Daughter of Prophecy

by Miles Owens

  Cullia flicked a hawk stare, piercing and full of power, to Rhiannon. “Please excuse us, m’lady. We will leave you to your sword drills.” She nodded formally and reached for Larien’s arm.

  Rhiannon raised her chin. “I no longer do sword drills, my queen. I have found that scabbards and gowns interfere with each other.”

  Cullia turned slowly back, eyes glittering with a probing look of reassessment—but it was Zoe who spoke.

  “How quaint,” she said, her lilting accent soft and musical. “Still, I imagine your . . . skills . . . will be of great benefit shearing sheep when you return home.”

  Rhiannon locked eyes with the blonde. “Warrior skills are beneficial in all manner of endeavors. I have been trained to use every weapon at my disposal.”

  With a cold stare and bared teeth, Zoe acknowledged the challenge. “I see. Safe journey, Lady Rhiannon.”

  “Yes,” Cullia agreed, turning to her son. A slight frown wrinkled her brow when she saw how he was looking at Rhiannon. “Larien, please. We have done our duty here. It is time for your seclusion.” She took his arm.

  As Larien moved away, his eyes caressed Rhiannon’s face, silently communicating: I will see you again.

  She returned an equally earnest reply: I’ll be waiting.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  RHIANNON

  “EVERYBODY’S TALKING ABOUT you and your calluses,” Phelan announced as Lakenna escorted him into the Rogoth pavilion to dress for the banquet. He had a smudge on one cheek, and both knees were muddy. “I threw Chiam Fawr down and told him if he snickers one more time, I’ll do to him what I did to that winged horror.”

  Rhiannon lowered the silver hand mirror and hairbrush. “Thank you for defending my honor, kind sir.”

  “You didn’t kill a winged horror,” Creag said petulantly as he took his cloak off the peg on a tent pole and swung it across his shoulders.

  “I would have if I’d found the bow before Rahl did. With the bow Serous is making me, next time I’ll kill two or three.”

  Branor smiled. “I pray that ‘next time’ will be quite awhile for all of us.”

  “I agree.” Lakenna lifted a pitcher, poured water into a bowl perched on a battered travel chest, then wrung out a cloth and handed it to Phelan. She nodded toward the curtain separating Tellan and Mererid’s part of the tent. “You’d better have your face scrubbed and be dressed for the banquet when your mother steps out.”

  The pavilion, which seemed tiny compared to the royal one, was divided into three sections by hanging curtains. A separate corner for Mererid and Tellan, and another for Rhiannon and Lakenna. Branor and the two boys made do with the crowded central area filled with their cots, two stools, the washstand, and two chests full of clothes.

  Lakenna looked down at her own dress. For the banquet, she wore one of Mererid’s gowns, a wine red that went well with her dark hair and eyes. At first, the tutor’s Albane upbringing had made her hesitant about wearing a colored gown, but she had finally given in.

  Phelan gave his face a quick wipe with the cloth, then sat on one edge of the largest chest and stripped off his dirty pants. Wiggling into a new pair, he looked at Rhiannon. “Serous says my bow is just about cured and ready. When we get back, you and Creag can take it out with me and see how far it shoots.”

  She paused in her brushing, fingers working the handle nervously as she regarded her brothers. “I . . . ” She gave a quick smile. “I would like to go shooting with you two.”

  Creag said, “Don’t worry about the calluses or what people are saying. They’re just jealous because Larien spent more time with you and that Costos woman than with all the others put together. Calluses had nothing to do with it. You’re the most beautiful one here.”

  Rhiannon was surprised to feel herself blushing. “Thank you, Creag. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  He tugged at his cloak to cover his embarrassment. “It’s the truth. You should have seen the men waiting to talk to Father afterwards.” He grinned. “Mother’s started a list.”

  “It’s true, m’lady,” Branor said. He was sitting on one of the stools in the common area. “You are radiant.”

  Rhiannon’s blush deepened.

  “What’s this about a list?” Tellan pulled back the curtain. He held a sealed letter in his hand. When Creag explained, Tellan shook his head wryly. “That was a new experience—men elbowing each other to talk to me about my daughter.”

