Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit Part 3

The three teams pounded past as the drivers slowed them, turning them in a great circle to bring them back to the king and his men. The rest of the company swarmed around the winner as soon as it was safe; they gathered up the driver on their shoulders, and Gwen reckoned that if they could have gathered up the horses as well, they would have.

No one seemed to take thought for the poor loser leading his horses back to the picket line. Gwen's eyes flicked between him and the winner for a moment. Then she ran as fast as her legs would take her for that lonely driver and pair.

"I'll take them and walk them," she called as soon as she was near enough for him to hear. "You find the king's horse leech. He won't watch the races, he's at the ale tuns."

"Epona's blessings on you, little one," the man said gratefully, giving the reins to her. Then, despite his own weariness, he ran.

She led the poor drooping things slowly; it wasn't just the off-side horse that was limping. The stumble must have pulled the other over enough to lame him too. They wanted to stop, but she knew that if she let them, they'd cool too fast, and that might make their hurts worse.

But the driver was back in mere moments with the king's horse healer; not needed now, she handed back the reins and walked away quickly. If it was very bad news . . . she didn't want to be there to hear it or to see the driver's face.

Chapter Four.

Supper was what had been left over from the rest of the day for the common folk and baked meat pies and baked fowl for the king's guests. Gwen had thought she had eaten all the goose she could possibly eat. She discovered, to her pleasure, that she was wrong. And this time, the boys, given the option of savory meat pies dripping with rich gravy, merely picked at the goose, leaving most of it to her. had been left over from the rest of the day for the common folk and baked meat pies and baked fowl for the king's guests. Gwen had thought she had eaten all the goose she could possibly eat. She discovered, to her pleasure, that she was wrong. And this time, the boys, given the option of savory meat pies dripping with rich gravy, merely picked at the goose, leaving most of it to her.

The sun was setting as supper began; it was fully dark and the torches and bonfire had been lit by the time the last of the guests rose from the table, and the servants and Gwen and her sisters (all but Little Gwen, who had disappeared as usual) carried the valuable cups and knives back to their coffers in the castle.

The queen and her women were long gone. No one mentioned this; no one would say anything about it later. They They had gone off to make magic for the High King to ensure a son from the marriage that had been made this day. That was woman's work, and men were not even supposed to know about it. had gone off to make magic for the High King to ensure a son from the marriage that had been made this day. That was woman's work, and men were not even supposed to know about it.

Nor were little girls, so Gwen pretended that she didn't and settled down to enjoy the music and dancing. Little Gwen finally put in an appearance; it seemed she had bullied or cajoled some of the village children to make her a Harvest Maiden, and they were parading about with her at the head of them, in a wreath of leaves and vines, with a stalk of weed as a scepter. The real Harvest Maiden chosen by the women was at the Working, of course. And last year, Gwen probably would have been irritated at Little Gwen's showing off. But she was full of goose and the knowledge that she was going to be given a horse and training in a few days and that Little Gwen would surely get her come-uppance if she tried to wheedle and pout and cry her way into the same.

"Be wary of that one," said a voice in her ear. Gwen turned to see Braith settling down next to her, a horn of mead in one hand, and a pottery cup in the other. She handed the cup to Gwen; it held hot cider.

"Why?" Gwen asked, casting a dubious glance after her sister.

"Because there's power in her." Braith nodded at the chain of children. "Look at her. Look at who's following. Boys, mostly. A few girls. Even young as she is, she has that power over the males. Who indulges her? Men and boys. Who persuades women not to punish her? Men and boys. With one like that, there's no reasoning with the menfolk; when she gets older and learns her Power, and make no mistake, she has Power, Power, in her presence their eyes will glaze over and their reason fly out the window. The in her presence their eyes will glaze over and their reason fly out the window. The glamorie, glamorie, that's what she's got, a true Power, make no mistake. Anna Morgause has it. I've seen her, and she's but to bend a finger and nine men of ten will come to sniff at her hem. And they say that young Morgana has it too, though more subtle than Anna Morgause. So be wary of her, for once she's woman grown, what she wants, she'll have, and if someone else has it, she'll take it, and the men will stand in line to get it for her." that's what she's got, a true Power, make no mistake. Anna Morgause has it. I've seen her, and she's but to bend a finger and nine men of ten will come to sniff at her hem. And they say that young Morgana has it too, though more subtle than Anna Morgause. So be wary of her, for once she's woman grown, what she wants, she'll have, and if someone else has it, she'll take it, and the men will stand in line to get it for her."

