Gwenhwyfar Read Free Page A

she came into her Gift, she would be sent to the Ladies. The doubt came about whether the King would be willing, no matter what he said, for a daughter to take up weapons. There were not many warrior-women, and most girls who tried the life soon gave it up.
    That wasn’t the only reason she strained to listen to the talk at the hearth. Besides hearing about magic, she wanted to hear about this new queen with the same name as her.
    She wondered what life was like, for this slender, fair young woman. Did her father have a castle like this one? Clearly, if she was a good archer, he let her train with the warriors. Oh, how Gwen wanted to do that, too—
    Well, maybe. She would have to be careful that the Power didn’t desert her because she handled Cold Iron too much. But there had to be a way! That Gwenhwyfar had done it!
    But if there isn’t . . . which do I want? To be a warrior, or to have the Power?
    Did she have sisters? Probably not, and probably not brothers either, if she had been on the walls, shooting arrows at her father’s enemies. Brothers were funny about things like that. Gwen had overheard plenty of fights when some of the boys tried to keep their sisters from training with the warriors and the like. No, from the sound of it, she was an only child . . .
    Oh yes, Gwen remembered now. Something about the blood being thin and only the one daughter in the line. So there it was.
    Gwen envied her. It must be wonderful, to be an only child. No having to share everything. No big sisters who thumped your head nor horrible little teases of younger sisters. She’d have gotten the best of everything; only children got spoiled, everyone knew that. And now, to be marrying the High King, to be his equal in all things . . . she would have her own court; everyone knew that the power of the land went through the queen as well as the king. She was trained by the Ladies, so she would probably be the one in charge of all things having to do with the Power, subject to the Merlin, of course. She would have her own horses to ride and not have to share one elderly pony with three sisters.
    And, oh, the clothing. Probably enough to fill chests and chests. She would have new clothing, not things that had been cut down from adult garments and then passed down until by the time Gwen got them, they had lost any color they had once had, and any trimming had long since been pulled off. In fact, with three sisters handing down the same clothing, it was Little Gwen who actually had the best of it, since by the time Gwen was done with what Gynath handed down to her, it was suitable only for padding, patches, and baby’s clouts. Little Gwen got true second-hand, just like the eldest of them.
    There would be fur linings to that Gwenhwyfar’s cloak and hood. There would be embroidered hems to her gowns, and her shifts would be the softest lambswool and linen. She would dress like Eleri did on rare feast days, only she would do so every day, because she was High Queen. All her clothes would be colored, and she’d never have to wear anything faded or plain again. Except her shifts. Her shifts would be linen so blinding white they’d think she was a spirit. In fact . . . in fact, she would have one gown that was that white, too, whiter than snow, whiter than clouds. Everything she wore would be soft, too. No scratchy linens for her, no itchy wool.
    And no shoes she had to wear three pairs of stockings with to keep them on. Shoes would be made to fit her feet, and hers alone.
    She’d have the best food, too. Whatever she wanted, like as not. The best cuts of meat, the slices from the middle of the loaf, succulent cakes and pies whenever she liked. Goose, oh, lovely goose and the rich fat to dip her bread in. They’d let her have all the sweet mead she wanted. Apples, pears, plums, cherries and berries of every sort.
    She would have a stable full of horses, one of every color there was. And a falcon, a real one, not just a little sparrow hawk, a