The Dragon Prince (28 page)

“Nevyn, I promise, doesn’t scorn you for
falling in love. She has her own troubles.”

“Bridei?” Eastra asked.

Morguese nodded.

Eastra released her breath in a sigh. “When
I saw him hurrying out of here, I thought perhaps he had been to
see you.”

Morguese laughed. “Bridei has not been my
lover for many a year.”

Eastra was startled. “You mean... that
once... you and he... But what about Urien?”

“My husband is a most unusual man. I told
you he wields me like a weapon. He believes if I lie with other
men, I will learn their secrets and he will gain power over
them.”

“But is it true?”

“Sometimes.” Morguese smiled sweetly.

“And you are content with this? To let your
husband use you against his enemies?”

“I said he
thinks
it gives him power.
In fact, I know very well what I’m doing. I obey no man, only the
Lady.”

After Morguese had left, Eastra sat on the
stool, thinking hard. What would it be like to live her life like
Morguese did—afraid of nothing, secure in her own authority,
answering to no man?

The draught Nevyn brought did help Eastra
sleep. And in the morning, when she awoke, she didn’t feel quite as
hopeless, nor experience Rhun’s betrayal so harshly. After washing,
she went to the kitchen shed. She felt rather queasy, but she had
eaten almost nothing the night before. The plump, cheerful cook
offered her a piece of barley bread spread with butter and honey
and told her to sit. Eastra obeyed willingly.

While she was eating, Bridei came into the
kitchen. He grinned at her, then gave the giggling cook a kiss on
the cheek. Old Glynis produced another piece of bread for Bridei.
As he started to leave, Eastra followed him out. “Bridei,” she
called.

He turned to face her, his mouth full. She
took his arm and led him away from the main pathway, behind the
kitchen shed. She averted her face, not wanting him to see her
pain. “Do you know what Rhun’s plans are? Where he is headed?”

“He will go to Arthur’s stronghold at
Camlann.”

“And then what? Will he come back and rescue
us?”

Bridei shrugged. “Perhaps, if he has the
time. But if Cerdic has broken the truce, it’s likely Rhun will
march to war with Arthur and his men.”

The lump in her throat grew bigger. If Rhun
had gone to fetch help, that would have been easier to endure.
“Does Urien know Rhun is gone?”

Bridei nodded. “He had the man who last
guarded Rhun taken out and flogged.”

Eastra felt a surge of pity for the
unsuspecting man. Morguese was the one who should be flogged, not
the poor guard. No, she did not really mean that. She was angry at
the queen, but she didn’t want to see anyone suffer. She was so
tired of intrigue and treachery. “What do you think Urien will do
to us? Will he lock us away?”

“I doubt that. If he did, his men would miss
my music in the hall and my company on their hunts.” Bridei grinned
broadly. “And everyone would miss being served by lovely Eastra the
Saxon.”

Ignoring his silly compliment, she said, “So
what do we do? Wait here for the war to be over?”

“You must be patient,” Bridei said, echoing
Morguese. “Once I have earned Urien’s trust, it will be easy to
plot our escape.”

And what would she do then? Eastra wondered.
Where would she go? Back to Cerdic’s household? If his thanes
thought her defiled because she had once been a slave in a Roman
British household, they would think her even more despoiled now.
The pain welled up inside her. If Rhun did not care for her, she
was not certain if it mattered what happened, if she lived or died.
She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened, then she
felt Bridei touch her arm.

“Rhun will not forget you,” he said.
“Someday, when he has fulfilled his duty, he will return to
you.”

A frail hope. Yet she grasped for it
greedily. What else could she do?

“Eastra, come quickly! Urien is asking for
you!” Anna, one of the serving maids who had become a friend to
Eastra, pulled impatiently on her sleeve.

Eastra rose from the bench where she sat
sorting peas, and started out of the kitchen lean-to after Anna.
Urien was asking for her? What did that mean?

As they hurried along the path toward the
feast hall, Eastra wracked her brain for some possible explanation
for the king’s request. Nothing came to mind. Since using her as a
means to incite Rhun, Urien had ignored her. But then she saw the
large group of warriors in the yard near the gate. Foreign
warriors, with a distinctive style of dress and a large banner in
their midst. The banner immediately reminded Eastra of Rhun’s
device, except it was not a red dragon on a field of white, but a
gold dragon on a field of crimson.