A strange chill ran up Gwen's back, and she s.h.i.+vered. It seemed absurd to look at Little Gwen lording it among the other small children and talk about her in the same breadth as Lot's queen. And yet . . .

She watched Little Gwen, and despite the absurdity of the crown and the troupe of little boys about her . . . there was no doubt. Her sister was more than just pretty. When you put aside what you knew about her, and just let your eyes follow her, she had something about her that made everything about her a little more. more. Both of them had white blond hair, but Little Gwen's was glossier, and even when tousled, it looked pretty instead of messy. They both had blue-green eyes, but Little Gwen had a way of looking sideways out of them that made you think she was looking at you in particular. Her cheeks were the pink of wild roses, her chin adorably pointed. And that was now, as a little girl. What would happen when she got to be Cataruna's age? Both of them had white blond hair, but Little Gwen's was glossier, and even when tousled, it looked pretty instead of messy. They both had blue-green eyes, but Little Gwen had a way of looking sideways out of them that made you think she was looking at you in particular. Her cheeks were the pink of wild roses, her chin adorably pointed. And that was now, as a little girl. What would happen when she got to be Cataruna's age?

She sipped her cider and wondered why Braith was telling her all this.

"I tell you this because I had a sister like her. By the time we were twelve and eleven summers, she had the best in the house, and the rest of us got what she didn't want or hadn't a use for. 'Twas a rare good thing for me, she didn't like the horses and they didn't like her; every lad one of us fancied, she took, only to toss aside for the next. M'brothers, m'parents, they fair doted on her." Braith shook her head. "When I got taken up by Chief Hydd's horse tamer, no one even noticed I was going. Never went back, not even t'visit, but I've no doubt she made plenty'f mischief before fever took her. An' she was only a farmer's get. Reckon what mischief yon'll make, bein' the king's." Braith sipped thoughtfully at her mead. "So ... best get ye gone from here, afore there's summat ye hold dear that she comes t'fancy. Or be doin' somethin' she never will."

After that, Braith seemed to have nothing more to say, and they sat in silence. Gwen watched the dancing and listened to the music for a while, then when she looked up again, Braith was gone, leaving as quietly as she had come.

By that time the long day and a full stomach were both catching up with her. She was having trouble keeping her eyes open, and she finally decided that going to bed was a better idea than nodding off and having someone have to put her to bed like an overtired baby.

Besides, the queen and her women had just come back from the Working, and the queen had a strange, wild look about her. Gwen wasn't sure she liked the way her mother looked right now: eyes as bright as someone a-fever, cheeks flushed, looking scarcely old enough to be the mother of one, much less a brood. If you didn't know her, you'd take her for Cataruna's sister, not her mother. And the way her father was looking back at her . . . made her very uncomfortable for reasons she really didn't understand.

So as the queen drew the king into the dancing, taking his hand and pulling him up from his seat as if he was light as a bit of down, then pressing close against him, Gwen picked herself up and turned her back on the fire and her face to the castle.

The Great Hall was full of murmurings in the shadows; she took the straightest path through the middle of it and ignored what was going on; really, the only difference between tonight and every other night was that the Hall was a great deal fuller.

The bed was cold, and she s.h.i.+vered for a while before her body warmed up the hollow; she was almost asleep when half-running footsteps, murmurs, playful growls and breathless giggling heralded the pa.s.sage of the king and queen into their bedchamber. The sounds made her uncomfortable all over again, but it wasn't just the sounds, and it wasn't just knowing that her mother and father were going to do what all those people in the shadows were doing. It was something else, something she couldn't put a finger on, a feeling that . . . that something was turning wrong that had been right. Like a blight on grain; this wasn't just a matter of her parents, it was bigger than that.

The feeling held her pinned in her bed- Until she woke suddenly to find that it was dawn, and her sisters were all curled up with her, and, as usual, Little Gwen had stolen the covers.

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The king was in a rare good mood; after breakfast he gathered up Gwen-with Little Gwen predictably trailing behind, unasked-and took her down to his horsemaster. "Braith says the la.s.s is ready to be trained and to give her a wise old warhorse to train her," he told the old man. The horsemaster looked down at her critically. Gwen looked him in the eyes. There were scars all over him, at least, everywhere that she could see, and a pair of spectacular knife- or sword-cuts marred a craggy face still further. "I know ye," he said, finally, his voice a low growl. "And a goodly work ye make of the pony. Braith thinks ye ready for a horse now?"

