Daughter of Prophecy (47 page)

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 where 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.

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

R
HIANNON

“E
VERYBODY'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.”