Angharad of Llyr is heir to a matriarchy: a line of enchantress-queens that has ruled her island for centuries. Her destiny from birth: to rule as sole authority and ensure that her powerful bloodline endures for another generation. Devoted to her p...
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Once again, a stunned silence pressed the air back, stifling. The acrid magic crowded close, filling in the emptiness with its own vibration, beyond the range of hearing. Angharad's temples throbbed and she squinted through a wave of pain as she tried to comprehend what had been spoken. Next to her, Arianrhod was stiff as iron, her handclasp tight and rigid.
Regat's expression did not change, but her face darkened a shade. "We have received no such vision. You will forgive my doubts. How is it that so weighty a prophecy has not been revealed to those it most concerns?"
Achren raised one eyebrow with solemn, dry mockery. "Most likely because there are lengths, in such inquiries, to which you will not go."
Angharad thought of the rune carved into her mother's palm. She stared at Achren's sinuous white hands, wondering to what lengths they had gone, and shuddered.
"For that matter, who can tell why or how the fates choose to reveal themselves?" Achren continued smoothly. "You know as well as I that there are mysteries beyond our control. Perhaps it was given me that I might better know how to respond to your summons."
"Oh, this is rubbish," Angharad snapped. Pain sharpened into anger, overriding her fear. She could no longer bear that ice-shard smile with restraint. "We have never sought such a position. And if we did, it could be mine for no more than a word."
Achren and Regat both turned to her, and Achren's pale face colored for a heartbeat. The queen acknowledged the truth with a thoughtful nod. "You speak of Gwydion. Indeed, he would be only too happy to enthrone you at his side, when he ascends." She looked severely upon Achren. "Did this premonition of yours say how it was to be fulfilled?"
"No," Achren said flatly. "Nor indeed was it clear exactly to whom it referred. The next generation, perhaps - or even the next. But certainly, in light of your situation, the timing would appear fortuitous." She looked curiously at Angharad. "So...the prince has sought you, has he? I should not be surprised." Her eyes narrowed and she turned to Regat. "Have you considered the match?"
Regat frowned. "I refused his suit. Even were he willing to abdicate the throne to come here, the Prince of Don has no gifting of any note, save a few whimsies of Dallben's, from what I hear. It is our law to acquire consorts that are practicing enchanters of reasonably high skill—to fill in where we lack, to add to the protection of the island, and to ensure no weakening of descent."
"Given the state of things," Achren pressed, "you might reconsider it. There will be no need for him to abdicate if you were to unite the kingdoms. Unless you halt Arawn's assault permanently - which is by no means certain - the island may become too unstable to remain, and you will need to move the people to safety. The High King could have no objection to granting refuge to your subjects under such an alliance. These other trifles can be settled easily enough once the highest authority is yours to wield."
This was intolerable. "Stop!" Angharad burst out passionately. She dropped Arianrhod's hand and stumbled forward, trembling, inserting herself between her mother and Achren in a subconscious attempt to sever the twisted empathy she sensed there, and stood facing her adversary. "I will not be a piece in your gameplay. For someone who loathes the Sons of Don so much, you are terribly quick to accept a proposal from one on my behalf."
