“Only time will tell that.” Cerrigwen sat beside Eirlys and began to remove the loose bind on Eirlys’s hand to examine her wounds. “No sleeping sickness I know comes on without cause. It stands to reason, then, that if the vines and thorns were cursed, then so would Eirlys be.”
She peeled the cloth carefully away from the skin and lifted the palm to look more closely. Cerrigwen sighed and slowly shook her head. “It is worse than I feared.”
“What?” Odwain demanded. “What is it?”
Cerrigwen held out Eirlys’s hand to him. “See for yourself.”
Odwain’s breath left him. He snatched her other hand from the blankets and tore the bandage from it. It was the same. Just beneath the torn skin on her palms, deathly black tendrils curled outward from the open wounds like a noxious cling-weed overtaking an unsuspecting spring flower. Ever so slowly, something evil was creeping through her veins.
“She is poisoned, but not by any earthly venom. This is surely a wicked curse, and yet she still breathes. By rights, she should already be dead.” Cerrigwen studied Eirlys for several moments. “This salve on her wounds, what is it?”
“I don’t know what it is. Glain brought it.” Odwain found the small jar and handed it to Cerrigwen. “From Madoc.”
Cerrigwen nodded knowingly as she daubed a bit of the ointment on her palm and then placed her hand over the open wound on Eirlys’s palm. She closed her eyes and murmured a quiet chant while Odwain waited, daring not to move or speak. He could only beg the unseen powers to aid Cerrigwen in whatever it was she was doing, and hope with all his heart that Eirlys would rouse.
After moments that seemed more like hours, Cerrigwen laid Eirlys’s hand back on the bed and reached for her robe as she stood. “I have done all I can do.”
Odwain was stung by the finality of Cerrigwen’s words. “There must be something more you can do.”
“She is very strong.” Cerrigwen softened. “Eirlys has held it off so far and that is nothing short of miraculous. She has some natural resistance. Perhaps her own magic is at work. But there is nothing to do now but see her through it, whatever the end.”
Odwain’s blood ran cold. “Surely there must be some cure.”
“If there is, I do not have it. It may be that her mother or Madoc has knowledge I do not.”
Odwain was startled to his feet when the door burst open. Alwen rushed in with Bledig and Rhys at her heels. Without a word, she shoved past Cerrigwen to get to Eirlys.
Alwen glared at Odwain as she reached for her daughter’s hand. “You summoned Cerrigwen?”
Odwain nearly flinched. “What else could I do? Eirlys would not wake,” he explained.
What he thought might have been reproach flickering on her face quickly faded. “It’s all right, Odwain,” she said gently. “Let’s have a look.”
“Cerrigwen says the thorns were tainted.”
“She would know,” Alwen muttered, but not so quietly that she could not be heard.
“What is wrong with my daughter?” Bledig demanded. He had taken a protective stance at the foot of the bed, but would venture no nearer. Odwain thought that Bledig looked frightened, which unnerved him completely.
Alwen straightened slowly and turned to Bledig. Odwain’s heart sunk as he caught the look of devastation that she gave him. Alwen was reluctant to speak. Odwain could see it in her face. He could see her desperately searching for the words, and he understood her pain. No one wanted to give Bledig bad news. But she did not get the chance.
“The girl is unconscious,” Cerrigwen said bluntly. “It is an unnatural sleep. Induced by a spell worked though the venom in the thorns, I would guess.”
“When will she wake?”
“As I told the boy, there is no way to tell. Nothing more can be done. Either she will wake, or she will not.”
Bledig frowned, but nodded understanding. He seemed oddly calm and collected. “So, we must wait. She seems at peace, at least.”
Odwain was confused by Bledig’s reaction. He was not a man to rail against reason, but he was too composed. Bledig was a man of passionate moods. Great gods in heaven, Odwain suddenly realized — Bledig was resigned. He had taken Cerrigwen’s prognosis completely to heart and was willing to leave it all up to fate. Odwain would not accept hopelessness or helplessness any longer. Nor would he hand either to Bledig without first exhausting every effort.