Gwen nodded. "Aye, sir," she said quietly.

"I want a horse!" Little Gwen interrupted imperiously. The horsemaster turned to look at her, then Gwen saw him suddenly look up at her father. Something pa.s.sed between them, and the horsemaster smiled. Gwen got a s.h.i.+ver of pleasure when she saw that smile. It promised that Little Gwen was going to get what she wanted and not like it. want a horse!" Little Gwen interrupted imperiously. The horsemaster turned to look at her, then Gwen saw him suddenly look up at her father. Something pa.s.sed between them, and the horsemaster smiled. Gwen got a s.h.i.+ver of pleasure when she saw that smile. It promised that Little Gwen was going to get what she wanted and not like it.

"Well, then, ye'll have a horse," the horsemaster said, "An ye'll follow me?"

Gwen followed obediently at his heels. Little Gwen marched imperiously in front of them all. When they got to the stables, the horsemaster addressed Gwen in a quiet voice while Little Gwen surveyed the horses in the paddock as if she owned all of them.

"And which of these do ye think suits ye," he asked.

Gwen ducked her head deferentially. "You should pick, sir," she said. "Braith said, old and wise. I don't know which are old and wise."

He smiled. "Then pick I shall-" he began, when Little Gwen interrupted.

"I want that that one!" she declared, pointing at a showy young gray. The king made a choking sound. Gwen caught the horsemaster making a soothing motion with his hand. one!" she declared, pointing at a showy young gray. The king made a choking sound. Gwen caught the horsemaster making a soothing motion with his hand.

"All right," he replied agreeably. "Let's us get him saddled, then."

He ordered the astonished grooms to catch, saddle and bridle the high-tempered beast, and put a lead line on the bridle. Little Gwen was practically bouncing with excitement, but she frowned at the line. "I don't need need that!" she announced grandly. "I can ride!" that!" she announced grandly. "I can ride!"

"Indeed," the horsemaster said, but kept the rope clipped to the bridle. "But every rider needs the lead to try the paces." He swung her up onto the saddle, where she perched as if she were on the old pony, legs slack, hands clenched on the reins. The horse reacted poorly to the latter; he tossed his head, and his mane lashed her face, cutting right across her eyes.

She shrieked. The horse reacted to that that by lurching into a run. by lurching into a run.

Or trying to. The horsemaster had been ready for that. He kept a tight grip on the lead and pulled inward while pivoting on one heel, which forced the horse to stay in a trot in a tight circle around him. Little Gwen bounced in the saddle in a way that made Gwen wince for what seemed a very long time, her shrieks now coming out as painful "Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!" "Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!" sounds as she bounced and hit the saddle. Three times she went in a circle around the horsemaster, each time making more and more noise and making the horse try to break into a run. How the horsemaster kept him to a trot, Gwen could not imagine. sounds as she bounced and hit the saddle. Three times she went in a circle around the horsemaster, each time making more and more noise and making the horse try to break into a run. How the horsemaster kept him to a trot, Gwen could not imagine.

It was a relief when she fell off.

She immediately scrambled to her feet, face red with pain and rage. She looked about for something to hit the horse with but fortunately found nothing. The horsemaster pulled up on the lead and soothed the ruffled stallion, but he made no move to soothe Little Gwen.

Interestingly, neither did the king.

Neither man said anything to her as she stared at them in a fury. Gwen prudently backed away from everything and everyone until she had a horse or two between her and her sister. Best to not remind her just who had inspired this desire to have a horse.

Finally, Little Gwen erupted in the tantrum that Gwen knew was inevitable. "I don't want want your old horses!" she screamed, making every horse in the paddock shy or lay its ears back. "I your old horses!" she screamed, making every horse in the paddock shy or lay its ears back. "I hate hate horses! You should kill them horses! You should kill them all all and make and make soup soup out of them!" out of them!"

Then she burst into angry tears and ran off. Gwen slowly emerged from hiding. The king and his horsemaster were both shaking their heads. "She's not hurt, is she?" the king asked.

