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By Root 522 0

bed where they all slept and their clothing chests lining the walls. Mag, the servant woman they all shared, who had been their nursemaid when they were smaller, helped them pull off their outer clothing and fold it neatly, each on top of her own chest. Then they clambered into the big bed, which Mag had warmed with a stone she’d put near to the fire earlier. They had their own particular order for this. The two most restless, Gwenhwyfar and Gwenhwyfach, on the outside, and Cataruna and Gynath on the inside. The bed, with its woolen blankets woven by Eleri and her women, its fur coverlet from bearskins of the bears killed by their own father, could easily have slept two more. They even had a feather mattress, an immense luxury.

Gwen was the last to climb in, and Mag shut them in with the bed-curtains, leaving them in the close darkness.

Gwen was always the last to climb in, because if she didn’t wait, her sister Gwenhwyfach, the baby of the family, would find some sly way to torment her. Poke, prod, pull hair, pinch—they were as alike as twins, everyone said so, and no one could understand why Gwenhwyfach hated her sister so. When Little Gwen was in a fine mood, she was enchantingly beautiful, and she bewitched everyone around her. Her hair, like Gwen’s was as light a gold as sunlight, her eyes large and a melting blue when she wanted something. She put Gwen in mind of the tale of the maiden made of flowers sometimes, she was so slender and graceful, even when she was up to mischief. In fact, her real name wasn’t Little Gwen at all, but everyone insisted they looked so much alike, the name had stuck and no one even remembered what name she’d been given at birth anymore. Perhaps that was why—perhaps she sorely resented that they were so much alike. It certainly wasn’t because Little Gwen was deprived. If anything, being the youngest and so pretty, she was spoiled.

Then again, maybe it upset her that there was anyone who could be said to be as pretty as she was, much less that it was her older sister.

Even Gwenhwyfar was at a loss; she didn’t remember doing anything that would have warranted this. If their positions had been reversed, had Gwenhwyfar been the youngest, there would be some cause for that resentment. But no, it had been Little Gwen who had usurped the position of “youngest” from her year-older sister, and she’d scarcely begun to toddle when she made her enmity known. From that day, Gwen’s life had been a struggle to avoid her clever sister’s tiny tortures.

One thing she had learned early on: never strike back. Little Gwen was never caught, at least not by an adult, and retribution on Gwen’s part only brought down the wrath of an adult. Gwen was the older; logic said that when there was a quarrel, she was the aggressor, for why would a smaller child bully a larger? When Gwen displayed bruises, she was told that was what she deserved for picking on her younger sibling.

Her older sisters knew what was going on, of course, but protests to an adult only got them told not to take sides.

That was the other reason for having a Gwen on either side of the bed, with two sisters in between. It stopped the fighting.

Well, mostly.

“It’s all your fault,” Little Gwen whispered in the dark. “You got us sent to bed, Gwenhwyfar. We could still be there if not for you.”

“Me? What did I do?” Gwen demanded as both her sisters sighed with exasperation.

“You weren’t quiet enough. You made the queen look at you. You were fidgeting. You always fidget.” This, from the person that Mag always checked for fleas, since by the nursemaid’s way of thinking, anyone who squirmed that much must be harboring a host of fleas.

“Did not!”

“Did so!”

“Did no such thing!”

“Did so!”

“Give over!” snapped Gynath, the eldest of them all. “Gwen did no more fidgeting than you, and she was a deal less obvious about wanting to hear every word about the Queen of the Orkneys. Now go to sleep!”

“I can’t,” Little Gwen whined. “I’m cold. Gwen stole all the covers.”

Since Gwen was barely covered by the drape of the blankets, this was obviously a lie.