“She is fighting it on her own,” Odwain protested. “And Alwen has yet to see Madoc. There must be some way he can help.”
Odwain looked to Alwen for support, and what he saw made him want to swallow his tongue. She offered him what was meant to be a reassuring smile, but Alwen was clearly afraid. “I will ask him.”
Alwen sighed and gently stroked Eirlys’s cheek. Her hand trembled and Odwain felt tears burn in his eyes. This could not be happening.
“There must be something I can do,” Rhys whispered in misery.
“Sit here awhile,” Odwain suggested. He managed a weak smile for his friend. “Perhaps you can keep me from losing my mind.”
Alwen laid a hand of encouragement on her son’s arm. “The two of you will be good company for her.” She gestured with her eyes at Bledig. “And for him. I’ll send Glain with water and gruel. See if you can get Eirlys to take something to drink, at least.”
She then turned on Cerrigwen with what Odwain could only describe as utter loathing and a deep, angry thirst for vengeance. “I want to speak with you,” Alwen said tersely. “Outside.”
* * *
“This is not my doing.”
Cerrigwen stood calmly in the middle of the corridor with her hands clasped loosely in the front folds of her robe. Her voice and posture belied no remorse, no regret. She had the coolness of confidence, but Alwen would not be convinced of her innocence.
“It is,” Alwen accused. Indeed, she did feel it. Time and practice had heightened her senses enough to begin to penetrate Cerrigwen’s formidable defenses. Though what she saw she could not yet define, Alwen had the distinct impression of malevolence. “Somehow. I can feel it.”
Cerrigwen narrowed her eyes, but she remained completely unruffled by Alwen’s condemnation. “You are mistaken.”
It occurred to Alwen then that while Cerrigwen was surely possessed of some evil intent, perhaps there was something even uglier inside than her ill will toward Alwen.
Alwen stepped closer. “What are you hiding, Cerrigwen?”
“Oh, so many things.” Cerrigwen’s smile twitched and twisted with every flicker of the lamplight. She paused as if to listen to a faraway voice.
“It seems you have discovered how to sense what I feel,” she said. “But what my moods reveal tells you nothing that matters. You still do not hear my thoughts, hmm? How you must be suffering to know.”
Alwen did wonder, but she would not be baited. This was little more than a distraction, a vain attempt to rile Alwen’s temper so that she would not persist. Instead, she went back to the point. “You were kind once, and reverent.”
“Reverence? Is that what you expect?” Cerrigwen laughed. “Your conceit is exceeded only by your ignorance, Alwen. Whatever authority you claim is limited even within the walls of the Stewardry, and it is virtually worthless beyond them, no matter what Madoc has told you. You may well surpass me in years and rank, and certainly you outstrip me in piety. But there is no council here, not yet. There is only you and I, and you do not rule me.”
Alwen straightened to her full height, at least a hand span above Cerrigwen. “I have no yen to govern you or anyone else, but I do intend to see that the covenants of the order are maintained. Perhaps you have forgotten your vows, but I remember.”
“What do you remember? The distant echoes of some dark night so long ago it has faded into a figment of your imagination? Memories are illusions, Alwen. They resemble whatever truth you choose to mold them into.”
She cocked her head and raised her chin to cast a mocking look at Alwen. The movement caused the mos
s agate pendant to slide aside and reveal a circular blaze beneath. Alwen’s hand instinctively rose to her own chest, remembering the burning sensation she had felt in the forest. The mark was proof of something. At the very least, Cerrigwen knew more about the black magic worked in the woods than she was willing to reveal.
“And what is your truth, Cerrigwen?” Alwen demanded, more convinced than ever of Cerrigwen’s treachery. “Do you even know? Is there anything or anyone you care for more than yourself ?”
Cerrigwen’s eyes widened, revealing ominous depths and bitter strength in their fierce glare. She sauntered closer. So close that Alwen could nearly smell the venom in her words. “What I know is that I have a destiny beyond the one Madoc would allow me. There is a hierarchy far greater than your precious council, Alwen. You will see. In the end, you will rule nothing.”