"Only a bit of bruising." The old man gestured at the straw-strewn paddock. "That be why I kept her on the lead. And I grant ye, I could've made a longer affair of this, picked a horse fit for her, tried to get her to tend it as I know yon girl will, will, an' the end of that'd be more work for an' the end of that'd be more work for me me when she didn't. So instead, I cut across country, give her what she wanted, and-" when she didn't. So instead, I cut across country, give her what she wanted, and-"

He shrugged. The king laughed ruefully.

She'll find something to take this out on, Gwen thought sourly. But then the horsemaster turned to see her standing there, and she tried to make her expression pleasant. "Nah, Braith's girl, let's find ye a proper horse." Gwen thought sourly. But then the horsemaster turned to see her standing there, and she tried to make her expression pleasant. "Nah, Braith's girl, let's find ye a proper horse."

In the end, it came to two, and the horsemaster couldn't make up his mind which. One was a mare, one of the cavalry duns; the other was a stallion of the famous gray line, now almost a pure white, that had been both a chariot horse and a mount. After looking them both over for a long time, the horsemaster sighed and threw up his hands. "Naught for it," he said. "Mun let them them choose." choose."

He put Gwen at one end of the paddock and turned the two horses loose. "Call 'em, Braith's girl," he told her, and stood away from her so that they would not react to his presence but to hers.

Now alone in the paddock with them, her mouth went a little dry. They were very very big, twice the size of the pony. She swallowed, licked her lips, and made the little chirruping sounds she made to call the pony to her. big, twice the size of the pony. She swallowed, licked her lips, and made the little chirruping sounds she made to call the pony to her.

They both looked at her, ears and heads up.

"Come!" she urged. "One of you has to teach me, now, so come!"

The stallion snorted; the mare shook her head. Both of them started forward at the same time, but before they were halfway across the paddock, the dun mare shouldered the stallion aside with a snort of her own and laid-back ears. She picked up her feet in a trot that brought her to Gwen while the stallion slunk sheepishly off to one side.

Gwen held out her hand and the mare nuzzled it, then put her head down and b.u.t.ted Gwen in the chest, blowing hay-scented breath into her tunic, surprising a delighted laugh out of her.

The horsemaster brought saddle and bridle but waited while Gwen put them on, only giving her a hand when something was too far for her to reach. "Ye mun find ways t'be doing this on yer own, Braith's girl," he told her gravely. "I dun help the boys, I shan't help ye."

She nodded. That was reasonable. So taking the hint, once the mare-Adara was her name-was saddled and bridled, on her own she took her over to a stump that had been incorporated into the paddock fence and used that to get herself into the saddle. Once there, she found it not as dissimilar to the pony as she had feared. She was a lot lot higher off the ground, it was true, but the pony was so fat that his girth wasn't a great deal smaller than Adara's. She couldn't imagine why Little Gwen hadn't been able to sit the saddle better, unless it was that her youngest sister really hadn't learned to ride properly. She fitted her feet into the leather stirrups and was relieved that the horsemaster had judged the length right. She was even more pleased when he didn't clip a lead rope to her bridle. higher off the ground, it was true, but the pony was so fat that his girth wasn't a great deal smaller than Adara's. She couldn't imagine why Little Gwen hadn't been able to sit the saddle better, unless it was that her youngest sister really hadn't learned to ride properly. She fitted her feet into the leather stirrups and was relieved that the horsemaster had judged the length right. She was even more pleased when he didn't clip a lead rope to her bridle.

Since he was waiting expectantly, she chirruped to Adara, tightened her legs in the right places, lifted the reins a trifle, and nudged her a little with her heels. Adara moved out in a walk, circling the paddock, then increased her pace from a faster walk into a trot.

Gwen bounced for a few paces before she found her seat again. Adara's ears flicked back and forth and she looked over her shoulder with what looked looked like amus.e.m.e.nt, and she moved into a canter. like amus.e.m.e.nt, and she moved into a canter.

Now this was the fastest she had ever ridden, and it was both thrilling and terrifying. The pony had never gone this fast, not even at a gallop. But the mare had another pace in her, and without Gwen doing anything, she lengthened her stride into a gallop.

The world blurred. All Gwen was conscious of was her own breathlessness, her heart racing, and the horse moving under her. And it was glorious. Like flying.

The mare gave her only a taste of this before slowing, first to the canter, then the trot again, and finally into the walk. She stopped on her own at the side of the horsemaster.

