Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (45 page)

“Siana!” he cried. “Oh, Siana!”

With that single word, Bronwen felt her world shatter. A most joyous moment just seconds before had turned into a sharp dagger to her very soul. As he tumbled off her, panting, she said not a word. Instead, she lay there for some time, listening to his soft snoring. Was this what she had waited for? To be crushed by the man she loved? Perhaps she had misheard him. Or it could be possible he meant nothing by it. A trifle slip of the tongue in the heat of passion. Neither scenario made that name sting any less.

She slid out of bed and went to the moonlit window. Stark naked in the cold air, she did not care if she caught her death or not. Her hand then moved down to rest on her belly.

She prayed to The Maker that Rhodri’s seed quickened inside her. She prayed for a son to solidify her standing. More than all else, however, she prayed for forgiveness for the anger which she felt toward Rhodri for what he said.

She smelled the sweetness of herbs in the air and they gave her some bit of comfort. She was glad her fury had subsided and she had not destroyed Connor’s garden. It would not be so evil to grow plants if they were not used for wickedness. After all, The Maker provided such flowers and herbs. Why should she not enjoy them?

From the north, a column of pure white light shot up into the sky. Bronwen screamed so loud, she woke Rhodri.

“What has happened?” he said, rushing to her side.

She could only point as a shock wave emanated from the strange pillar of light. It moved across the plains and toward the Cærwyn castle with unbelievable speed. They barely had time to turn away before it knocked them both to the floor.

Sawyl stuffed the last pasty bite into his mouth, a blizzard of flaky crumbs covering the front of his robe. The boy then licked black currant jam from the chubby tips of his fingers before he wiped both hands on his lap, smudging the sticky jam on the woolen robe.

“You did not eat yours,” he said, brushing off crumbs.

“I was not hungry,” said Connor. “Do you want‌—?”

Before he finished the question, Sawyl hopped off the cot and snatched his pasty. “Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome.”

Outside, a roar of laughter from festival attendants drowned out Connor’s own laugh. He watched them go by through the open flap of the priests’ dwelling. “Sawyl?”

“What?”

“The festival starts today, does it not?”

He nodded, too busy eating to speak.

“Then I can see Rhiannon.”

“Uh-uh.” Sawyl shook his head, swallowing. “She will not be there.”

“Why not?”

“The Lady stays secluded until she presides over the oracle of the season tomorrow.” He pointed to the starmetal sword in Connor’s satchel. “Whats ‘at?”

“This?” He drew out the sword, still wrapped in wide strips of linen. Placing it carefully across his lap, he unfurled the wrapping. Even though the gray morning light gave the only illumination, golden veins sparkled throughout the sea of the black blade.

Sawyl reached for it, but Connor instinctively put his hand out.

“It is too sharp for you to touch.” He folded the linen back across the blade. “You can touch the hilt though, as long as you are careful.”

The boy rubbed his hands on the front of his robes before reaching out slowly, his small fingers barely wrapping around the handle. “It feels cold.”

“It warms up in your hand quickly though.”

“I bet it is expensive.”

Connor assumed so, although Gawain never told him the price. “I do not know. It was a gift.”

“You should keep it close. Someone will steal it.”

Connor tucked the sword back into his satchel, glancing outside again, in the direction of the Brynmor. “Sawyl, if the Lady Rhiannon does not appear until tomorrow, what happens at the festival today?”

“They light the bonfires.” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “That is not until tonight though.”

“So there are several hours to whittle away,” Connor said. “Would you show me around Arlais? I mean, am I allowed to wander around?”

The boy puckered his lips and let out a long, lingering hum while he stared at Connor. Unable to continue his ruse, he finally gave him a toothy grin. “I can show you around right well. Indeed, I can.”

Connor smirked and stood up.

“Wait!” Sawyl cried.

“What is it, what happened?” Connor gripped his chest, his heart on the brink of bursting.

The boy rummaged around in the small pouch attached to his rope belt. He pulled out a large square nail. “If you do not have a piece of iron, you could get stolen away by the faeries!”

Connor did not believe it, but he decided to humor the boy. He tucked the nail between his tunic and leather belt. “I thank you.”

Sawyl took his hand, pulling him out the door.

The first thing Connor spied as he stepped onto the pathway was a group of revelers. They stumbled, and Connor instinctively held Sawyl’s hand tighter, positioning himself between the drunken crowd and the boy. Faces painted black with pitch, one wore a horse’s skull on his head. They passed by, not paying them any attention, leaving the stench of a brewer’s shed in their wake.

“They are only mummers.” Sawyl slid his hand from Connor’s. “Come on.”

The farther they ventured from the dormitories, the greater the number of people they encountered. Soon, Connor spied a large building with people filtering in and out, both those from outside the forest who came for the festival and those from inside the forest who lived there all year long, the priests and priestesses.

“They still have to do their chores.” Sawyl seemed to notice him looking at the priestesses.

“Do you?”

The boy did not respond, avoiding eye contact. “That is the meeting house. But, lots of people eat there too. It is not just for meetings.”

“I see.” Connor watched the plume of smoke rise from a hole in the skin and thatched roof.

“Oh, and they do the prayers in there sometimes, but only if it is really bad weather.”

“If it is too cold?”

“Um, only if it is raining or snowing really hard.”

Sawyl continued to lead him by the hand throughout Arlais until Connor felt sure he could not have found his way back to the priests’ dormitory if his life were dependent on it. The layout of Arlais confused him with its maze-like pathways and its sheer size. He had no idea it would be so large.