Rhiannon had spent most of the morning with her friends, celebrating her unexpected salvation at the Nisse and Nixie with the best meal she had eaten in months, laid on for her by the ogre proprietor. She had been too shaken to eat much, though Cameron and Rafferty made up for her abstinence by gorging themselves on the roasted meats, a luxury denied to them at the Theurgia.
The Nisse and Nixie had been crowded with friends and well-wishers, with such a hubbub that Rhiannon had been overwhelmed after her months of solitude. She had sat with a glass of goldensloe wine in her hand, searching the crowd for any sign of Lewen, and then, when it was clear he was not there, trying hard not to succumb to black depression.
Nina and Gwilym had drunk a glass of wine with her, but then excused themselves, being eager to get back to Isabeau at the Tower of Two Moons. Of all those present, Nina seemed to understand best how Rhiannon felt, for she drew her close and kissed her, saying in a gentle undertone, “He was with me all night, trying to find some way o‟ freeing ye, Rhiannon. He didna abandon ye.”
“Then where is he now?” Rhiannon said gruffly.
“I will see if I can find him for ye. He was distraught, Rhiannon, when he heard.”
Rhiannon nodded and tried to smile, but it seemed to her that if Lewen had cared so much, he would have been there at the gallows with her other friends, shouting themselves hoarse in an attempt to save her. Nina kissed her and smoothed back her hair, saying, “Come to me at the palace, Rhiannon, when ye are ready. Her Majesty will wish to have audience with ye, so that ye may thank her and hear what plans she has for ye.”
“Plans? She‟ll have plans?”
Nina nodded. “Royal pardons are rarely given without some strings attached. The Banrìgh is only young still and new to this game, so she may no‟ think to demand service from ye, but if so, I would be surprised. She is the Ensorcellor‟s daughter, after all.”
“So I am no‟ free,” Rhiannon said in heavy disappointment.
“Ye are alive,” Nina said, and with that, left her.
So Rhiannon had picked at her food and drunk her wine and tried to smile, while her friends grew hilarious with relief and too much free wine, and then she had come back to the palace in company with Fèlice and Landon and Edithe, the latter being suddenly very friendly with her and wanting to walk arm in arm with Rhiannon.
“What will ye wear to see the Banrìgh?” she asked.
Rhiannon shrugged her off. “I dinna ken,” she said blankly. Edithe laughed, a silvery, tinkling sound. “Ye canna go in your prison gown, ye silly! Let me lend ye some clothes. I am considered tall, though o‟ course, no‟ as tall as ye. I am sure I‟ll have something that will fit. There is no time to have aught made, o‟ course. . . .”
“Why ye want to lend me clothes?” Rhiannon demanded.
“I just want to help,” Edithe said, offended.
Rhiannon regarded her suspiciously but had no desire to stay in her rough, itchy, lice-ridden gown anymore. “Maybe,” she said. “Bath first.”
“She just wants to get the notice o‟ the Banrìgh through ye,” Fèlice whispered later as she washed Rhiannon‟s hair for her. “She thinks the Banrìgh will have a soft spot for ye, having saved your life, and will most likely take ye into service. Edithe would very much like to be one o‟ the Banrìgh‟s ladies-in-waiting too.”
“What do ladies-in-waiting do?” Rhiannon leaned back against the rim of the hip bath,
luxuriating in the hot soapy water.
“Read to the Banrìgh, and walk with her, and write her private letters for her, and sit with her in her chambers and sew,” Fèlice answered.
Rhiannon screwed up her face. “Sounds boring.”
“A lady-in-waiting has a lot o‟ power at court,” Fèlice answered. “People will flatter ye, and give ye gifts, and try to persuade ye to speak on their behalf to Her Majesty, and men who wish to advance at court will woo ye.”
“What woo?”
Fèlice giggled. “Ye sound like Buba, the Keybearer‟s owl! Woo means to court ye.” At
Rhiannon‟s look of bafflement, she giggled again. “To seek your hand in marriage.”
“Men at court will court me,” Rhiannon said, shaking her head in disbelief. “What a stupid language ye speak!”
“The courtiers o‟ the court will court ye in the courtyard most courteously,” Fèlice said, laughing out loud.
“Stupid,” Rhiannon repeated.
When Nina came to find her, Rhiannon was ready and waiting. Having no desire to become a lady-in-waiting, she had spurned Edithe‟s offer of a gown and was dressed in the rough brown breeches and white shirt that Lewen‟s mother, Lilanthe, had given her so long ago. In a concession to the formality of the court, she wore Lilanthe‟s beautiful embroidered shawl over the top, with the rowan charm Lewen had whittled her back in its accustomed spot around her neck.
