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The King laughed. “You are as ageless as the hills. No pasture for you!”

The rest of the war chiefs laughed and asked Braith’s opinion on this or that team. Gwen became aware that not only was Braith her hero, her opinion was held in high esteem by all of these men.

I want to be like that, she thought, looking worshipfully up at the woman. I want people to talk to me like that.

The sound of a horn warned them all that dinner was ready; this would not be a formal feast of the sort that was held in the Great Hall, but as Gwen knew from earlier years, she and her sisters, her mother and her chief ladies, the king’s particular guests and war chiefs, and the king himself would be seated at the trestle tables hauled outside and given the best. Everyone else would help themselves. There would be more than enough; anyone not competing in the afternoon games would probably be stuffed and dozy.

The press of people around the king was too great for her to walk beside him to the tables, and she had an idea that her mother would think it forward of her to do so. She eased herself away, and trotted back toward the open-air “kitchen” where the queen was supervising the last preparations. Before she got even that far, her eldest sister, Cataruna, spotted her, and rounded her up like a straying goose.

“Now you sit here—I put Little Gwen on the other side there, so unless she starts flinging things at you across mother and father, things should be quiet enough—” Her sister paused, and turned her around to look her up and down critically. “—I don’t believe it! No dirt, no leaves and grass in your hair, nothing torn—are you a changeling? Did someone make away with the real Gwen?”

Gwen laughed. “I was watching the races.”

“And you didn’t climb a tree to see them better?” her sister shook her head. “I shall expect a hen to crow, next, and a gander to lay an egg. All right, sit down, and mind your manners.”

Gwen had every intention of minding her manners. She was not going to give her father the least little excuse for taking back what he had promised.

Dinner was uneventful, except for Little Gwen trying to command attention at her side of the table, boasting and being self-important. And it was irritating, but most of those around her seemed to find it amusing. Men and boys, particularly, fell under her naughty charm. By contrast, Gwen kept very quiet, didn’t grab for the best portions, and didn’t even complain when the boys on either side of her and across from her did. She watched wistfully as most of the goose went into those boys, and the juiciest bits of the roast pork, the best baked apples, the center part of the bread. Her reward was the approving nod from her mother. The king didn’t notice; what children did or did not do was not something that concerned him when he was busy speaking with his guests.

The boys on either side of Gwen quickly stuffed themselves and as quickly sped off to whatever game or competition had claimed their interest. That was when the queen passed down the remains of the very special dishes that the adults had shared. Little Gwen had also already dashed off on a quest of her own at that point, so Gwen was able to enjoy her feast in peace. And she did, indeed, for the first time in her life, get enough goose that she didn’t want any more and enough tasty goose-liver paste to spread on a bread-end.

The king also lingered, when he saw that Gwen was still there, and awkwardly cleared his throat, getting the queen’s attention.

“It’s Braith’s mind that Gwen’s ready for a horse and for warrior training,” he said, abruptly.

The queen stared at him as if she hadn’t quite heard him correctly. She licked her lips and twined the end of one of her braids about her fingers for a moment; she looked, at that moment, very conflicted. “Braith is a very competent trainer and warrior,” she said carefully.

“And you trust her judgment.”

The king nodded. “Braith says it’s Epona’s hand that’s on her. She entrusted her own team to Gwen for