“This way.” I motioned for Eira to take her leave. She inclined her head to Hedwenn in passing, and I reached to take Hedwenn’s hand, brushing my lips over her dry knuckles. “Thank you for the sweets. Angharad will be grateful.”
“She’s got a tale, Lailoken.” Hedwenn frowned. “Be kind to her is all.”
“I am always kind,” I said.
Taking the packet from the table, I left Hedwenn to get on with supper.
CHAPTER 3
Lailoken
I stopped at the soft sound of weeping from beyond Angharad’s door. As I reached to knock, her breath hitched, and she called out, “Who’s there?”
“It’s your uncle Lailoken.”
“Does she not know who her uncle is?” Eira murmured behind me. Truly, this woman was far too petulant for a servant.
“Uther Pendragon is an uncle as well,” I informed her.
“I see,” she said.
I turned, half considering sending this Eira back to the kitchens. But I needed her aid and could not help but marvel at her transformation, one that had been achieved in little time. Her brown hair had been washed and drawn back from her face at the temples, secured by a pair of painted wooden combs. A thick wave of curls, still damp and smelling of sweet oils, tumbled down her back. Hedwenn had found a robe in one of our spare trunks, and though it hung a bit loose, it was dark blue and made Eira’s skin look pure as fresh skimmed cream. I’d leave it to Angharad, I decided. Eira was to be her serving woman, after all. The girl had a right to choose.
I opened the door to find Angharad perched at the edge of her bed, wiping the tears from her face.
“Are you feeling quite rested?” I asked. “Is the chamber to your liking?”
Angharad nodded, then looked at me pointedly. “You’ve brought someone.”
I thought she might be pleased, but the look upon her face had me uncertain. “Yes, I’ve brought someone. A companion. Her name is Eira.”
“I thought you were to be my companion.”
“Well, of course I am. But I must ride out before too long, and you’ll need to stay here. Eira will keep you company.”
“The raid,” she gathered.
“Yes, the raid. And Eira was the eldest of five. She will make a fine companion, I think. She told me she quite likes children.” I stepped back, and Eira gave a graceful bow.
“Lady Angharad.”
“Hello,” Angharad said, taking her in. She kicked her feet as she did when she was nervous—a habit my horse, Gwydion, was none too fond of. “So… you’re to be my serving woman?” she asked.
“If you would like,” Eira said.
“I’m not sure. Is that all right?”
“Yes. That’s all right.”
Angharad looked at Eira, her delicate face shifting. “Have you come from the kitchens?”
“Yes.” Eira looked surprised. “How did you know?”
Angharad smiled. “You have a binding on your finger.”
The linen knotted upon Eira’s finger had escaped my notice, but I knew the truth of it. Raised among priests, Angharad had been brought up concealing her gift, especially among those she did not know. She had become quite clever about it. Quite clever, and it pleased her, so now she shrugged. “Also, you do not color your face.”
“Angharad,” I said. “Don’t be rude.”
“She is not rude. She is observant,” Eira said. “I cut my finger just this morning, chopping wild garlic. And I do not paint my face because I have no use for such things.”
“Not even lily root powder?”
“Not even lily root powder.”
“But lily root looks quite pretty,” Angharad said. “My older sister Gladys uses stain on her lips and upon her cheeks. She’s even allowed to kohl her eyes now. But not me. I’m too little.”
“Beauty is not always a virtue,” Eira said.
“I do not think you could ever appear plain, even should you wish it,” Angharad said. But where any other woman might smile from the flattery of a child, something else flashed behind Eira’s eyes. Something like a secret. Angharad noticed, too.
I knew if she willed it, the girl could likely pry into Eira and perhaps be rewarded with a piece of her story. I nearly wished she would, for then Angharad might learn that prying could unearth things one did not wish to see. But I remembered the moment at the stones and cleared my throat. “Angharad.”
Chastened, she looked down, folding her hands in her lap. “Have you lived here very long?” she asked, changing her course.
“No. Not very long at all.” Eira looked about the room, then motioned to the little stool beside Angharad’s table. “May I sit?”
Angharad seemed uncertain how to respond. Servants should stand. But Angharad was unaccustomed to adults asking her if they might sit or stand—this was the realm of her mother.
“You may sit,” Angharad said. “I’ve only arrived here today. I’m to live with my uncle now. Did he tell you? I’m to become a Wisdom Keeper.”
“That is a very noble thing,” Eira said.
I watched the two of them as Eira settled upon the stool. Hedwenn had claimed Eira didn’t often speak, but it seemed to me she had a fair plenty to say.
“Well,” I said after a moment. “Perhaps I should leave you.”
“Yes, you may leave us.” Angharad looked at me.
“And, Eira, you will help ready Angharad for supper.”
She looked up. “Yes, of course. Good-bye, my lord.”
“Good-bye, then.” I looked to my niece but could not escape the feeling I had been rather unceremoniously dismissed. “Until supper.”
Well enough. It was good they should come to know each other, and I wanted to visit the temple. I had time enough before supper to speak with Diarmid.
I found the Wisdom Keeper bent over a small table he’d set in the grass behind the structure, disemboweling rats.
“And where are your robes?” he addressed me without turning.
“Sullied.” I leaned over his shoulder. “You should make the birds work for their supper.”
Diarmid only grunted. “They like the slimy bits.”
The sleeves of his white robes were rolled up past his elbows, his forearms covered in coarse hair and sunspots. He kept his graying hair cropped close, and his brown eyes were hooded, sharp as those of the eagles he tended.
“Where’s the little lass?” he asked.
“Resting just now, but she’s eager to meet you.”
“She’s a Seer,” he said. Not a question. “And likely more.”
“Aye, I’ve discovered as much. You might’ve told me.”
“You’ve trained enough young ones. It was only a matter of time before you discovered it yourself. Who does it come from, then?”
“Not my own mother; she was a healer. Angharad’s mother did not have the gift. I can only think it comes from her father’s side. Rhydderch’s mother is a Pict. The girl has a way with animals, too.”
“Ah. Perhaps then Angharad will be an augur, like her uncle.”
“The truth is I think she could be a great many things.”