Alwen considered Cerrigwen carefully. Envy was an ugly, soul-sucking disease and Cerrigwen was ravaged with it, along with many other blights. “That may well be, my sister. But I will trust my fate to Madoc, no matter what the end.”
“A prudent plan. No less than I would expect of you.” Cerrigwen folded her arms over her chest. “And no more, either. True greatness requires sacrifice. Risk. I do not believe you possess the courage, Alwen. There is a thin veil between caution and cowardice, and I see fear in you.” Cerrigwen’s smile returned, creeping wide across her face.
Indignation sparked within Alwen like a flash fire. Cerrigwen was clever, but Alwen still refused to trip the snare. She squared herself to Cerrigwen and met her rigid pose with equal bravado, nose to nose and spit to spit.
“The only truth that matters here is where your loyalty lies. But know this.” Alwen spoke boldly, with threat and forbidding she meant with every ounce of her soul. “Whether you concede to my authority or not, you will concede to Madoc’s. I will demand it, Cerrigwen, one way or another. It will be both my duty, and my pleasure.”
Alwen paused to be sure that Cerrigwen heard the promise in her words. “And if it is you who has brought this pox on my daughter, I shall not hesitate to destroy you.”
Cerrigwen blanched, ever so slightly. “This was not my doing. Even if it were within my power, it is not within my heart. I am a mother, as well, Alwen. I could never bring harm to your child.”
“Alwen.” Bledig had entered the hall without her knowing it. “What the devil is this? We can hear you all the way inside.”
“Pardon, Mistress.” Glain appeared from the shadows. “Madoc is asking for you.”
“Wait.” Alwen was frustrated by the intrusions. She was not satisfied that enough had been said. Cerrigwen, however, seized the opportunity for escape.
“Perhaps this is a discussion best left for another time,” Cerrigwen said. “You shouldn’t keep Madoc waiting.”
“Go,” Bledig urged. “He may be able to help. I’ll sit with Eirlys.”
Before she could answer one way or another, Cerrigwen slipped into the shadows, and Bledig reached for the door handle. Alwen watched him disappear behind her chamber door, desperately torn. Her loyalties were at odds for the first time in her life. Every feminine instinct Alwen had cried out to follow him, to stay with her family and look after her child. But she could not. The sorceress in her knew that there were other deadly threats afoot.
So this was it, she thought. So many times she’d wondered. True sacrifice was the surrender of one sacred thing in favor of keeping another. No matter how prudent or cautious one was, in the end something precious was lost. Whether the claim was in the name of family or duty or honor or truth, it exacted a terrible price. To her dismay, she did not feel the pride or pleasure that Bledig had claimed when he spoke of the sacrifices he had made for her and their children. For Alwen, sacrifice brought grief and guilt, and an unbearable sense of uncertainty.
Twenty-Two
“Bring the stool from the corner.” Madoc waved her forward without looking up from his meal. “There is food enough for two, and I’ve already poured your wine.”
She dragged out the three-footed hassock and settled on the opposite side of his desk — a platter piled with meat and bread, a berry bowl and a wine pitcher between them. Sure enough, he’d already doled out the drink, and Alwen instinctively reached first for the cup.
Madoc cocked an eyebrow. “Still fond of the aleberry, I see.”
Alwen shrugged a bit sheepishly as she sipped. “The recipe was one of the few comforts of home that I could take with me.”
“You must eat, restore your strength,” he counseled. “You’ll need every ounce you can muster these next days.”
To appease him, Alwen forced herself to nibble. She found it more appealing than she expected, and helped herself to more.
“Your daughter,” Madoc said, “I understand that she does not fare well.”
Alwen swallowed hard. The words nearly strangled her. “No, she does not.”
Madoc shook his head and sighed. “It grieves me no end that the child has come to harm.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Is there nothing you can do?”
“I will look in on her when we’ve finished here,” he said gently. “I sent the best healing magic I know with Glain in the form of a consecrated salve. It is not a cure, but it will aid the girl in her fight.”
Alwen stifled the sob that threatened to escape her trembling lips and nodded understanding. Eirlys would live or die on her own.
