Morwen had urged Marcella to play the part of d’Lucy’s betrothed, only to claim Blackwood. If, indeed, those two had wed, and Morwen had managed to wrest Blackwood by another means, she would have forgotten all about her daughters. Originally, it was her plan to share it all with Marcella.
“D’Lucy was a fool,” the paladin explained. “A poppet, too easily led.” Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, as the case must be for Cael, Morwen discovered a grisial hud, like that one she kept around her neck. She performed the same blood rite that was performed to summon her return, though I do believe she anticipated it must be Taliesin’s crystal, and she meant to end him once and for all.” Marcella smiled benevolently at Rhiannon. “It wasn’t, of course. The reliquary belonged to Maelgwn ap Cadwallon, and once he assumed d’Lucy’s body, your mother had a change in plans.”
“Please, do tell,” said Elspeth, smartly.
Marcella eyed her cannily. “At first, she thought she might wed him herself, but he was never interested in the least. Oh, he gave her his fealty quick enough, as well as the use of his sword, but never his cock.”
Rhiannon blushed hotly, feeling some measure of relief. She looked to see that her sisters’ eyes widened over Marcella’s crude language, but no one dared utter a word in rebuke, and Marcella continued. “Eventually she sent me away to spy on the Holy Roman Emperor, whilst she remained in England to press her wiles. I suppose I grew tired of her lies and found myself inspired by your sister Matilda.”
Elspeth visibly softened, as she confessed, “She inspires me as well. I knew her to be driven, even as a young girl. When William died, I hoped my father would cede her his throne—and, of course, he did. But clearly this is not a woman’s time to rule.” Her tone sounded disappointed now, and she found even more cause to commune with Marcella.
“Alas, my friend, a woman’s arse might not be allowed to warm a throne, but no good king ever reigned without a good woman at his side.”
“Indeed,” said Elspeth, as she nodded. “So was it then you joined the Guard?”
Marcella nodded. “Indeed. And it was your sister who arranged it. I served as her personal guard for a long time, and then, when her husband died, and she was sent away, she made certain I was given an assignment with the Guard.” She grinned then. “I was not entirely welcome.”
The sisters all laughed, only imagining the first time Marcella had walked into their company.
“Marcella is a dewine,” offered Rhiannon. “Aligned to earth, alchemy her calling.”
“Is that true?” asked Elspeth. And then she put a hand to her breast. “I, too, am aligned to earth.”
“Aye, so I am told,” said the paladin. “We have this in common.”
Only Seren seemed unsurprised by these revelations. Her sister sat quietly for a moment as they all discussed the potential applications for the pursuant battle.
Elspeth could help with a few more warding spells. She and Rosalynde had discovered some way to create witchwater, though not the type that needed summoning. With so much water lying about, it would be easy enough to gather it all into the motte. Whatever became of anyone who fell into it was entirely up to the gods.