  “Best get used to it,” Mererid said, stepping through. “This is just starting.” She wore a gray wool with ivory lace outlining the bodice and cuffs. She took in Creag and nodded, then frowned at Phelan, who was still dressing.

  Tellan handed the sealed letter to Creag. “This is for Lord Gillaon. It is the document formally breaking our trade agreement with him. Take it to Llyr and tell him to deliver it to Harred in the morning. I hear someone has provided a room at the Bridge Across for he and Breanna. I wish them well.” He smiled at Creag. “We’ll wait for you outside.”

  Creag took the letter and hurried out.

  At the mention of Harred, Rhiannon examined herself and found no strong feelings. Admiration, to be sure. Both her father and Llyr said that the Arshessa was far and away the best swordsman they had ever seen, discounting the siyyim-enabled Maolmin. Once she, Lakenna, and Branor had cut off the siyyim from the North, Harred had faced the High Lord, man to man, and had—

  Harred is a finely honed weapon, proven and available for the future.

  She nodded at the revelation and tucked it away. She too wished the new couple well. Then she thought about Harred and Breanna in their room at the Bridge. And that made her think about Larien and seeing him at the banquet tonight. And Mererid’s and Cora’s talk with Vanora. And Larien and tonight.

  Will he be true to what we both felt, or am I still dreaming a little girl’s dream?

  “I believe I heard Phelan mention a discussion with Chiam Fawr,” Mererid arched an eyebrow at her husband. “Tell Rhiannon about your nice conversation with Lord Seuman Fawr regarding his oldest son, Peibyn.”

  Tellan’s face soured. “Let’s not spoil the evening.”

  Rhiannon laughed with everyone else, thankful for this warm, easy atmosphere now that Maolmin’s dark cloud was gone. She gave her hair a last swipe with the brush, slid the requin in place, and rose to her feet.

  Mererid inspected her from head to feet and nodded. “Rhiannon, while I assure you that nothing will happen with Peibyn,” her eyes danced merrily, “I do look forward to the spectacle of Aigneis circling around the topic of courtship before she begins the real discussion.”

  Frowning, Tellan turned to Mererid, opened his mouth, and then thought better of it.

  Girard pulled back the front flap and came in. Behind him came a royal attendant dressed in blue and yellow livery.

  The attendant bowed to Branor. “Queen Cullia’s greetings, Your Grace. She asks you to join her and Prince Larien at their table for the banquet.”

  Branor stood, rubbing his left leg. “I will be honored.” He made to follow, then hesitated. He turned to Lakenna. “It would be a double honor for you to accompany me.”

  The tutor’s face paled. “I couldn’t possibly.” Stunned, she shook her head. “The invitation was for you.”

  “Such invitations include a wife or companion.” Branor looked at the royal attendant. “Correct?”

  The attendant seemed as surprised as everyone else. “I think the queen assumed Your Grace would be unaccompanied . . . ”

  “Come now,” Tellan said. “I’ve been to Faber Castle many times, and always with a female companion.”

  Lakenna recovered. “I cannot. My place is with Rhiannon.”

  “No, Lakenna! Please go,” Rhiannon urged. “I will be fine.” Maybe.

  “Yes,” Mererid and Tellan said together.

  “I have no place with royalty. I must stay with Rhiannon.” Lakenna’s mouth firmed. “Nothing will call me away from that.�
��

  Branor nodded. “As with me, for the foreseeable future.” He waited, but when Lakenna shook her head, he said, “I will return afterwards.”

  “Before you go,” Rhiannon said, coming to a decision she had been wrestling with, “can I talk to you and Lakenna?”

  They stepped behind the curtain into her and Lakenna’s area. Quickly, Rhiannon told them her insight about Zoe.

  “A lilitu,” Branor said. “A lesser demon. Has to be.”

  Lakenna gasped. “We must pray.”

  The three of them joined hands and prayed a covering over Larien and a binding on Zoe. Rhiannon started to tell them about Lady Ouveau but decided to wait and see if they sensed the same about the senior advisor. Rhiannon also did not relate her and Larien’s—what? Whatever it had been, it was too personal to share.

  That done, they stepped back with the others, and Branor left with the attendant and Girard.

