Prologue
Cymru
Late Autumn, 515 CE
Gwen groaned and retched into the clay pot again. Elain, kneeling at her side, swept Gwen’s pale hair off her neck. She pressed her lips to Gwen’s clammy skin, then applied the damp cloth.
Gwen spit and sat back. “Some wedding night.”
“Have you finished?”
“Gods, I hope so.”
Elain helped her to stand, and Gwen climbed into the tall bed under her own power. Elain poured her a mug of cool water, then pushed the clay pot toward the bedchamber door with one toe. The men’s voices rumbled softly through the door.
“Are they still talking?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t believe they aren’t in bed. Someone should be enjoying this night.”
Elain crossed to sit on the edge of the bed and smiled at Gwen. “You’re not enjoying it?”
Gwen gave her a flat stare.
“Because I’m having the best time.”
“Funny.”
Elain smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “I’m spending it with a beautiful woman.”
Gwen groaned again. “Stop. I must look hideous. Smell hideous.”
She was sweaty and tired-eyed and strong and plump and perfect. “You’re as lovely as ever.”
“Liar.”
“I adore you.”
“You must.” Gwen’s dark eyes slanted up to hers. “No accounting for taste.”
Elain kissed her brow and laid her cheek there. “I’m sorry you’re in pain. I’m sorry I caused it.”
“I asked you to.”
“I know. Still don’t like it.”
“It’s for the best.”
The remedy she’d prepared for Gwen would prevent her quickening. As Gwen had told it, Arthur hadn’t planted his seed this night—had only spent on her belly. None of the four of them had thought they’d even need to go that far, but then Uthyr had demanded that the Myrddin witness Gwen and Arthur’s consummation. Thankfully the old woman was blind, and so Arthur and Gwen had been able to perform a false fucking. Because she’d known old Mabyn would examine her, Gwen had smeared Arthur’s seed inside herself, tearing her maidenhead for good measure, and the Myrddin seemed to have accepted the proof. And so their plan had worked.
But Gwen had requested the remedy all the same, just to be certain. Elain hoped she’d gotten the proportions correct. She’d watched Caron make such a thing at the brothel any number of times, but that had been in the lowlands of Rhys’s domain. She’d had a time of finding the herbs among the late autumn undergrowth here in the mountains. But it was done now and, judging by Gwen’s reaction to the mixture, it had worked.
She hoped.
Tucking the blankets around Gwen’s shoulders, she extinguished the lamp and rounded the bed to climb in the other side. Gwen must not have resented her too much, for she slid close and rested her head in the crook of Elain’s shoulder. Elain gave her a squeeze.
“I wish I could make you feel better.”
“Oh you will,” Gwen murmured. “But tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow will be better.”
“Tomorrow we begin fresh.” Gwen’s words sparked with determination. “It’s a good plan we have, and only the four of us could pull it off. No one can touch us.”
“Hush,” Elain teased, “or the gods will hear you.”
Gwen yawned and settled closer, soft and warm. “They have their heroes. What could they want of us?”