“Perhaps two or three centuries’ worth,” Rion assessed. “There were five maybe six ships. It was all but over when we got there – most had already boarded the ships. Only a handful remained.”
“And yet you let them take the heir to the York throne?” the stranger circled back to his earlier concern.
I tried to summon the energy to correct them. I should correct them. Marcus was not who they thought.
“Let them?” Gideon’s snarl came from somewhere behind me as he stepped forward. “There were half a dozen ships full of armed men, they held Devyn Glyndŵr under their weapons, and there were but eight of us.”
The stranger stood and stepped up towards Gideon until they were eyeball to eyeball – no mean feat as the dark warrior was very tall. “Really? I just heard only a handful remained. And that you watched while they took the York Prince back to Londinium because they threatened the Oathbreaker.“
Gideon glared at the other man. His jaw locked, a pulse in his forehead speaking to his barely contained anger.
“Gideon,” Rion cautioned.
“Ah, is that why you failed? Was your leash being held?”
“No man holds my leash,” Gideon said through bared teeth.
“No son of mine would have stood by while the heir to our throne was taken by thrice-damned sentinels,” the stranger threw at him.
Our throne. Not a stranger. York. This man was Richard Mortimer, the Steward of York.
Gideon’s face transformed, and his whole body relaxed before his lips spread in a smile designed to infuriate its recipient.
“Well, my lord,” he said, inclining his head as he addressed his father formally, “as it happens, my priorities are not what they might have been.”
The man clenched his fists as Gideon turned his back on him and sauntered over to the window where he took up a casual pose, leaning back against the wall, the taunting grin lingering on his lips.
“It wasn’t how…” I finally found my voice.
The Steward’s gaze turned from his insolent son to me.
“Ah, yes. Here she is. The long-awaited Lady of the Lake. This is what the gods have sent us. This child.” He looked around at the assembled lords and ladies. “Her mother was a fool, taking her south, losing her to the Romans, leaving her untrained for years. What good is she to us now? I hear she has little command of the elements. What good was she when the Empire attacked?”
His eyes flicked to a shadowy corner of the room. There, behind the nobles gathered around the seated principles, was Callum. Returned to his master – to whom, it seemed, he had told everything.
There was muttering and shared glances between those who only two nights ago had gaily celebrated my return. But he was right. What use was I? To Devyn? To anyone?
They had all assumed that I had command of my mother’s powers; Bronwyn and Gideon had testified to my use of them. But my training in Oxford had shown me up for what I really was: I had no command of magic; it came and went of its own accord. I had no idea how I had called up a storm in Richmond, or how I had absorbed the energy that the Severn river had then used it to save us on the road north.
I sat there dumbly. Part of me screamed that I had been drugged. But another part sneered at my excuse. What of it? He spoke the truth: I had no control, no skill. I couldn’t deny it.
Even if I hadn’t been drugged yesterday, there was no guarantee I could have done anything to defend those people. Or to save Devyn. The truth was that I had been powerless to keep these people safe when Governor Actaeon had attacked. “Is this true?” Morwyn asked.
I looked down at the jar in my hands. Just yesterday morning he was alive. Now he was gone. I should have been able to do something. I was so tired of the events of my life, of Devyn’s life being twisted and judged by others. Somehow this felt all too familiar.
“So blind. You all saw what you wanted to see. The Lady of the Lake come back to us. Deverell, you were there – they cut down her lover in front of her, isn’t that right? And she didn’t so much as raise a breeze in his defence,” the Steward of York scoffed. “At least if the Oathbreaker were still alive, we would have had something. He’d lived for years amongst them, was adept in their technology; he would have given us some advantage with his knowledge of their defences.”
But Devyn was dead. And all that remained was me.
“He’s right,” I said. “The Griffin’s dead and I’m useless. I just stood there.”
I turned to Llewelyn. If I just admitted my guilt perhaps this would all go away. I just wanted to be alone. For all the noise to stop.