Nina looked as if she had been crying again, but she smiled at Rhiannon and kissed her.
“What news o‟ Roden?” Rhiannon asked, and Nina sighed and shook her head.
“Laird Malvern‟s slipped the net again. I do no‟ ken how. Finn is on his trail, though, and she never fails to find what she hunts for. I just hope she finds him in time. . . .” Her voice trailed away, and Rhiannon grimaced. They both knew how ruthless was the lord of Fettercairn.
“I found Lewen,” Nina said, and she smiled broadly as she told Rhiannon what Lewen had done.
Once Rhiannon understood, she was transfigured. She would have gone to him at once, but Nina shook her head, saying that she must not keep the Banrìgh waiting.
“Lewen is sleeping. Ye can see him later. Come now, Rhiannon, come and make your curtsy to the Banrìgh.”
She led Rhiannon through the crowded palace halls. Rhiannon had never seen so many grandly dressed people, or such rich and opulent surroundings. Her face turned from side to side as she endeavored to absorb it all.
They entered a long hall crowded with people sitting or standing, some looking bored or angry.
Nina explained that these were all the people waiting to have an audience with the Banrìgh. The men in the rich doublets being mobbed at the far end of the hall were the gentlemen ushers, and they controlled who was allowed in or not. This made them very powerful, Nina explained in an undertone, and so they were much courted by those who wished to secure their favor.
“Courted?” Rhiannon said blankly. “Ye mean, their hands are sought in marriage?”
“No, no,” Nina said. “People try to make friends with them, or do them favors.”
“Such a stupid language,” Rhiannon muttered.
Her entry caused a minor sensation. Everyone stared and murmured to each other, and a few smiled and bowed their heads or called out a friendly greeting. Rhiannon gripped her hands together and jerked her head in response, mindful of what Fèlice had said. She was grateful when the gentleman usher swung open the double doors at the end of the hall for her straightaway, as she would not have to sit and wait with all those eyes on her.
The room beyond was almost as crowded. Groups of men stood around, some with sheaves of papers in their hands. The Banrìgh sat in a high-backed chair near the window. To Rhiannon‟s disappointment, she was wearing a dress much like any other woman at the court. Rhiannon had been expecting something scandalous. Sitting on low stools or on the floor were a number of women in full-skirted dresses. Some were sewing, one was reading from a book, and another was playing a clàrsach. The Banrìgh was frowning over a pile of papers on a table drawn up at her elbow. A young man with an eager face and straight brown hair that flopped into his eyes was sitting beside her, conversing with her in a low voice.
The Banrìgh was only young, but she looked pale and weary. Rhiannon had been very curious to see her, for she was always the topic of so much conversation. Rhiannon did not find her beautiful at all. Her mouth turned downwards, like a fish, and Rhiannon found the shimmering texture of her skin and her green-blue frilly fins rather repulsive. Her hair was very black and lustrous, though, and when she looked up and smiled, her whole face warmed, and Rhiannon was able to see that her eyes were a most striking silvery-blue color and very large.
Nina curtsied gracefully, and Rhiannon did her awkward best to copy her.
“Ye are Rhiannon o‟ Dubhslain? The lass who rides the winged horse?”
“Aye, Your Majesty.”
“And where is your pretty mare?”
“I dinna ken, Your Majesty. The dragon scared her away.”
“That‟s a shame.”
“I will call her, and she will come again.”
“Will she just?” The Banrìgh‟s interest quickened, and she looked Rhiannon over.
“Aye, she will.”
“Well, I hope so. A lass that rides a winged horse! That is something new indeed. It would‟ve been a shame to lose ye.”
“Aye, Your Majesty. I mean, thank ye, Your Majesty,” Rhiannon stammered and flushed, then gritted her jaw, hating to be made to look foolish.
The Banrìgh said, “I hope ye will stay close, Rhiannon. I can see a thigearn being o‟ great use to me in days to come.”
“Aye, Your Majesty. It would be an honor to serve ye.” Rhiannon spoke the words Nina had taught her, even though she did not believe them.
The Banrìgh regarded her a moment longer, her gaze thoughtful. “Call your horse to ye,” she said, then abruptly, “and have a message sent to me. I would like to see ye ride her.”