She could make out Urien talking to another
man in the middle of the gathering. A very tall man. Then the other
man turned, and Eastra knew instantly she was staring at Maelgwn
the Great. He looked to be even taller than Rhun, the tallest man
she had ever seen. He had dark hair and a beard, both streaked
liberally with white. The stamp of his features reminded her more
of Bridei than of Rhun, but his vivid blue eyes were startlingly
familiar.

All her life, she’d been around formidable
men, but this warrior embodied the very essence of power. It
radiated from him, making everyone around him appear
inconsequential. She was reminded of Morguese dancing, the force of
animal energy radiating from her voluptuous form. But that was
female energy, and this man’s power was very different. Very male.
Danger and cunning, a predator poised to pounce. As Eastra
approached him, her throat went dry and her knees wobbled.

Before she reached him, he bowed his head in
a gesture of courtesy. “Eastra the Saxon,” he said in a deep,
rumbling voice. “Your beauty is every bit as exceptional as I had
heard.” He stepped toward her and clasped her hand in both of his
huge callused palms. “My wife is anxious for you to come and show
her the needlework skills of your people.”

He turned toward Urien as he said this.
Urien smiled like the shrewd fox he was, and responded, “My wife
has been enjoying Eastra’s company and was loathe to part with such
a dutiful servant. But of course she will allow her to accompany
you to Gwynedd to meet her rightful mistress.”

“What about my son Bridei?” Maelgwn
asked.

“Bridei is free to go as well.” Urien
shrugged.

“And what of Rhun, my older son?” Maelgwn’s
voice grew silky and dark. “Where is he?”

“Gone.” Urien waved his hand. “Left some
days ago. Apparently, he had business with Arthur he thought more
important than visiting his father and stepmother.”

“Arthur. Of course,” Maelgwn said. “Tell me,
what do you know of Arthur’s situation? Last I’d heard he had
entered into a truce with Cerdic, one of the Saxon leaders. But we
both know truces are often broken.”

“I’ve heard nothing. Up here in the north,
we don’t concern ourselves with the war with the Saxons.”

“Of course not,” Maelgwn said. “Why would
you?”

Although the two men appeared to talk
freely, Eastra could sense the tension between them, as if they
were two stags pawing the ground and shaking their massive antlered
heads at each other before they engaged. Urien was very wary of
Maelgwn, perhaps even afraid of him. That was why he lied. She
wondered if Maelgwn believed his lies, or if he was merely
pretending to accept them.

“Come into the hall and be welcome,” Urien
said.

“Perhaps, for a time. But we will not linger
here overnight,” Maelgwn answered. “As I said, my wife is anxious
to meet her new Saxon servant, a gift from her son and stepson.” He
looked at Eastra as he said this, and the intensity of his gaze
made the breath seem to leave her body.

The two men went into the hall, followed by
their warriors. Eastra started toward the kitchen shed, but someone
caught her arm. When she turned around, there was Morguese. “Come
with me,” the queen said.

“Shouldn’t I serve our guests?”

“We’ve servants aplenty. Besides, you will
be leaving soon.”

Eastra wondered what that meant. Did
Morguese want to say good-bye to her? Or was she afraid Maelgwn
would be displeased if he saw his wife’s servant being treated like
a common kitchen wench?

She followed Morguese to her bedchamber,
feeling more unsettled than ever. She was leaving, but the prospect
offered no relief to her turmoil. For all that he reminded her of
Rhun, Maelgwn the Great was a frightening man. She wondered what
would happen when his wife found out she really had only average
skill at weaving and sewing. Unless Maelgwn knew she was Arthur’s
hostage and was simply playing games with Urien. That seemed very
plausible, and it would explain the taut way the two men spoke to
each other.

When they reached the sumptuous chamber,
Morguese turned and looked at Eastra, cocking her head in a
thoughtful gesture. “What’s wrong? You don’t seem pleased with the
path that has opened up ahead of you.”

Eastra hesitated then said, “I’m not certain
I want to leave here and go to Maelgwn the Great’s household.”

“Why not?”

“I... I don’t know,” she answered
truthfully. “Rhun will not be there, and it will seem strange to be
in the household of his family without him.”

