“AND HERE I AM.” Dera stopped to take a breath. She’d managed to keep her voice from shaking while she’d told the story. Though maybe that was because it still didn’t seem quite real. Back here, in Lady Isolde’s workroom, with the dried herbs rustling in the rafters, and the big dog Cabal snoring in a corner, the whole of the night she’d spent out in the woods could have been just a bad dream.
Lady Isolde hugged her again. “And thank the goddess you are here, safe and unharmed.”
They were all safe. That was another part of all this that didn’t seem quite real. Dera had been asleep on her feet by the time the blue-eyed serving man had left her at the outer ramparts of Dinas Emrys. But she’d gone straight to where Jory had been having his afternoon nap on the pallet in Lady Isolde’s workroom—and then she’d crawled right in next to him and gone to sleep herself.
She hadn’t meant to, but she must have slept right through the night. Because when she’d woken, morning light had been coming in through the window and Jory was already up and gone. And Lady Isolde had been there, with bread and cheese and mead, and wanting to hear the story Dera had been too tired to tell the day before.
So she’d started in on all that had happened—meeting Glaw and his men and all the rest. And before she’d got halfway through with the story, a rider had come running in to say that Dinas Emrys was safe. Gwion and the other men had held against Marche’s men. And King Madoc had arrived with his war band in time to drive them back—and with enough losses that Lord Marche wouldn’t soon return.
Now Lady Isolde pulled back from the hug and said, “But I don’t understand—this man who rescued you. You said he went to join Gwion and the others?”
Dera nodded. “The last I saw of him, that’s where he said he was headed. He said until King Madoc got here, they’d have need of every fighting man in holding off Lord Marche.”
“But who was he?”
“I don’t know, my lady.” Dera might have a guess—but she had to keep it to herself, since before he’d left her, the man had made her prick her finger and swear on her own life she’d not tell Lady Isolde anything about him—not what he looked like, nor nothing else that might give Lady Isolde a clue as to who he’d been.
A sound from the garden outside the infirmary made her look up. Not that the garden was much more than mud and plants wrapped up in cloth sacking at this time of year. But when Dera looked out the window, she saw Jory and Cade, covered in dirt, the pair of them—and digging for worms, they must be, because Jory was squealing and holding up a big, fat wriggling one.
“I’m sorry.” Lady Isolde came to stand next to Dera at the window. “I know you were worried about him meeting Cade. But Jory was asking for you while you were gone—beginning to get frightened because you weren’t here. And Cade came in, and—”
“That’s all right.”
Cade looked a bit pale under the smears of mud, and he was leaning on a wooden walking stick. But he was grinning.
Beside Dera, Lady Isolde said, “You’ve made up your mind about Cade, haven’t you.” She didn’t even say it like it was a question.
Dera watched Jory jump up and land with both feet in a puddle of rainwater. “How’d you know?”
“Because you’re much braver than I am—you always were.” Lady Isolde’s voice sounded—not quite sad, but quieter than usual. But she put an arm around Dera’s shoulders and hugged her sideways. “I’ll miss you—but I’m so glad.”
Jory had seen her in the window. He was waving and shouting, “Mam! Mam!”
Dera waved to him. But then she turned back to Lady Isolde. “Do you … your powers. The Sight, you called it. Do you have it back, now?”
Lady Isolde looked away, down at her own hands. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t—”
“I don’t know.” Lady Isolde’s mouth twisted a bit, and Dera saw her fingers tighten together in a knot. She looked up. “I told you you were braver than I am, Dera. I haven’t tried—I haven’t tried to See anything. Not since that man Bevan … since he died.” She swallowed. “I keep thinking … why wouldn’t the Sight come back before this? I used to try to summon it—but it never came. Why now?”
“Maybe you didn’t really need it before.”
“And I do now?” Lady Isolde’s smile was a bit easier. Though the sadness hadn’t left her eyes.
Dera took a breath. “Your friend—the one you were telling me about. The boy you knew growing up. Trystan.” Dera thought Lady Isolde flinched just a little bit when she said the name, but she kept going. “If you had the Sight back, maybe you could See him. See what’s happened to him, I mean. Where he is now.”
Lady Isolde just looked at her. But then, slowly, she nodded. “I suppose. The Sight shows may be and has been and will be. And sometimes all mixed together. But—”
She stopped. Outside, Jory was still shouting. “Mam! Mam! Mam!”
“You should go out,” Lady Isolde said.
Dera swallowed. And then she said, “I wish you … happiness, La— Isolde.”
Dera thought for a moment Lady Isolde’s eyes looked shiny with tears. But then she smiled. A real smile, this time. “And I wish the same for you.”
Dera looked back just once before she got to the door of the room. Lady Isolde was still standing by the window, leaning her head against the wall. But then she turned and looked up at the high shelf with the bronze bowl—the one with the ancient markings on it Dera had seen before. Men with horns, and serpents swallowing their own tails. Dera saw Lady Isolde take a step forward, reach out and lift the bowl down.
And then she turned away and went out into the garden with Jory and Cade.
###
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Read more in the Twilight of Avalon universe
TRYSTAN AND ISOLDE’s story continues in …
DARK MOON of AVALON
… coming September 2010 from Touchstone
(Simon & Schuster).
She is a healer, a storyteller, and a warrior. She has fought to preserve Britain’s throne. Now she faces her greatest challenge in turning bitter enemies into allies, saving the life of the man she loves … and mending her own wounded heart.
Book II in the Twilight of Avalon Trilogy
THE YOUNG former High Queen, Isolde, and her friend and protector, Trystan, are reunited in a new and dangerous quest to keep the usurper, Lord Marche, and his Saxon allies from the throne of Britain. Using Isolde’s cunning wit and talent for healing and Trystan’s strength and bravery, they must act as diplomats, persuading the rulers of the smaller kingdoms, from Ireland to Cornwall, that their allegiance to the High King is needed to keep Britain from a despot’s hands.
Their admissions of love hang in the air, but neither wants to put the other at risk by openly declaring a deeper alliance. When their situation is at its most desperate, Trystan and Isolde must finally confront their true feelings toward each other, in time for a battle that will test the strength of their will and their love.
Steeped in the magic and lore of Arthurian legend, Elliott paints a moving portrait of a timeless romance, fraught with danger, yet with the power to inspire heroism and transcend even the darkest age.
Advance Praise for Dark Moon of Avalon
“Passion, conflict, danger and magic combine for an irresistible love story which will keep you turning the pages!”
—Michelle Moran, author of Nefertiti and Cleopatra’s Daughter
“Elliott brings the Arthurian world to rich life, creating a Britain both familiar and distinctly alien to fans of medieval romances.”
—Publishers Week
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