Rhiannon nodded and agreed, even though she had no desire to bring Blackthorn anywhere near men armed with ropes and bows and arrows. As if reading her thoughts, the Banrìgh said sweetly, “But do be careful no‟ to fly too far away just yet, Rhiannon. It would be a shame to have to fetch ye back again.”
“Aye, Your Majesty,” Rhiannon said, and then the interview was over. The Banrìgh turned back to her papers, and Nina led her out of the room.
“Ye had best call Blackthorn straightaway,” Nina said. “One thing we have learned about our new Banrìgh is that she is very impatient.”
Rhiannon nodded, though she seethed with rebelliousness. They were taken out to the
stableyards by the young man with the floppy brown hair, whom Nina called Neil. He was the new Master of Horse, he told Nina proudly, and it was his job to overlook the work of the grooms and stablehands and to ride out with the Banrìgh each morning.
There was a big field behind the stables where a curious crowd gathered as soon as it was realized Rhiannon meant to call her flying horse. Rhiannon was angry and told Neil to tell them to all go away. After a moment‟s hesitation, he retreated a little but did not leave.
Rhiannon gripped her hands into fists and called to Blackthorn silently. She was anxious indeed about her horse, for the last time she had seen the winged mare, Blackthorn had been reeling from the spiteful swipe of the dragon‟s claw. She had fretted and worried about her ever since but had had no chance to do more than fling out a silent plea, or query, and hope that all was well.
Long minutes passed, and the crowd grew restive. Still Rhiannon called, her eyes searching the sky. Her eyesight was much keener than everyone else‟s. She saw the far-distant shape of the flying horse long before anyone else, and her shoulders sagged with relief. Then someone in the crowd spotted the mare, and a roar went up.
Rhiannon turned on Neil. “Tell them to shut up,” she hissed, “else they‟ll scare her away!”
Neil looked rather taken aback at her lack of respect but did as she asked, then turned to a page to send a message to the Banrìgh.
Blackthorn came circling down, looking as delicate and unearthly as ever, with her great blue-tipped wings spread wide. She landed daintily on the grass and bowed her head to nudge Rhiannon on the shoulder before dancing away nervously, her ears back, her eyes showing a rim of white. There was a long cut on her flank, crusted with dried blood. Rhiannon examined it anxiously, but thankfully it was shallow. The dragon had judged its swipe precisely.
Rhiannon soothed and petted the mare lovingly, reassuring her and bringing her to eat at a trough Neil had ordered filled with warm oat mash. Blackthorn fed greedily and drank some water, then allowed Rhiannon to tend the scratch. Then, and only then, did Rhiannon mount her winged beast and fly around the field, much to the delight of the watching courtiers. Blackthorn flew easily, not at all troubled by her sore flank, and Rhiannon felt a warm tide of happiness rise up through her. She was free, she was alive, Lewen loved her, and the Banrìgh had called her a thigearn. A thigearn would not be expected to stay at court and sew a fine seam and listen to gossip. Perhaps the Banrìgh had other, more exciting plans for her.
Rhiannon‟s face was glowing when she made her way back to the Banrìgh, who was watching intently from the sidelines.
Bronwen nodded at the sight of her. “A bonny creature,” she said. “Tell me, how far can she fly?”
“A long way,” Rhiannon said. “I do no‟ ken how far. When I first captured her, she flew many, many miles, all the way down from Dubhslain to Lewen‟s parents‟ farm.”
“Two hundred miles or more, Your Majesty,” Nina said.
“And how fast can she fly?” Bronwen asked.
“Very fast,” Rhiannon replied and added belatedly, at Nina‟s frown, “Your Majesty.” Rhiannon thought it was a stupid thing to call a woman who was only a few years older than she, but then, many, many things these humans did seemed stupid.
“Excellent,” Bronwen said. “Let me think on this. I will call ye when I want ye.”
Rhiannon nodded, and then, as Nina nudged her sharply with her elbow, said woodenly, “Aye, Your Majesty. It would be an honor to serve ye.”
Bronwen‟s face relaxed into a spontaneous smile, which made Rhiannon understand, for the first time, why she was considered so beautiful. Then the Banrìgh walked away with a beautiful liquid movement that Rhiannon found fascinating. Looking around her, she saw she was not the only one.
Rhiannon spent another happy half hour with Blackthorn in the stable, grooming her and feeding her carrots. Then, wiping her slobbery hand on her breeches, she had gone in search of Lewen.
Now she stood, watching him sleep. His lashes made two dark crescents on his cheeks, and he breathed shallowly, occasionally turning his head against the pillow. Once he muttered her name, and Rhiannon‟s pulse leaped.