“I just stood there.” I said again. “Devyn died because of me.”
I made to leave. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t just sit here.
“Sit,” the steward ordered. “We aren’t done with you.”
Gideon began a predatory stroll from his position by the window back to his place behind me as Rion bristled but remained silent.
I faded back into my seat. What did I care if I came or went? It mattered not at all.
He’s dead.
Dead.
I had done nothing.
It repeated over and over inside me. Was it my lack of training? If I had trained more, been better, would I have been able to get past the suppressant? Had I still been blocked? I hadn’t even reached for it to save Devyn. It had all happened so fast. So fast. And yet I had to sit here as they went over it again and again. Absently, I noted that Rion’s account of Devyn’s death lacked some rather significant information – my pregnancy, Gideon becoming the Griffin and our hasty marriage withheld from the group. Rion had recounted everything else in detail – what he had seen, the numbers, the weapons, the damage done to the community who had lived there. All of those bodies, so many dead. Children, women, druids – peaceful people who had done no harm to anyone. All dead. Who mourned them? Did they have families across the land who even now were receiving word of the attack? Wondering if their loved one, the child, the brother, the sister who had dedicated their life to healing, to tending the land, was among those cut down by the sentinels?
The steward had again returned to yesterday’s attack, tracing the sequence of events. “Marcus went to them first, while the girl waited for you.”
“Yes, we were almost there before she saw they had Devyn,” Rion agreed on my behalf.
“Why did Marcus go then?” Gideon breathed, understanding what his father saw that the rest had not. They were all so focussed on the theft of the mistletoe and the brutal massacre that they had not, like the steward, reflected in detail on the earlier sequence of events.
“Surely she had more reason than the Courtenay boy to save Glyndŵr’s life if she was there to marry him,” the steward pointed out for anyone who had failed to follow.
“Marcus wanted to go back to Londinium.” I confirmed quietly. He had never intended to stay here.
“What will he tell them, of our magic, of our defences?” Llewelyn asked catching my words.
“Everything. He’ll tell them everything.” That had been the plan all along. I had been so blind, so stupid.
“Maybe he’ll keep our secrets,” Bronwyn countered, speaking up for the first time. She of all people should know better; Marcus had attempted to deceive her when they had met, and she had seen through him then. But she had seemed distracted throughout, not entirely focussed on the meeting. Her hands twisted in her lap, her eyes occasionally seeking mine before darting away. Now that she’s had time to absorb the facts she couldn’t even look at me. Did she blame me for her cousin’s death, for not finding a way to save him somehow?
“What secrets? Why do you think he was here? How do you think the sentinels knew to attack the Holy Isle?” I asked incredulously. How could they not see it? “It was Marcus, it was all Marcus.”
I looked over at the sneery Steward of York to see if he had finished putting together what they all seemed to be too blind to see. It was all so obvious now. As ever, the praetor had been pullin
g the strings, making us dance… from the very beginning.
“You have no secrets. Marcus knew you had a cure, that was the only reason he came here.”
Bronwyn’s head snapped back at the force of my anger. I turned from her to Rion.
“You think they don’t know the Lady of the Lake is dead? Calchas has always known. They killed her.” Somehow I had found my feet. Fury poured life into my veins, shaking me out of the stupor that had held me in its grip. The rage at finding myself once more manipulated by the praetor pushing me out of the mire of guilt and self-castigation. Turning that anger and blame outwards. “Think about it. I wasn’t some random foundling they decided to marry to Marcus Courtenay. The city, you, you all wanted me to marry Marcus, to tie the powerful bloodlines together. That’s why he did it, to take me. She was killed because of me.”
My outburst hung in the room, the silence following my explosion drifting heavily down as each person absorbed the meaning of my words, the repercussions of these new realities. The heat of my anger seeped away, the emptiness inside giving it no purchase.