"Ye'll do," was all he said. Then he left her to make sure the mare was walked cool, unsaddled and unbridled, rubbed down, and put up in her stall with her tack with her. Gwen moved in a kind of happy dream. She had thought that yesterday was the best day of her life. But no. Today was.

One of the grooms came to tell her when she was finished that she was to report to the novice trainer. She thanked him and trotted off to the yard where all the boys, and the odd girl or two, got their first lessons in warcraft. Or rather, their first lessons in making their bodies strong enough for weapons; it seemed that handling a sword or a bow or even a knife was a long way off. Gwen had never thought of herself as lazy, but after what seemed like an age of lifting small leather pails of water over and over, of swinging weighted sticks against a padded pole over and over, and many other similar exercises, she was hot and sore and grateful to be dismissed for the day to go back to the paddock and commence another round of riding, this time under the eagle eye of one of the grooms, in the company of the rest of the beginners. She got no help in saddling and bridling this time, but neither did the others. No help, that is, from the groom; groom; she was not the only undersized person among the beginners, and they helped each other reach girths under bellies, pa.s.s breastbands around chests, and persuade the canny old horses to bend their heads for the bridle. Gwen was especially good at the latter, so no one begrudged her the help it took to get a saddle that seemed a hundred times heavier than it had been this morning onto Adara's back. she was not the only undersized person among the beginners, and they helped each other reach girths under bellies, pa.s.s breastbands around chests, and persuade the canny old horses to bend their heads for the bridle. Gwen was especially good at the latter, so no one begrudged her the help it took to get a saddle that seemed a hundred times heavier than it had been this morning onto Adara's back.

Then they lined up, head to tail, along the paddock fence, and the groom called out what they should do. Oh, not for their their benefit; it was very clear to Gwen that she wasn't in control of Adara right now, and it looked to her as if the rest of the beginners were in a similar case. No, no. It was the horses who responded to the commands, and they, the riders, were doing their pitiful best not to fall off, to learn how to move as one with the horse, and not merely balance there. benefit; it was very clear to Gwen that she wasn't in control of Adara right now, and it looked to her as if the rest of the beginners were in a similar case. No, no. It was the horses who responded to the commands, and they, the riders, were doing their pitiful best not to fall off, to learn how to move as one with the horse, and not merely balance there.

Ride in a circle; walk, trot, canter, then drop back to a walk. Wheel and do the same in the other direction. Repeat until the horses' muscles were sufficiently warmed up. Wheel, so that they were all facing the same direction. Charge the fence at a trot, pull up, wheel in place and charge the fence on the other side. Repeat until the young riders were starting to get the rhythm of things. Go back to riding in a circle. Split into two groups, charge each other, making sure no one collided. Wheel and repeat. Go back to riding in a circle. Trot to the fence and stop, then back. Wheel in place and repeat.

Then the groom ordered them all out of the paddock, and Gwen thought they were going to be allowed to just ride, ride, on a jaunt across the grazing meadows, as she used to on the pony-but no. The groom directed them to another part of the training field where there were padded poles set up down the middle, and when Gwen saw them, she knew what they were going to be doing. As she expected, the groom set them to weaving through the poles, down and back, first at a walk, then a trot, then a canter. They didn't go up to a full gallop, but right next to them was another set of poles, around which another set of slightly older warriors-in-training on a jaunt across the grazing meadows, as she used to on the pony-but no. The groom directed them to another part of the training field where there were padded poles set up down the middle, and when Gwen saw them, she knew what they were going to be doing. As she expected, the groom set them to weaving through the poles, down and back, first at a walk, then a trot, then a canter. They didn't go up to a full gallop, but right next to them was another set of poles, around which another set of slightly older warriors-in-training were were riding at an all-out gallop, and with the reins in their teeth and their hands held out to the side, keeping their seats only through superb balance! riding at an all-out gallop, and with the reins in their teeth and their hands held out to the side, keeping their seats only through superb balance!

All this was taking an entirely different set of muscles than she used in riding the stolid little pony. She could feel every pull and strain and knew she was going to be very, very sore. And yet-she would not have traded this for anything. anything. And no matter how sore she was, it was going to be worth it. And no matter how sore she was, it was going to be worth it.

