Daughter of Prophecy

by Miles Owens

  Breanna’s face glowed. “I will.” Tears of joy ran down her cheeks. “With honor and pride do I take your name.”

  Her right hand came up to clasp his, and the Wifan-er-Weal was done.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  RHIANNON

  OUTSIDE, WIND AND rain lashed the royal pavilion. Inside, the huge tent was packed with families of the noble maidens waiting for the Rite of Presentation. Fine carpets of alternating blue and yellow had been laid to floor the entire area. Braziers burned brightly with aromatic wood, and a dozen gold-plated lanterns, polished until they gleamed, hung from stands.

  Royal attendants in high-collared blue coats had with brisk efficiency herded the young women to the middle. Rhiannon was last in line. She overheard snide remarks about the smell of sheep.

  A wide area separated her and the other maidens from their families, and that was deliberate. For twelve centuries the Faber dynasty had remained apart from the six clans, a separation of power that had served the Land well. A woman marrying into the dynasty was required to publicly renounce clan and family ties in order to rule justly and wisely. The rite called for each maiden to be presented alone, and if marriage resulted she would come to the altar alone, family and clan left behind.

  Lord Baird approached the royal party, who were waiting in a loose semicircle ten paces from the first maiden.

  With Maolmin’s death, the Dinari clan had no High Lord. Baird had been named acting High Lord at a hastily called meeting after the Wifan-er-Weal. His first official act was to include Rhiannon with those to be presented.

  Rhiannon, Lakenna, and a limping Branor had just finished telling a flabbergasted Mererid about the encounter with the Mighty One of the North when Tellan had returned with the news. It had been a mad scramble to get her new gown unpacked and her hair brushed in time. And Rhiannon had found it very difficult to sit still. Even now her blood was still rushing from the thought of the incredible authority and boldness she’d had in the spirit world.

  Queen Cullia stood half a step forward of her son and the handful of advisors. She dominated the pavilion with her presence. The creases in the queen’s face could not disguise that she had been beautiful years ago. She wore a pale blue silk gown embroidered with pearls, and a coronet encrusted with diamonds rested on her gray-streaked hair. Her gaze was sharp and piercing as a hawk’s as she watched Baird approach.

  Prince Larien stood two steps to Cullia’s right. He was a head taller than her. The cut of his coat emphasized his wide shoulders. Light brown hair was combed back and tucked behind his ears. A scar ran across a slightly crooked nose. Rhiannon thought it lent a rugged yet pleasing symmetry to his face.

  Baird dipped one knee to the queen and kissed her offered hand. “Your Highness, Clan Dinari bids you and Prince Larien welcome.” He grinned rakishly. “We commend your desire to save the expense of visiting the other clans by coming here first.”

  Laughter swept the pavilion. Lord Baird was in his element, not at all awed by the presence of royalty.

  Cullia offered a cool smile as the laughter died down. “It has been much too long since the throne made an official visit to the highlands.” She paused as a particularly strong gust cracked the fabric of the pavilion’s roof. “Though I must say, the weather is as I remember.” Another wave of amusement, mainly from royal advisors and attendants. “Well,” she went on briskly, flicking a glance at the line of young women, “let us begin.” She didn’t add, So we can be finished and on our way, but Rhiannon and everyone else heard the tone.

  Baird certainly did. His smiled never wavered, but his eyes flattened. Giving the queen a tilt of his head instead of the dipped knee protocol called for, he turned to Prince Larien. Cullia remained unruffled, but her nostrils flared and the creases around her mouth deepened, somehow conveying the trial of dealing with ruffians.

  Larien and Baird bowed to each other and exchanged a few pleasantries. With posture erect and shoulders square, the prince projected the impression of studied calm.

  Rhiannon tried to ignore a mild bout of queasiness. Understandable, but disconcerting. Her emotions had never been tugged in so many different directions in such a short time. Immediately after having her hopes dashed because Harred preferred Breanna over her, she had found herself trading blows with a major demonic foe in an ethereal realm. Now she was to be presented before the crown prince. Today the Eternal had opened the door, and she had stepped through it. But did that open door include marriage to the next Faber monarch? A young maiden’s nervousness mixed with the courage of a victorious warrior, horror and pride that her father had killed a demon-possessed man before her. It left her feeling intoxicated and unstable, but exhilarated.

