Gwenhwyfar Read Free Page B

real peregrine or a goshawk. And a coursing hound, with an elegant, long eared head. She would go hunting whenever she felt like it, and no one would tell her that she couldn’t.
    There would be a bard all the time in the court, too, and jugglers and gleemen and all sorts of things. She could hear whatever tales she wanted, whenever she wanted, and if she woke up in the middle of the night and wanted to hear one, well, she could.
    And she would, of course, have great Power and command the most serious of magic. The High Queen was also the chief of all of the Wise, and at the most important of the rituals of the year, she was the avatar of the Lady for all of the land. Gwen had seen Eleri coming back from the Great Rites, face flushed, eyes shining, exultant, and more alive than at any other time. Gwen wanted to feel like that one day.
    Well, one day, she would. Eleri had promised as much. One day she, Gwen, would be leading the rituals, making the magic happen.
    Suddenly, though, amidst all her envy, something else occurred to Gwen . . . would it be worth all those wonderful things to have to go far away from home? To never know if you were ever going to see your mother or father again? To have nothing around you but strangers?
    Maybe . . . not.
    Unable to hear anything meaningful, Gwen let the bed-curtains fall closed and wriggled closer to her sister. The bed was soft, and warmed by the heat of four bodies. They were all safe in here, and tomorrow the bird hunters were going out, and there would, almost certainly, be goose. And then there would be stories and maybe some rough music, and their visitor would talk more about magic.
    And Gwen would be able to look up from her place on the hearth, look around her, and know every face in the Hall.
    Maybe being High Queen wasn’t so wonderful after all.

Chapter Two
    Gwen had not meant to overhear her mother and the priestess, indeed she hadn’t. It was a cold, bright day, and she had been given sacks of goose and swan feathers to pick over and sort, for the king and his men had gone out bird-hunting and brought back a plentiful catch. Eleri was strict about idleness; there was to be none if there were tasks to be done, and Gwen was deft enough to be trusted with this one. She wouldn’t lose a single feather, she wouldn’t sort where the wind could carry them off, and she wouldn’t leave dirt on any of them. Not even Gynath picked feathers as clean as Gwen could.
    She knew better than to sort inside; a chance draft might send the precious feathers into the fire. So she circled the castle and grounds and came to one of her favorite spots, just below the window of her parents’ room, on the south wall. This spot got sun all day and was sheltered from the wind; the lush grass made a good place to sit, and no one was likely to disturb her.
    So she slowly picked through the feathers. Precious down feathers went into one sack, for making the softest of pillows and featherbeds.
    Body feathers went into a second, for featherbeds of lesser quality. Longer feathers went into a third sack, to be used as needed, and the primary and secondary wing feathers went into a fourth, to be used for fletching arrows and very occasionally for quill pens, although there was no one here who could write more than reckonings. Dirty feathers had to be carefully picked clean, but her reward was that she could have any feathers she liked from the third sack. She had already made plans for a feather skirt for her doll and maybe a feather cloak too. It was not hard work, nor difficult to understand, but it was painstaking. Gwen was clever and dexterous, and besides, she loved the silky feeling of the feathers, the subtle plays of grays and whites and browns, so she never complained about getting this chore.
    Despite the cold, the sun had baked warmth into the turf and the stones at this spot. She put her back up against the stones and set to work.
    She was halfway through the second sack when she heard