The groom finally led them back to their original paddock, but of course, the work was not over. The horses had to be unsaddled, walked cool, rubbed down, and put in their proper stalls, with saddle arranged on a stand and bridle hung on a peg. Then, and only then, were they allowed to go.

It was sunset, and suppertime, by the time she limped back to the Great Hall. The servants had brought in the kettles of stew and the remains of last night's feast, and people were settling onto the benches and tucking in. The Hall was nowhere near as crowded as it had been last night; at least half the guests had packed up and headed homeward this morning, and the rest would leave tomorrow. Gwen was not altogether sorry to see them go; she was already tired of being polite and always on her good behavior even when some of the boy guests behaved outrageously.

Her father and mother were already seated at the High Table-on the day after a feast, no one really stood on ceremony-when a shriek and a wail arose from the back of the hall where the bedrooms were, and a moment later Gynath and Cataruna came storming out of the room, the one angry, the other lamenting, with ruin in their hands.

"My best slippers!" shouted Cataruna, her cheeks aflame with rage.

"My belt! I just finished embroidering it! I only wore it once!" wept Gynath, consumed with grief.

The pretty leather slippers had, very clearly, been given to the dogs to play with. They were chewed to shapelessness, and the seams had come half unsewn.

As for the belt, someone had taken it out and trodden it into the mud until nothing of the bright colors that Gynath had so painstakingly sewn into beautiful patterns could be seen for the dirt and stains.

A sinking feeling in her stomach, Gwen walked slowly to the bedroom. She dreaded what she would find. Which of her her possessions had been taken and ruined? Behind her, she could hear her sisters telling their parents how they had found their things-and Cataruna added shrilly that Little Gwen was nowhere to be found. possessions had been taken and ruined? Behind her, she could hear her sisters telling their parents how they had found their things-and Cataruna added shrilly that Little Gwen was nowhere to be found.

Little Gwen. Of course it was her. She'd wanted something, gotten it, and didn't like it-so her first thought was to take whatever her sisters took pleasure in and ruin it. Gynath's new belt had been the admiration and envy of the other girls, for Gynath was the best needlewoman in the castle. And Cataruna's slippers had made her feet look very handsome indeed in the dancing; more than one young man had said something about them in ways that had made the blood rise to Cataruna's cheeks last night. Of course it was her. She'd wanted something, gotten it, and didn't like it-so her first thought was to take whatever her sisters took pleasure in and ruin it. Gynath's new belt had been the admiration and envy of the other girls, for Gynath was the best needlewoman in the castle. And Cataruna's slippers had made her feet look very handsome indeed in the dancing; more than one young man had said something about them in ways that had made the blood rise to Cataruna's cheeks last night.

". . . it was no accident, Father!" Cataruna snarled. "The slippers were in my chest, on top of my kirtle, right where I put them last night. She took them and gave them to the dogs, then put them back!"

Gynath was sobbing too hard to be coherent. She had been working on that belt all summer. Gwen didn't blame her for weeping.

But Gwen didn't have to look far to find Little Gwen's revenge on her. her. There in the corner where she had been left was Gwen's poppet. Or rather, what was left of her poppet. There in the corner where she had been left was Gwen's poppet. Or rather, what was left of her poppet.

The doll had been torn limb from limb, scalped, and decapitated. Her clothing had been shredded. Mutely, Gwen gathered up the pitiful remains in both hands, and went out into the hall where her mother was trying to soothe a disconsolate Gynath, and her father to placate Cataruna with promises of a new pair of slippers even prettier than the ruined ones. She waited until Gynath's sobs had quieted into sniffs and hiccups, and Cataruna had run out of names to call their sister. That was when the king and queen finally became aware that she was standing there. When their eyes fell on her, she silently held out her hands. It took them a few moments to realize what it was-or had been.

"Oh, no-" It was Gynath who realized it first, and it came out in a moan. "Oh, no, oh, Gwen, your poppet, your poor doll!"

Cataruna's cheeks flamed anew. "That-that-" she spluttered. "Oh! I am going to shake shake that brat until her head falls off and her teeth fall out!" that brat until her head falls off and her teeth fall out!"