  Mererid beckoned Rhiannon. “I have something for you to wear.”

  Hurrying through her and Tellan’s curtain, she went to her small jewel box on the stand next to their pallet. She opened the lid and removed a gold and emerald necklace. Rhiannon gasped at its beauty. Mererid stepped behind Rhiannon, slipped it around her neck and set the clasp.

  “There. My mother wore this for her wedding, and I wore it when I married your father.” She smiled fondly. “Somehow it seems right for you tonight.”

  Tears came to Rhiannon’s eyes.

  Picking up a cloth, Mererid dabbed them away. “With your hair, red eyes will be a bit too much.”

  Rhiannon gave a half giggle. Then she clasped Mererid’s hands inside hers. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice breaking.

  “You are most welcome.”

  Rhiannon squeezed harder. “Thank you for . . . everything.”

  Mererid’s expression slowly changed. She searched her step-daughter’s face. “Is there something else?”

  Rhiannon enveloped Mererid in a full hug. “Only how much I love you. And how much I admire you. How difficult it must have been for you to step in after my mother.” She felt Mererid shudder and heard her begin to weep. “I have no memory of my mother,” Rhiannon continued, “only Father’s stories. But you . . . you have always been and always will be Mother to me.”

  Mererid squeezed Rhiannon close. “Oh, daughter! Thank you. Thank you for this. You have given me the more precious gift.” She pulled away gently. Her face was wet with tears.

  “Mererid! Rhiannon!” Tellan stuck his head through the curtain. “Lord and Lady Fawr have come to accompany us to the banquet. They’re waiting outside.” Then he seemed to notice the women’s condition. “What’s happened?”

  Mererid laughed and wiped away her tears. “Two women talking, my lord husband.” She turned and regarded Tellan. “Aigneis awaits us outside our tent?”

  “They have requested the pleasure of our company at the banquet.”

  “Hmm.” She kissed Tellan on the cheek. “Then we must go. Peibyn must have persuasive powers I am not aware of.”

  “I’d better go, too,” Rhiannon said, feeling the nervousness return.

  Mererid studied her for a long moment. “No, you stay here. I will not have Peibyn escorting you to the banquet. Much better matches are sniffing at the door. Your father, Phelan, and I will go out and greet the Fawrs. You will be ‘finishing dressing’ until your father comes back for you and Lakenna.” She frowned toward the front flap of the pavilion. “I will stall until Creag returns. He’s old enough to escort me, freeing your father for you.” She straightened her dress and hurried away.

  When Rhiannon stepped back to the main area she startled Lakenna, who was gazing into the hand mirror and arranging her hair. The tutor jumped and put the mirror down hastily. Red bloomed on her cheeks.

  “I have never seen you lovelier,” Rhiannon told her truthfully. “You would do well sitting beside Branor and Cullia.” And Larien.

  Lakenna made a derisive sound but seemed pleased at the compliment.

  “You know, of course,” Rhiannon continued, “that high-ranking Keepers like Branor can marry. In fact, I believe he is the only High Lord Keeper who is not already wed.”

  The tutor stiffened. “I am an Albane and will remain so.” She looked down. “And he is noble born. That is where he is most useful to the Eternal.”

  Rhiannon let it be. Too many imponderables loomed this night. As they waited for Tellan’s return, she gnawed her lower lip. Her prophecy. How was it to be walked out these next few moments? What if Larien didn’t choose her? He would carry her heart away with him, but somehow—somehow—she would learn to live with it. But what if he chose Zoe? How could such evil be queen and mother of the heir? What impact would that have on the Covenant?

  She stared at nothing for a long, intense moment. I am called to be Protectoress of the Covenant. She looked at her hands. In that spirit realm they had held a flaming sword. One like Asunder. With it, she had dealt the North a defeat straight from the legends of the Founding. She heard again the undulating wail issuing from Maolmin’s mouth when Harred’s blade stuck the fatal blow. And she remembered the ancient Dinari clan saying: Pray. Sharpen your sword. Then pray some more.

  Decision made, she strode to her pallet and found her clan dagger. Taking two rawhide strings, she went back to Lakenna and began rolling up her own left sleeve.

  “Here.” She handed the leather throngs to Lakenna and placed the dagger on the underside of her arm. “Tie this for me.”

