Page 294 of The Daughters of Avalon
Nay.
Why not?
Because you’re imperfect.
Tears stung Rhiannon’s eyes.
Sadness permeated her heart—sadness and anger.
In truth, she had never been a lovable child. Ellie used to claim she was born angry, and it was undeniable. And yet, why shouldn’t she be furious? She’d suffered the death of her twin in the womb. Both had been close to death—poisoned by their own mother—and Morien had given up her life force to save Rhiannon. Her death gave Rhiannon the strength to be restored, and whilst her own heartbeat had strengthened over time, her sister’s body began to decay in the womb. Most people might not recall events before their birth, but Rhiannon was not most people: She was adewine. She rememberedeverything. She had a blood sister no one—not even her living sisters—had ever chanced to know. Onlysheunderstood the sacrifice Morien made for her that day. Only she truly knew the heart that stopped beating only for her—no less a sacrifice than the one Arwyn had made at twenty.
Pushing aside the pain of her reopened wound, she tried in vain to rest, resigning herself to her current path and realizing that they would have another long day. She bolstered herself with surety: No longer was she a poor, pitiful child dependent upon a cruel beast for a mother. She was a woman, grown, married for whatever good it might do her.
And Cael… hedidfeel something for her…
Something…
He’d kissed her much too passionately, his longing betrayed by the smoke in his eyes—eyes that made love to her despite that his hands and body never would.
Nay.Shemustbelieve Morwen was wrong: Someone did love her, even if their love was doomed.
Where are you, Cael?
Are you alive?
Please, please don’t die.
Live.
Those gloomy thoughts held her transfixed. And then, at long last, when finally, she drifted into a fitful slumber, she heard Marcella rise. But at least the woman didn’t immediately attempt to wake her. Rhiannon watched through slitted eyes as Marcella tapped her protégé with the tip of her boot. Jack rose at once, without complaint, and set about to righting their camp, but his demeanor, too, seemed changed this morn. Perhaps he, too, had come to understand something of his own fate, after the stories Marcella had shared by the campfire.
When they were ready to go, Jack came over to gently wake Rhiannon. “Time to rise,” he said.
Rhiannon opened one eye to his winsome smile.
In the bright morning light, he didn’t appear particularly sinister, and she was glad now that she’d remained.
She saw everything through new eyes. Knowing what she knew now, nothing would ever be the same.
Nodding sleepily, Rhiannon sat, then stretched—taking simple pleasure in the fact that she could do so without lifting heavy manacles. Even bone-tired, and riddled with midge bites, she must at least be thankful for that much, and this was proof that Marcella didn’t intend to kill her—at least not yet. The paladin had left her free to defend herself, and there was no doubt in Rhiannon’s mind that Marcella knew precisely what Rhiannon was capable of, even despite her dire words last night.
Without a word, she rose, still mulling over the night’s deliberations. She led her mare to the brook to drink, and there,she knelt to lave the metallic stains from her wrists and refresh her face.
Peering into the water, she spied her own visage. The girl who stared back was sorely unkempt, though she was not plain or ugly. She was fierce, to be sure… dark copper hair, her features dark, as well—all but the bright blue eyes.
“You look exactly like her,” Marcella had said.
And she did… only to be fair, her mother was more beautiful, even if her heart was black as a raven’s wings.
Even if her gaze was so full of loathing that hate wasallRhiannon had ever gleaned from her.
It was no wonder Rhiannon had always despised her own reflection.
Plain. Ugly.
Have you never looked into a mirror, child?
Only a blind man will ever claim you with that affliction.