  Trying to bring all that under control, she stroked her hand across the gown. It was emerald green, long, flowing, and very feminine. She loved the way the fabric swished around her strides. This was the first time in all her sixteen years she had worn silk. It was also the first time she remembered being glad she was a woman. The gown was beautiful but costly. Even with the extra coins from the one-time sale to Lord Gillaon, another piece of Mererid’s family jewelry had gone to pay for it and the matching slippers.

  Unlike Rhiannon’s unadorned one, however, the gowns worn by the other young women displayed great wealth. Most had golden threads woven into the fabric, which shimmered in the lantern light. Several had small pearls embroidered into intricate patterns, some even extending down the sleeves. One notable dress, worn by a stunningly beautiful blonde whom Rhiannon had never seen before, had a bodice outlined with diamonds.

  Until Rhiannon rushed up, the blonde had been last in line. Those slanted eyes had flashed with concern beholding Rhiannon’s face and flowing red hair. Then the woman had taken in the plain gown and lack of jewelry. Smiling a dismissal, the stranger had turned toward the front, ignoring Rhiannon’s greeting.

  That insult still had Rhiannon’s palms itching for her sword. Let this smug, soft-muscled beauty peer down her nose again, and she would behold Dinari steel! Then Rhiannon realized a scabbard would hinder the way her gown swished as she walked. Chewing the inside of her lip, she pondered that revelation for a long moment.

  Larien and Baird finished their exchange and bowed to each other again. The prince nodded at the royal attendants. The background murmuring ceased as the first attendant offered his arm to an auburn-haired maiden of the Erian kinsmen and escorted her down a runner of red carpet to Baird, who formally introduced her to Cullia and then to Larien.

  The Rite of Presentation, the first in almost two centuries, was under way.

  The queen and prince exchanged formal greetings with the woman, and then she was led away. Another young lady was escorted to Baird, and the line moved up. The blonde slid forward with a sinuous grace that drew the eye of every man in the crowd.

  Who was she? In the past, foreign nobility had, on occasion, sent daughters to be presented along with Land nobility. Those tilted eyes and high cheekbones certainly were not Dinari. And the cut and drape of her gown were different, somehow drawing attention to the curves underneath. One more reason for the men’s attention.

  Glancing at the surrounding crowd, Rhiannon found that she too had become the object of male scrutiny. One well-dressed young nobleman elbowed another and lifted his chin toward her. Their appraisal was much different from the insulting leer she’d received from the Sabinis guard in Lachlann. Surprised that she did not find this inspection displeasing, Rhiannon stood straighter even as her queasiness continued.

  The line shuffled forward again. Cool beads of sweat popped out along Rhiannon’s hairline as the nagging twist in her stomach built toward nausea. She chided herself at such a display of nervousness.

  I have faced the Mighty One of the North this day. Maolmin is dead and the siyyim has left the Land. I walk in my prophecy. The Eternal is with me. This will be a simple introduction and greeting. Then I will be about my future as Protectoress of the Covenant.

  She caught her fa
ther’s and Mererid’s eyes. They smiled encouragingly. That helped.

  A young lady with curly brown hair and a stiff smile curtsied before Larien. The future king nodded pleasantly, then brought her hand to his lips. Rhiannon’s knees began to tremble, and it became much harder to breathe.

  Another maiden processed down the carpet. Baird took her from the attendant and introduced her. The line edged forward. Then again. And yet again.

  Incredibly soon, only Rhiannon and the stranger remained. An attendant returned. The blonde took his arm and seemed to float down the carpet runner, her posture regal even as her hips swayed alluringly.

  Baird beheld her approach with open-mouthed fascination. When the woman halted before him, Baird blinked and closed his mouth with a snap. He took her arm—then a frown wrinkled his brow, and Rhiannon realized that he did not know the woman either. His eyes darted among the crowd for a sponsor, needing an introduction himself before he could present this stunning beauty to the prince.