“From time to time, despite my best efforts, I still find many things fall beyond my control.” Madoc lifted the wine pitcher and topped her glass. “It is then I am often reminded that mine is not the only wisdom, nor is it always the best. Sometimes we are given no choice but to have faith in something or someone other than ourselves.”
He paused, as if to give her a moment to think on his advice. Alwen presumed his intent was a gentle prodding in a direction he knew she would resist. “Cerrigwen has tended Eirlys, but to no avail.”
Madoc nodded. “So tell me of this wall of thorns. Did you find it?”
“We did.” Alwen felt the sting of the raw skin beneath her amulet. The burn evoked a vivid vision of the magic she had unleashed and made her wonder more about the mark she had seen on Cerrigwen’s breast. “It is vanquished.”
“Good.” He swallowed the last of his food with a healthy dose from his own cup, then looked hard at her. “I’m afraid this will not be the last of such attacks against us. The Ancients foretold all of this. The nearer the new king’s ascension draws, the more horrific the attempts to defeat him will become. Hywel is an indomitable man, forthright and exacting, and intolerant of inequity. He also believes that sharing power dilutes its strength. For those who seek to retain their own influence over the ways of the world, Hywel is a threat that must be destroyed.”
“The devilkin’s hedge is Cerrigwen’s doing,” Alwen asserted. “She denies it, but I am certain she is to blame.”
“Cerrigwen?” Madoc’s eyes widened, but he did not seem surprised. “What makes you suspect her?”
“I feel it. I can sense the treachery in her.”
“I see,” he said. He seemed pleased, which Alwen thought odd. “Suppose she did possess the skill. What reason would she have to set such a wretched spell against the Stewardry?”
“Not against the Stewardry,” Alwen asserted. “Against me.”
“Hmm. Well,” he nodded. “Whatever the truth in that, I can tell you that she did not manage it all on her own. If Cerrigwen is working dark spells, it is with Machreth’s guidance and on his behalf. And that concerns me far more than any petty jealousies between the two of you.”
“Machreth?” Alwen had not considered the possibility that Machreth wished to harm her as well. If Cerrigwen had indeed acted on Machreth’s authority or even at his bidding, the implications were staggering. The two of them in consort against Madoc was an immeasurable threat. The events of the day were worsening by the moment. “Has he openly defied you?”
“It’s only a matter of
time now until he does.”
Alwen was stunned. “This is unheard of.”
“So it is, or was. Even the thought of treason would have been an unfathomable sin. To set one Steward against another was impossible. Our codes were that strong. But things are different now, as you’ve already discovered.”
Alwen nodded, remembering the hollow victory in the woods. “It is not a triumph I am proud to claim.”
“You did what you must. No doubt you will be called to far more distasteful duties. Even as we sit here, Machreth plots. Very soon, he will strike and try to take my seat. But I will be ready for him, Alwen.” He shook a crooked finger at her. “And so must you.”
Madoc brushed the crumbs from his beard and pushed the platter away. He laced his gnarled fingers together and rested his hands on the table, staring with intense concern into Alwen’s face. The deep blue of his eyes glinted black in the flickering light, darkened more by his grave thoughts than the shadows.
“Much as it pains me to keep you from your child, circumstances have conspired to require it. There are pressing matters that we must discuss. Things that dare not wait. Will you stay, or do you prefer to go? The choice is yours.”
A piece of her heart leapt at the chance to return to her chambers. If only there was a way to be in both places at once. Though the mother in her cried out to be with her child, the sorceress in her had already answered the call.
She set down her cup and clasped her hands in her lap, resigned to her destiny. “Eirlys is well attended, and Glain will come for me if I am needed.”
“Be certain now, Alwen,” he insisted. “Once you begin this path there will be no turning back.”
Alwen understood. She had warned Rhys herself. Possibility was a deceptive lure. Sometimes it was more attractive when viewed from a distance. When opportunity actually arrived it rarely appeared as one had hoped, but Alwen had learned to expect the unexpected.
The Well of Tears Page 17
