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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Angharad stood frozen at the door of the Great Hall, unable to believe in what she saw.
Bodies were strewn upon the floor, courtiers and half-a-dozen armored guards, like so many finely-dressed dolls carelessly dropped by a child called away to other pursuits. Among them lay the jeweled forms of Gildas and his attendants. From without the grand entrance came the sound of beating upon the doors, but they were barred, and before them, quivering like delirium, stood one of the nightmare-creatures of Grimgower's creation, its leathery wings spread out, barring any further exit or entrance from that direction.
But it was not at the death around them that she and her family stared, after their initial moment of horrified comprehension. Their focus was bent upon the dais, where Grimgower himself sat upon the throne, his gaunt face suffused, his golden eyes gleaming with a wild light of triumph. At his right, hovering like a black bird of prey, stood Achren.
"Ah." The dark enchanter raised an imperious hand, as if to beckon them all in. "My bride approaches. Welcome, Daughters of Llyr, to my new—,"
What else he meant to say they never knew. Even as he spoke, Regat strode into the Hall. Stepping over a prone body on the floor, her crimson gown streaming behind her like a river of fire, she raised her arms, calling out words Angharad had never heard. A sudden flash filled the entire room with blinding light; there was a crash, and Grimgower, engulfed in blue flame, crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut, tumbling to the foot of the dais. The monstrous apparition at the door gave a single unearthly shriek and dissolved into nothing. Geraint, who had followed upon the women's heels, gripped Angharad by the shoulders and cried out in shock; she instinctively spread her arms wide, shielding him, her mind blank with horror.
Achren made no movement of either surprise or dismay; she looked down at the dead body of the enchanter and raised one dark brow in eloquent disdain. "Efficiently done," she declared, "and certainly not what he expected."
"What is this treachery?" Regat thundered, stepping toward her. The air crackled with residual magic, sparking, ready to break out once more, but Achren raised a white hand.
"It is not what it appears," she said. "He was a tool of Arawn, come to insinuate himself into your court. I sensed it today, during the presentation, but could get no word to you."
They all gasped, and Eilwen clutched Angharad's hand. Regat regarded Achren suspiciously. "Sensed it how?"
"I know the taste of his magic well enough," Achren answered, stepping down from the dais, "even from my chambers. The spell that killed those assembled here was one of Arawn's. Your guards also lie dead or senseless, all throughout the castle, thanks to his creatures. But this fool would not have been capable of so much, without help." She spurned the man aside with her foot as she passed, and surveyed the rest of those gathered, her icy eyes glittering. "I regret that I could not stop him from what he wrought here," she said flatly, "Without any of you near, I could work no magic to prevent it. But he was vain, and easily tempted, and I made him believe I had come to assist him." Her lip curled scornfully. "He was eager to proclaim his triumph to any who would listen, intending to hold you all hostage in the Hall until the princess agreed to his suit. No subtlety at all. He underestimated you, but....he had his uses."