  Lady Ouveau, the advisor immediately to the queen’s left, made to speak, but Cullia made a slight gesture and Ouveau remained silent. The blonde waited calmly, profile turned artfully toward the prince. The diamonds outlining her full bosom sparkled. Larien’s gaze kept traveling up and down her statuesque figure.

  Nervous coughs came from the crowd as Cullia allowed Baird to dangle. Finally, she cut her eyes to Ouveau.

  “Lord Baird,” the advisor said, bringing her hand to her chest as she stepped forward, “I must beg your forgiveness. Lady Zoe is here at my invitation. With the unsettling events concerning High Lord Maolmin, there was no time to introduce her to you.” She smiled. “May I have your permission to present our foreign guest to Queen Cullia and Prince Larien?”

  Tilting his head in agreement, Baird stepped back.

  “Your Highnesses, may I present Lady Zoe, granddaughter of Hansh Rajak, the emir of the island of Costos in the Southern Sea.” Ouveau outlined the woman’s impressive lineage.

  Zoe held the prince’s gaze a long moment before she spread her skirts wide and dipped a graceful curtsy. Larien looked stunned as he brought the woman’s hand to his lips.

  Someone nudged Rhiannon’s elbow. Startled, she realized it was an attendant ready to escort her. Her heart thudded like a runaway horse as she took the offered arm and strode down the runner.

  Rhiannon halted before Baird as Zoe was being escorted to where the other maidens were grouped around a table of refreshments. The prince’s gaze still followed the blonde woman from Costos.

  Lord Baird gave Rhiannon a quick wink as he took her arm from the attendant. “Your Highness, I have the pleasure to introduce Lady Rhiannon Rogoth, daughter to Lord Tellan and Lady Mererid.”

  Cullia nodded. “Greetings, Lady Rhiannon.” Then, with an air of a task finished, she turned to Ouveau. “I am famished. Let us eat.”

  But Ouveau’s focus remained on Rhiannon. From a distance, her plump figure and round face had seemed almost motherly. Close up, her gaze was hard and calculating.

  Rhiannon’s breath caught as she swallowed down a much stronger surge of queasiness. Something was disturbingly familiar about Ouveau’s eyes—

  Baird gently tugged Rhiannon forward as he formally introduced her to the prince. Gathering herself, she dipped a curtsy to Larien, who slowly brought his focus back from Zoe. When Rhiannon straightened, he looked full at her—

  And she knew.

  Deep inside something surged, and she understood her prophecy with stunning clarity. All her former plans for how she would serve as Protectoress of the Covenant, galloping across the land like the Founders, crumbled at the realization that her destiny was indeed to marry into the Faber dynasty—and to be mother to the next heir. Her mind reeled as she struggled to maintain her composure.

  From the look on Larien’s face, he had felt the same impact. He blinked, then looked from her to Zoe, then back to her.

  As if in a dream, she watched him bring her hand to his lips. His grip was firm, but not tight, the kiss warm and dry. And his eyes. She was getting lost in those eyes. They peered straight into hers with the same question that had just been answered within her spirit.

  Then a half frown wrinkled his brow. “Where did you get these calluses?” he inquired, breaking the spell, his fingers exploring her palm.

  “I—”

  Cullia moved between them and deftly steered her son toward the refreshment table and the presented maidens. “Spend no more time with these girls than necessary. You must talk to the Costos woman. As you know, Ouveau and her husband recently visited that rich isle. They had a private dinner with the emir. That conversation contained ideas about trade that I find most intriguing.” She hurried him away.

  Rhiannon felt as if the sun had suddenly dawned and then just as suddenly gone behind a cloud. Alone, her mind still spinning, she grappled with the events of the past minutes. That quiet, still voice she’d heard before had not been the giddy hope of a starry-eyed youngster. The Eternal was indeed calling her to be the princess bride! And like Destin and Meagarea twelve centuries before, the moment she and Larien were formally introduced, they both knew it.

  Larien did, didn’t he?

  She looked up. She and Zoe remained a few paces from the table where the others were pretending to eat as they preened before Larien. He nodded amicably to a young woman prattling away even as his eyes darted around until they rested on Rhiannon.

  Her breath caught and a warm tingle shot through her. Then her heart stuttered when his gaze found Zoe. Those dark orbs held Larien for a long, intense moment. Finally, the prince swallowed and returned his focus back to a dumpy maiden offering him a tidbit from her plate.