“Maelgwn is no ogre, despite his impressive
demeanor. In fact, he has a reputation for being unfailingly kind
and courteous to women. And his wife...” Morguese smiled faintly.
“She will not eat you either, I promise.”

Eastra could not get rid of the uneasy
feeling in the pit of her stomach. Although she had been a prisoner
at Caer Louarn, the fact she had come there with Rhun had made her
feel safe.

Morguese was still looking at her. “Would
you like to try the ‘Seeing’ again? Perhaps if you knew what the
future held, you would be more at ease.”

Eastra nodded. Morguese’s magic continued to
intrigue her. Perhaps this time she would learn something useful,
something that would help her get Rhun back.

Morguese knelt down near the small table
that held the pottery bowl of herbs. She added several handfuls of
herbs from the jars on the table and a pinch of some sort of
powder. Lighting a candle from the lamp burning by the door, she
set the herbs to burning. They crackled and sparked, filling the
air with a dense, sweet smoke.

“Everything is ready,” Morguese said, “Sit
down and let us begin.”

“Don’t we need Nevyn to make the circle?”
Eastra asked.

“Nevyn is busy and there isn’t much time.
Now, close your eyes and let your mind wander free. If the Goddess
wills it, the visions will come.”

Eastra did as she was bid. The smoke seemed
to tickle her nose, then make her sleepy. She shifted restlessly.
Nothing was happening. Last time, Morguese had guided her, told her
what to do. She tried to recall the things that Morguese had said,
urging her to feel her body, the blood flowing through her veins,
the air moving in and out of her lungs as she breathed.

Her limbs grew heavy, but at the same time,
a strange lightness came over her. She was moving, floating down a
corridor. She saw Rhun. He was wearing a mail shirt and sitting on
his horse, as if going into battle. He looked beautiful, so strong
and proud and golden, and yet his eyes were full of pain. She
wanted to call out to him, to reassure him, but she could not. Her
voice caught in her throat and strangled there.

He did not see her, but looked past her.
What he saw seemed to make his face contort with anguish, as if he
could not endure it. Again, she tried to call his name. This time
there was sound, but still he could not hear her. He was locked in
some sort of terrible struggle with the thing he saw in the
distance. She tried to move toward him, to find some way to make
him see her, to draw his attention away from the terrible
vision.

And then she was sucked back down into
darkness, swirling, dizzying darkness.

When she opened her eyes, she was sweating,
her body tense and rigid. Morguese gripped her hand tightly. “Are
you all right?” she asked. Eastra nodded, although she was not at
all certain it was true. She felt nauseated and weak.

“Blessed Mother, you have dark dreams,”
Morguese murmured.

“It was Rhun.” She met Morguese’s gaze. “I
saw him, and there was this terrible expression on his face... of
grief...and horror...” She shuddered. “It was so awful to see his
pain and not be able to help him.”

“Very often things are darkest and most
troubling right before your path straightens and the way becomes
clear. That you saw something that distresses you doesn’t mean your
future will be unhappy.”

Eastra gave a shaky sigh. A plan was forming
in her
mind. She would speak to Maelgwn the Great, despite
her fear. She would tell him what she had seen and ask him to take
her to Rhun instead of back of Gwynedd. Surely if she explained
that his son was in danger, he would listen to her,

Morguese helped her up and embraced her.
“Don’t look so sad my dear. I have seen glimpses of your future as
well, and things are not nearly as hopeless as they appear. Now,
let us pack your things, such as they are.”

Maelgwn the Great was as good as his word.
He and his men did no more than have a drink in Urien’s hall before
gathering at the gate. Eastra went to join them, carrying her bag
of possessions, including numerous gifts from Morguese. As she
reached the throng of men and horses, she saw Bridei out of the
corner of her eye. She turned to look at him and as she did so, she
saw a shadowy form disengage from him and disappear among the
crowd. Nevyn, she thought, saying good-bye.

Bridei’s face wore a grim expression. Was he
that distressed about leaving Nevyn? Eastra wondered. Then he came
toward her and said fiercely, “I’m not going. My father didn’t come
to rescue
me,
but his beloved Rhun. I’ll not go back to
Gwynedd like this, as if I were one of his possessions he has come
to claim!”