Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit - Mercedes Lackey [8]
But the priestess was continuing. “The truth is, young as he is, the High King has many sons, but none of them are . . .” A pause. “Suitable, to us, to the others. None were sired on a girl to whom he had any true tie, none has he accepted as his heir. None were sired on girls that the servants of the Goddess approve of, girls of the proper bloodline, with the Powers. All are . . .” Again, a pause. “Inferior. They are of no importance. Attempts to see into their futures show nothing of note, not a hint that the Goddess cares for them any more or less than she cares for any other of her daughters. They are toys for the young High King’s bed. Their sons will be numbered among his warriors but will never be outstanding. They are ordinary. The High King’s heir cannot be ordinary.”
Eleri snorted. “So. The High King must breed him a son on a girl acceptable to us and to the followers of the White Christ. A girl with the Powers. A young woman like this Gwenhwyfar he is wedding. So?”
The priestess responded reluctantly. “The scrying bowl shows me nothing I can make sense of. I see a son of Arthur vying for the throne, not one holding it unopposed. And I see the Merlin, and blood, connected with that son, but I cannot make out what that means.” She hesitated. “I see the death of many children associated with the birth. And yet I see him surrounded by all the signs that says he has the right to the throne, and I see him as a man of the Powers. I think . . . it would be wise to avoid the wedding.”
Eleri sniffed. “We could not go in any case. Arthur has our pledged fealty from his coronation, and he scarcely needs it a second time. That is a very long way to go with winter coming on, and all for a feast that we could as well hold ourselves. Which, to show our loyalty to the king, we shall, with bonfire and all. There will be nothing to complain of in our demonstration of fealty.” Suddenly her tone changed. “Do you see Morgause’s ambition spreading to these lands?”
“Not directly,” the priestess said, though reluctantly, and Eleri breathed a sigh of relief.
“Then hear me out. The magic to make the High King a son will be a powerful one, and I am minded to sip at that same cup,” Eleri continued. “My man speaks highly of his daughters, and he loves them true, but—”
“But a man wants a son, and a king wants a son more than most men.” The priestess sighed. “To answer your question, that cup will indeed be overflowing, and if you, as the Chief Priestess here, were to open yourself to what is not needed, you likely will find yourself graced with the same gift. But Eleri . . . there is danger there. There may be a reason why the Goddess has seen fit to give you all daughters. It may be because of the Blessing in your blood. We cannot know that, or, if it is true, what that reason is. If you flout Her will in this, there may be consequences.”
“The Goddess has seen fit to give me a husband I have come to love, to love enough to give him something he wants and will not ask for.” Oh, Gwen knew that tone. The queen was not to be denied. This was what would be, and woe betide whoever stood between her and the goal.
“Then, for what it is worth, my blessing be upon you.” The priestess sounded resigned. “In this, I cannot speak for the Goddess.”
“You have given me leave, and that is enough,” Eleri said firmly. Gwen heard their footsteps leaving.
Gwen continued to pick through and clean the feathers, trying to piece together what this all meant. All that talk of sons and the High King only puzzled her; she couldn’t imagine what these Christian priests had to do with who the High King picked as his heir. But then again, that didn’t matter. The High King was very far away, and what he did in Celliwig hardly even