“They killed our mother and took you. It wasn’t an accident.” Rion’s innate control cracked and he took a deep breath, pain and anger visibly vying for supremacy. “It was planned.”
“They knew she was gone, all this time?” Llewelyn was disbelieving.
“Why haven’t they attacked us, if they knew? Without the lady’s magic, we have been practically defenceless for nearly two decades,” the steward observed, the quickest to identify that the balance of power had substantially shifted long ago. Yet their enemy had not taken advantage of it.
The repercussions were evident to all. If the Empire had engaged at any time since the lady’s death, the Britons wouldn’t have stood a chance.
“Calchas knew. I don’t think Governor Actaeon did; he would have wiped you all out had he known. But Praetor Calchas plays his own game,” I said dully. Marcus’s betrayal was nothing to the people in this room compared to my mother’s death. But to me it was…
“Do you know what Calchas…?” Rion’s question petered out.
Was he really asking me if I knew what Calchas was plotting? If I had known that, Devyn would not be ashes now.
“Will they attack now?” Lady Morwyn asked the obvious.
“They’re too late. We have Catriona now; they’ve missed their chance,” Rion said.
“Have they?” The military-minded Lord Steward asked, his lips tweaking in a downward moue that suggested he, for one, didn’t think so.
All eyes turned my way. Even disconnected as I was, I squirmed under their attention, wishing I was anywhere but here. He was right. If these people thought that I would be of any use to them against the Empire’s legions, they were sorely mistaken.
Mortimer rose and walked over to me, scanning me up and down, his gaze reflecting all too clearly what he saw. A pretty enough city girl of little use beyond decoration.
“We need to prepare,” he said, turning dismissively and addressing the room.
“For what?” Lady Emrick asked.
“War,” he said grimly. “They will be coming for us.”
They argued for a while about whether or not the threat was imminent, occasionally pressing me for my reading of the situation. Before too long there was a common understanding that I had nothing of worth to contribute. I knew little of the politics of war, though if this was anything to go by it consisted largely of travel and food logistics. I sat numbly while they all droned on, cradling the bag on my lap.
The Steward of York, Prince Llewelyn, and Rion did most of the talking. Gideon’s father pushed for attack before Londinium had time to prepare or to heal their ill, chafing to respond to the Empire’s first strike. But Rion and Llewelyn needed time, not being nearly as prepared for war as Anglia.
The Lady of the Lake had been the biggest weapon in the Britons’ arsenal for centuries. But not this time. I had been useless in battle, had done nothing when it counted. What if I had been trained? A thought blindsided me: Callum was here. He had tried to teach me magic and he had abilities himself. Perhaps it wasn’t too late? Maybe we could fix this. Fix it all. I caught Callum’s eye and jerked my chin towards the door.
This time, when I stood to leave, nobody stopped me.
Callum slipped out of the room moments after me. His great arms already lifted to embrace me. I raised leaden arms to fend him off as I stepped back stiffly.
“I need you to help me.”
His eyes were sorrowful. “I am sorry for thy loss, child.”
“I need you to bring him back,” I stated baldly. “He promised he would always come back. I need you to help him. Bring him back.”
Callum’s eyes widened. He was silent as two people passed by.
“I don’t know the castle, I’ve not been here in many years… Is there somewhere we can speak more privately?” His gruff voice was gentle.
I nodded and led him along the corridors until we came to the bedroom I had occupied before my departure, thankfully untouched since the night of the feast. It felt like so long ago.
He sat in the window seat and contemplated me quietly as I sat beside him.
“Well?” I prompted. What was he waiting for? Nobody could hear us here. “Can you do it?”
“It doesn’t work that way,” he responded gently. Everyone spoke to me like I was made of glass now, even the usually blunt professor.
“Why not?” I demanded. “You told me that with the right application your magic could do anything, that I could do anything. Well, this is what I want. I want Devyn.”
“Devyn is gone.”
