Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit - Mercedes Lackey [6]
There would be fur linings to that Gwenhwyfar’s cloak and hood. There would be embroidered hems to her gowns, and her shifts would be the softest lambswool and linen. She would dress like Eleri did on rare feast days, only she would do so every day, because she was High Queen. All her clothes would be colored, and she’d never have to wear anything faded or plain again. Except her shifts. Her shifts would be linen so blinding white they’d think she was a spirit. In fact . . . in fact, she would have one gown that was that white, too, whiter than snow, whiter than clouds. Everything she wore would be soft, too. No scratchy linens for her, no itchy wool.
And no shoes she had to wear three pairs of stockings with to keep them on. Shoes would be made to fit her feet, and hers alone.
She’d have the best food, too. Whatever she wanted, like as not. The best cuts of meat, the slices from the middle of the loaf, succulent cakes and pies whenever she liked. Goose, oh, lovely goose and the rich fat to dip her bread in. They’d let her have all the sweet mead she wanted. Apples, pears, plums, cherries and berries of every sort.
She would have a stable full of horses, one of every color there was. And a falcon, a real one, not just a little sparrow hawk, a real peregrine or a goshawk. And a coursing hound, with an elegant, long eared head. She would go hunting whenever she felt like it, and no one would tell her that she couldn’t.
There would be a bard all the time in the court, too, and jugglers and gleemen and all sorts of things. She could hear whatever tales she wanted, whenever she wanted, and if she woke up in the middle of the night and wanted to hear one, well, she could.
And she would, of course, have great Power and command the most serious of magic. The High Queen was also the chief of all of the Wise, and at the most important of the rituals of the year, she was the avatar of the Lady for all of the land. Gwen had seen Eleri coming back from the Great Rites, face flushed, eyes shining, exultant, and more alive than at any other time. Gwen wanted to feel like that one day.
Well, one day, she would. Eleri had promised as much. One day she, Gwen, would be leading the rituals, making the magic happen.
Suddenly, though, amidst all her envy, something else occurred to Gwen . . . would it be worth all those wonderful things to have to go far away from home? To never know if you were ever going to see your mother or father again? To have nothing around you but strangers?
Maybe . . . not.
Unable to hear anything meaningful, Gwen let the bed-curtains fall closed and wriggled closer to her sister. The bed was soft, and warmed by the heat of four bodies. They were all safe in here, and tomorrow the bird hunters were going out, and there would, almost certainly, be goose. And then there would be stories and maybe some rough music, and their visitor would talk more about magic.
And Gwen would be able to look up from her place on the hearth, look around her, and know every face in the Hall.
Maybe being High Queen wasn’t so wonderful after all.
Chapter Two
Gwen had not meant to overhear her mother and the priestess, indeed she hadn’t. It was a cold, bright day, and she had been given sacks of goose and swan feathers to pick over and sort, for the king and his men had gone out bird-hunting and brought back a plentiful catch. Eleri was strict about idleness; there was to be none if there were tasks to be done, and Gwen was deft enough to be trusted with this one. She wouldn’t lose a single feather, she wouldn’t sort where the wind could carry them off,