Page 97 of The Cornish Princess
Down below, theAwenyddswere gathered now as well.
The entire city seemed to hold their breaths.
Prince Locrinus assumed his mount, and beside him waited Gwendolyn’s mare. The entire procession to the Yew would take no more time than it would to descend to the harbor. Gwendolyn could see the great tree from her perch, stately and majestic, like a twisted, old sovereign guarding its land. That’s where the Elder Druid awaited now.
“Art ready?” asked her mother.
No.
She was not.
Gwendolyn nodded, and with all her heart, longed to reach for her mother’s hand. Alas, Queen Eseld was not the hand-holding sort. She gestured for Gwendolyn to precede her, and Gwendolyn dutifully obeyed. Her mother and maids fell into step behind her, and Gwendolyn made her way toward the stairs.
ChapterThirty-Eight
Few knew how long they lived—Druids and yews—but this ancient tree had stood in Trevena’s shadow so long as Gwendolyn had memory.
Newly arrived from Llanrhos to officiate her ceremony and later to take measure of the glen for her father, the elder druid appeared to be the yew’s very twin, with crags in his wizened old face, gnarled old limbs, and skin pocked with age.
Some yews were ancient as thefaeriehills, present when the world was made, elder witnesses to the passing of ages—never so silent as one might believe, for they were also known to be bringers of dreams, and the Druids oft took their visions from the vapors they produced.
All things were made known during these waking dreams, and even now, the elder druid stood inside the hollow, eyes closed as he summoned theysbryd y byd—thespirit of the age.
As warm as the day was, anyone else standing below the tree’s branches risked more than hallucinations, and the holding of breaths was less a response to the occasion as it was to the yew itself. When finally the druid spoke, there was a collective gasp of relief. He looked at Gwendolyn, seeing her straight through the veil, even despite that his old grey eyes were milky with age.
“Today, we call upon the elements to bring unto this union the harmony they share. From Air, we beg curiosity and peace. From Fire, we beg courage and passion. From Water, we beg stillness and strength. And, from Earth, we beg humility and gratitude. Join hands!” he commanded, his voice like thunder, and Gwendolyn offered hers though it quaked.
At once, Prince Locrinus accepted it, placing it gingerly over the back of his own, as the Druid sang, “Now is the time between times, when all light is swallowed by darkness…
“This be the hour for our dead to return to our realm, whilepiskiesdance through the sacred glens, shifters may change forms and theben-Sidhehowls against the wind.
“It is also a time whence all possibilities and promises are born. Are you prepared to fulfill your destiny together?”
The question seemed posed solely to Gwendolyn, and though she knew it wasn’t so, she must be the first to reply. “I am,” she said, her chin quivering behind her veil. She daren’t even look sideways at her betrothed, and she willed away tears that threatened to spill.
“Indeed,” said Prince Locrinus, with such confidence that Gwendolyn wished she could borrow from him.
The druid’s voice carried over the field, amplified from his hollow in the tree, as though he spoke through a herald’s trumpet.
“With hands joined, and by your own free will, bound by the laws of man in accord with the Brothers’ Pact, and betokened by the torc of your noble houses, we call upon you now to claim one another! Your marriage will be your gift to the realms, binding each together!”
Knowing this was her cue, and with the yew’s fumes already making her feel heady, even with the added protection of her veil, Gwendolyn retrieved her hand to remove the heavy torc from her chain, her fingers fumbling with the latch, and then moved forward to place the torc itself about Prince Locrinus’ neck, discarding the chain. Someone rushed forward to scoop it up from the ground at her feet, and with trembling fingers, Gwendolyn arranged the torc so his dragons’ heads were staring at the apple of his throat.
The hue of the torc’s metal cooled beneath the shade of the ancient yew, and the eyes of his serpents winked a dull grey—a chameleon, perhaps like its wearer.
Prince Locrinus smiled at her then, with so much warmth and so genuinely, that Gwendolyn’s heart filled with hope—indeed, this was the man she should love.
Resolved, she stepped back again, and Prince Locrinus quickly removed Gwendolyn’s torc from his chain, and then he, too, stepped forward to place it about her throat, discarding the chain and placing it quickly about her throat.
Made for a woman, hers wasn’t nearly so heavy as his, and it settled easily, with the dragon snouts so close together they appeared to be kissing. Gwendolyn couldn’t see them, but she could definitely feel them.
Compelled to, she adjusted her torc. And then, as he had done for her, she gave Prince Locrinus a tremulous smile, and vowed to be the wife he deserved.
Between them, the druid nodded approvingly, and said, “You are now joined in matrimony as Prince and Princess of Pretania! Go forth this day to your dwelling place, together, never to be put asunder! May you live long and prosper!”
And then it was done. Gwendolyn lifted her veil, revealing her face, and Prince Locrinus smiled, straightening to his full height, seizing her by the hand, forgoing the customary kiss of peace, and turning her about to raise their joined hands so everyone could see.
A great huzzah rose amidst the gathered crowd, rippling over the field in waves. At once, the celebration removed itself from the vicinity of the tree—all save for the druid, who remained, eyes closed again, his lungs filling with fumes, and both his hands splayed upon the yew as he prayed. Gwendolyn marveled that as decrepit as he appeared to be, his tolerance for the yew poison was so great. Much like hemlock, the toxin was strong, the vapors equally so.