“No.” I frowned. “Everything is energy, right? Then the energy that was Devyn still exists, and you can bring him back to me.”
“No, child. Devyn Glyndŵr is gone. He did what we all thought was impossible: he brought you home. He has left behind the legacy of which he dreamed.”
“What? I don’t care, I don’t care about any of that,” I rejected. “I want him. I need him.”
Callum looked at me, the giant man with all of his knowledge, with all of his wisdom, was helpless. “He’s gone.”
“Stop saying that. There has to be a way,” I pleaded. “Teach me, teach me whatever needs to be done. I’ll do it.”
He just looked at me sadly.
“Please. If I had trained properly, if I’d known what to do, I could have saved him.”
“Magic cannot help you bring him back,” he said. “But it can help you defend those you still have left.”
I had no one. Devyn had been everything. He had been my future, the life I wanted to live.
“He promised me he’d always come for me,” I said brokenly.
“I know, child.” This time, when he reached for me, I let him. Maybe he could prevent the splinter inside me from splitting me wide open.
Everyone I loved had abandoned me. Except one, I thought, my hand creeping across my belly. I would protect her. She was all I had of Devyn, and I could make sure that I was strong enough that nobody could ever hurt her. Whatever it took.
The afternoon passed. I didn’t cry, didn’t weep, I just lay there, suspended, as Callum held me together, in his arms. The weak winter sun faded into night, and servants bustled in and out. Marina and Oban came in to check on me and sat in silence when I failed to respond. The flickering light of candles lit the room, and the fire began to crackle. Food sat uneaten on the table by the fire. I just lay there and let it all pass.
Time was empty and without meaning until our hideaway was eventually interrupted. Marina checked with me before she opened the door but I didn’t care, whoever it was, so the dark-haired girl opened the door wide, admitting the intruders.
“Callum,” Rion acknowledged his former tutor.
“My lord,” Callum said, though he remained where he was.
Bronwyn crossed the room to me and laid her warm hand to my cheek. “Oh Cass.” She sighed, my grief reflected in her tone. I closed my eyes agains
t the emotions in her face. I could barely contain my own pain.
“There are plans we must make. Callum, if you would leave us,” Rion said.
“Cass wants him to stay,” Marina objected on my behalf.
Rion raised an eyebrow at being addressed by the latent urchin I had helped rescue from the stews.
“This is not for debate.” He turned to the Londinium pair. “We will let you know if the lady has further need of you.”
Callum disentangled himself, propping me up in the window seat and, bowing his head, he left, taking the mutinous Marina and deferential Oban with him. Rion and Bronwyn sat at the table while Gideon, who had also entered with them, shut the door after the departing Callum.
“Have you eaten? How do you feel?” Bronwyn’s concern was etched on her face. I watched the bustle in the courtyard below – some of the lords were departing, heading for home. To prepare their defences or prepare for war?
“You must eat,” Rion said, and I could already hear the reminder of the baby that was coming. It was the tactic he used every time to bend me to his will.
“The baby will be fine,” I managed to get out. My voice felt foreign to me, disembodied. The thought of food wasn’t something I could contemplate. My mouth felt dry – the very concept of food seemed alien to me. I couldn’t conceive of eating.
“You’re pregnant?” Bronwyn gasped. The news apparently still hadn’t been shared despite the hours of rehashing yesterday’s events in Llewelyn’s study.
Absently I wondered why he was bothering to conceal what would soon be all too evident. But then I hadn’t shared anything beyond what they had figured out for themselves either. Maybe secrecy was genetic. Or more likely Rion had yet to decide how the information could be used to best advantage. Telling people I had been drugged and unable to use my magic wouldn’t make a difference, worse than that, it felt like an excuse.
A twist of Rion’s lips confirmed the news I had so carelessly let slip.
“What do you want?” Why were they here? In my space. Crowding me. Talking. Breathing.
Legend of the Lakes Page 3