Daughter of Prophecy (48 page)

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 focused 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.

Rhiannon blinked. “What?”

“Nothing keeps skin softer than bathing in ewe's milk. Your skin's so creamy and perfect. You use it, don't you?”

Rhiannon wondered if the girl was an idiot or if this was some game.

“And your hair . . . ” The girl sighed. “I would die for hair like that. My brother is demanding that Father approach Tellan for your hand. We will probably be seeing more of each other.”

The girl smiled wistfully and wandered off. Then a cloyingly sweet perfume filled her nostrils.

“Lady . . . Rhiannon, isn't it?” Zoe approached in a rustle of rich silk. Jewels sparkled on her ears and encircled her neck, but those sloe eyes were dark and fathomless. She inspected Rhiannon from slippers upwards, then arched an eyebrow when she came to the face.

“Poor girl, you look as if you've eaten spoiled mutton. Or perhaps it's a reaction to some lotion you have rubbed on your calluses. No? Hmm. Well, all of this must be too lavish for one of your simple background.”

Rhiannon's blood quickened. “I find my background most suitable. We are constantly dealing with predators. Recently, a winged horror thought it could take what was mine.” She gave a cold smile. “I killed it.” Zoe's mouth dropped open and her face lost some of its beauty. “So you see,” Rhiannon continued, her voice deadly soft, “I stand ready for any challenge.”

Zoe's haughty expression returned. Her musical accent thickened. “Larien will not forget my impact during the Presentation.”

The dagger tied to Rhiannon's arm felt like lead. “You will not have him.”

Zoe's voice became as hard as her glare. “If he chooses anyone tonight, sheepherder, it will be me. If not,” a perfect eyebrow rose meaningfully, “then I will be around when the marriage bed becomes stale.”

A wave of movement came from the far side of the pavilion. An escort of king's guards emerged from an opening curtain, the Faber banner high on a pole. Next came Queen Cullia, her hand resting on her son's arm.

Prince Larien took Rhiannon's breath away. He was the most handsome man in the pavilion. The most handsome man she had ever seen. Tall, lean, gracious. She had sensed an underlying gentleness at the Presentation when he held her hand, which had felt so warm and secure in his.

Will he be gentle tonight if I become his bride?

His scar gave him such a rugged look. She wondered what it would feel like when she ran her fingertips along it.

Attendants came and seated the maidens at their long table. Zoe was placed at one end, Rhiannon on the opposite end.

Larien helped his mother step onto the dais. Even from that distance, Rhiannon could see the richness of her gown, gold threads in the rarest blue black silk. Cullia had a fixed smile on her lined face as she nodded to the gathered nobles. Her hair was fastened in a tight bun under the diamond-encrusted coronet.

Then Lady Ouveau, head high and haughty, stepped up to the platform. A ruby necklace sparkled in the light. She was escorted by Branor, whose limp seemed more pronounced. Sweat beaded the Keeper's forehead, and Rhiannon could almost feel his nausea. She knew what he sensed.

Looking at those two powerful women, Rhiannon realized why this had to be so sudden, so quick, so public, so protected from interference. Trying to get past Cullia's prejudice and the evil inside Ouveau would be impossible otherwise.

But what about Larien? Was the
knowing
they had felt toward one another enough to overcome Zoe's bewitching impact? After the prayer of binding, could Zoe still affect Larien?

Everyone settled into their seats. Larien's eyes swept the maiden table, searching. They came closer to where she sat. She waited, hands clammy. Cullia said something to him. He turned to her, listening, then replied. His eyes flicked back exactly where he had left off—and resumed.

They swept by Rhiannon, then whipped back! For a long moment, he looked straight at her. She returned it, hardly daring to breathe. Then he glanced at Zoe on the other end. Finally, he looked down and started drumming his fingers nervously on the table.

For the first time, Rhiannon had an inkling of
his
dilemma. At the very first of the Presentations, before he'd had the opportunity to meet the other clans' offerings, he had beheld Zoe—a cultured, exotic temptress, clearly born and bred for a crown. She would bring foreign contracts and wealth untold to the Faber throne, not to mention the envy of every man who met her.