Eleri's eyes narrowed with anger. The king put up a hand. "You'll not touch her. When she's found, she will will be whipped, and she'll be living on bread and water for a fortnight, and put to whatever work Bronwyn deems suitable. There will be no playtime for her until the snow flies, and perhaps not even then if I am not convinced of her repentance." He looked to his queen. "I've spoiled and indulged her overmuch, as you said time and again, and this is what comes of it. I am sorry that you, my be whipped, and she'll be living on bread and water for a fortnight, and put to whatever work Bronwyn deems suitable. There will be no playtime for her until the snow flies, and perhaps not even then if I am not convinced of her repentance." He looked to his queen. "I've spoiled and indulged her overmuch, as you said time and again, and this is what comes of it. I am sorry that you, my good good daughters, have fallen victim to her mischief." daughters, have fallen victim to her mischief."

"And her poppet will be yours, Gwen," the Queen began- "Lady Mother-no," Gwen replied, feeling dimly that if she were given something of Little Gwen's Little Gwen's rather than just a replacement, her youngest sister would only see it as a reason for more vengeance. She straightened her back, gently piled the pathetic remains of the doll on the table, rubbed the back of her hand across her stinging eyes, and looked up at her mother and father. "I'm a warrior now. Warriors don't need poppets. I won't have time to play with it, anyway." rather than just a replacement, her youngest sister would only see it as a reason for more vengeance. She straightened her back, gently piled the pathetic remains of the doll on the table, rubbed the back of her hand across her stinging eyes, and looked up at her mother and father. "I'm a warrior now. Warriors don't need poppets. I won't have time to play with it, anyway."

Her mother gave her a skeptical look, but her father relaxed and beamed his approval. "Well said," was all he replied, but Gwen felt that approval fill her and ease some of the sadness she felt at losing her plaything.

"Bronwyn," Eleri directed, "Take these things and see what, if anything, can be done with them. The belt especially. Then look for Gwenhwyfach, and when you find her, see she is put in the guard closet to await our pleasure. And let us eat. There is no reason for a nasty child to spoil our supper, nor make us wait until our meat is cold."

Gwen ate slowly, feeling the ache of every overworked muscle, every bruise. She actually didn't mind it; concentrating on that made everything else secondary. And while Eleri consoled Gynath and Cataruna with the most golden-crusted of the pies and the last of the honeycakes, the king directed his server to give Gwen all of the leftover goose and with his own hand poured her cup full, not of cider, but of honey-mead. "You'll be aching, young warrior," he said in an undertone. "This will help you sleep."

The mead was sweet but with a fire under it. It burned its way pleasantly down her throat as she slowly ate slivers of goose, spread a surprise bit of goose liver on some bread, and sopped up the last of the goose fat with the rest of the bread. And it did start to make the aches go off into the distance and give her a warm and soft-edged feeling, as if she were falling asleep. Halfway through dinner, Bronwyn returned and reported that a sulky and unrepentant Gwenhwyfach had been put in the guard-closet, with one of the turnspits as a guard on the door.

The guard-closet was a tiny little windowless niche in the stone walls, with a single hard stone bench in it, that the king used to keep single wrongdoers in while he debated what punishment to mete out to them. From time to time all of the girls had been confined there for mischief, but never had he done what he did now.

"Here," he said, carefully picking out the hardest and most stale piece of trencherbread and a leather cup that he filled with water. He handed both to Bronwyn. "Give her those, and tell her she will be staying in the closet until morning. In the morning, my dogmaster will whip her. And then for the next fortnight, she will sleep in the rushes with the dogs and the scullions. I'll not have her sharing a soft bed that she did nothing to deserve. I'll not have her sleeping comfortable beside the sisters she wronged. When she is repentant and ready to act like a king's daughter instead of a low-born brat, we will see if she may sleep like one."

Gwen's astonishment woke her up from a half-drowse. Eleri nodded approval.

"I put you in charge of her, Bronwyn, to direct her as you like," the king continued. "While she sleeps on the hearth, you will give her work to do so that she learns the evil of idleness. She'll have nothing but bread and water. At the end of that time, she will apologize, and if I am convinced she is repentant, she may go back to the bed and the board."

Bronwyn bowed silently, took the bread and water, and disappeared into the shadows.

Gwen sopped up the last of the fat, ate the last bite of bread, drank the last swallow in the bottom of her cup. She felt the fatigue of the day settle on her like a weight; she begged permission to leave and plodded back to the bedroom.

On the way there she pa.s.sed the turnspit guarding the door to the guard-closet. There were m.u.f.fled sobs coming from inside. But they didn't sound repentant, or frightened, or sorrowful.