  Zoe and Lady Ouveau, who stood on the far side of the table sipping a cup of punch, shared knowing smiles.

  Ouveau! With Larien’s impact, Rhiannon had forgotten about the stomach-churning foulness she had felt while near the woman. And the movement inside the eyes that had been so eerily similar to Maolmin’s.

  Suddenly, Rhiannon wanted to pace. She needed to put all this into some semblance of order. Surely the senior advisor to the queen could not be harboring a siyyim? First a clan High Lord and now the throne—and the Faber dynasty itself?

  No, not the Fabers. Rhiannon had not sensed evidence of the Mighty Ones’ taint while close to Cullia, only disdain for all things Dinari. And most certainly there had been nothing demonic inside Larien. Only with Ouveau.

  Pausing, Rhiannon wondered about her bout of queasiness while waiting in line. She had assumed it a simple case of nerves, but was it possible—?

  She wanted to kick herself for being such a blind dolt. She shot a hard look at Zoe, then back to Ouveau. The senior advisor had taken Larien’s arm and was leading him to Zoe while Cullia made final good-byes. Royal attendants appeared to escort the maidens back to their families.

  Zoe’s brilliant smile enveloped Larien. The woman’s honey-colored hair shone; her gown and jewels glittered. Her stance was poised and regal, confident of her attraction.

  A barb twisted in Rhiannon’s heart when she saw Larien’s mesmerized expression as he took the offered hand. The barb grew larger when she noted Ouveau’s look of triumph, quickly masked. Zoe moved closer to Larien until her bosom just touched his arm. Her tilted, sloe eyes grew larger, more liquid.

  Swallowing a lump in her throat, Rhiannon knew true despair. Why the knowing at the introduction? Had that happened just so she could watch him walk away with someone else—someone using demonic force to beguile the future king? What was she to do?

  Then Rhiannon remembered Zoe’s flash of concern when the woman had first seen her. And the young noblemen’s scrutiny. And the Mighty One of the North edging back warily when she had declared herself Protectoress of the Covenant. And Harred’s expression in the stable. And the way her skirts swished.

  Rhiannon took a deep breath and for the second time that day answered the call to battle. She slid past the attendant coming for her and strode to wh
ere Larien was held in thrall.

  “My prince,” she said, halting at his side and holding out her hand, palm up. “You asked about my calluses?”

  Larien blinked. “Pardon?” He tore his eyes from Zoe, who looked as if she could have bitten a nail in two. “Oh, yes.” His voice became stronger. “Yes, I did.”

  Their gazes met again—and this time she knew they both felt the impact. Zoe’s sudden intake of breath sounded like a hiss, and Rhiannon felt her hatred like a physical presence. Larien’s eyes were becoming clearer by the second.

  She continued to hold out her hand, praying desperately for him to take it, and almost sagged with relief when he did. She sensed every eye in the pavilion watching, every ear straining. Somehow she remembered to breathe.

  He examined her palm, then scraped a fingernail lightly across the ridges and bumps. “This looks like a swordsman’s hand.”

  “It is.”

  He regarded her with a perplexed expression. “You train with a sword?”

  Inwardly cringing, she not did know whether to be mortified or proud. “Not a full-sized one—”

  “Larien,” Cullia inquired in a too-sweet voice, “have you hurt this girl?”

  Maintaining his grip on Rhiannon’s hand, Larien turned to answer his mother. He was outwardly unruffled, almost placid, but Rhiannon sensed he had an inner core that would not bend easily.

  “I was examining Lady Rhiannon’s hand.” He put a slight but definite emphasis on Lady. “It seems the original Dinari blood runs strong in her veins. Lady Rhiannon practices regularly with a sword.”

  “Of course.” Cullia’s assessment of all things Dinari was plain.

  Ouveau’s and Zoe’s gazes bore into Rhiannon, and she had the feeling both women wanted to plunge a dagger into her heart. She looked into Ouveau’s eyes, then Zoe’s—and understood what she saw.

  The senior advisor’s eyes shimmered dark red. Zoe’s lips curled a bit before she regained control and smiled pleasantly.