  The tutor’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped in disbelief. “Whatever for?”

  She met Lakenna gaze calmly. “You know what for. My lord father needed his this morning. I may need mine tonight.” Though her voice was soft, it carried command. “Tie it.”

  Lakenna swallowed—and obeyed. With shaking hands, she tied the dagger and sheath to the arm and pulled down the sleeve.

  They had just satisfied themselves that nothing showed when the front flap of the tent was pulled back and her father stepped in. He wore a faint smile. “Mererid and Aigneis. And here I was thinking all the combat was over once Harred and Breanna had gripped hands.”

  “No doubt Mother has Aigneis in full retreat.”

  “Aigneis is incapable of full retreat, but Mererid has her hemmed in nicely.” Tellan folded his arms across his chest and regarded his daughter for a long moment, eyes full of love and approval. “As I have said before, here stands a woman, full grown and beautiful.”

  Her throat closed. Finally, she was able to say, “You know I love you, Father. But never have I told you how proud I am to be your daughter.”

  His eyes misted. Giving her a kiss on the cheek, he offered his arm. “Are you ready, Lady Rhiannon?”

  Her heart thudding, knees shaking, she slipped her right arm through his and took a deep breath.

  “I am ready.”

  The Rogoths and Fawrs joined the crowd heading toward the royal pavilions. All the Dinari kinsmen lords and their families had been invited to dine with their queen and prince. The storm was over now, and the night air carried a crisp chill. Torches were everywhere.

  King’s guards were in abundance around the largest tent, a not-so-subtle show of force. In addition to finishing the Rite of Presentation, Cullia wished to use the banquet this night to renew vows of fealty to the Faber dynasty and the Covenant. A wise move, given the throne’s perceived weakness with all the rumors of King Balder’s deterioration.

  Rhiannon’s feet took her through the wide opening of the high-pitched pavilion. The ladies wore gowns of every color. Their perfumes mingled with the aroma of fragrant woods burning in braziers, and the combination clogged her throat. With her stomach tied in a cold knot she almost gagged. Somehow she smiled and responded to greetings as she moved through the throng with her parents and Lakenna. Her eyes raced over the crowd to find Larien or Cullia, or even Ouveau, but the royal party had not yet made its entrance. Tables for the guests had been arranged in a loose semicircle focuse
d toward the head table on a raised platform. Between them was the table for the maidens—

  Her heart skipped a beat. Next to the royal table stood an ornately carved, waist-high pedestal. Atop it was a crystal vase, and in the vase rested a rose made of silver. It sparkled in the lantern light. The petals and leaves, even the thorns on the stem, were rendered in exquisite detail.

  Lakenna had seen it, too. “Is that the same one Destin gave Meagarea at the first Presentation?”

  “The same,” Mererid replied. “It has been used ever since. At the beginning of the banquet, High Lord Baird will formally ask Larien if the Eternal has shown him a bride among those presented. If Larien answers in the affirmative, he will present that maiden with the silver rose. The maiden will signal her acceptance by returning the rose to Larien. And as with Destin and Meagarea, the marriage will take place immediately.”

  Rhiannon swallowed. I want this over with, one way or the other!

  Still eyeing the silver rose, she grappled with the unbelievable suddenness of all this. This morning she was a young woman only weeks old in being acknowledged “Lady.” Then before noon, she had held a flaming sword and battled face-to-face with a dread Mighty One. But what loomed now was even more mind-boggling: a possible betrothal and marriage, both within a turn of the glass. Princess and wife, with family and clan and her beloved highlands left behind. The capital city of Ancylar, Faber Castle, Lady Ouveau. And, of course, Cullia.

  Rhiannon quailed. No, Eternal, I cannot do this! You ask too much of me!

  Tellan elbowed through the press of people, leading her to the forward edge of the Dinari tables where he handed her over to a royal attendant. Other fathers were doing the same. The maidens were escorted to their table and left standing.

  Running her eye over the others, Rhiannon realized she was the only one wearing the same gown as at the Presentation.

  “Ewe’s milk,” someone said.

  Rhiannon turned to look. Standing beside her was the Erian maiden who had been first in line.