Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (7 page)

“Did you cultivate all of these plants?” Gawain plucked a mint leaf from one of the dried bundles and rubbed it between his fingers as he held it to his nose.

Connor nodded, still keeping an eye on the fire. “Yes, all of them.”

Gawain glanced around the room, but Connor could not tell if he was marveling at the items around the drying house, or if he was scared witless.

A plume of black raven feathers and one particularly white dove feather, all of which Connor had found on his many walks outside the castle grounds, sat in a copper vase on the slim shelves. Most were practical enough to make into writing quills, but Connor had not the heart to ruin the feathers, settling instead for the sloppier penmanship provided by reeds.

Gawain paused on the pile of bleached bones and a nice deer skull Connor had collected in the forest after the last mating season. Though the antlers had been intact when he found the skull, he removed them not long after. Using a piece of driftwood he found on the beach, he carved a small effigy of the Mother Goddess he was rather fond of, never having been proficient in his carving attempts before the statue. The two deer antlers he placed in front, as they made the perfect holder for small round bowls of random offerings: flowers, nuts, and sprigs of aromatics.

He learned soon after creating the statue not to leave apples or other fruit as offerings. Aside from the obvious downfall of rotten fruit attracting flies, Connor found his stomach unable to let the apples get to such a fetid stage. He professed many an improvised contrition to Her, uncertain if he had doomed his young self to damnation after his growling stomach got the better of him. Ceridwen assured him the Mother Goddess would certainly understand, but still humored him with a small prayer in front of the effigy.

“I have not met anyone who takes such an interest in plants as you…‌at least no Humes.” Gawain pulled the bench from the table, and sat. “What piqued it‌—‌your interest, I mean?”

“My mother was a child of the Old Ways‌—‌forgive me if I do not sit. I need to do something.” Connor took a mortar and pestle from the shelf beside the hearth. “I was surrounded by herbs at a young age. When I came to live here at the castle, I expressed an interest in the knowledge of plant life to Ceridwen, my nursemaid at the time, and she has tutored me in herbal teachings of the Meïnir since.”

“She has taught you the secrets of the Old Religion?”

“No, certainly not.” Connor set the mortar and pestle on the table and went to browse the herbs hung from the rafters. “The arcanum is forbidden to those who are not of Arlais.”

“Ah,” said Gawain.

Connor glanced back at him to see a look of confusion on his face. “Surely you know of Arlais?”

“Very little. My father does not make haste to embrace the teachings of the Old Ways. He is not a religious man, and holds it with much disdain since my mother‌—” Gawain stopped himself.

“Since your mother…?” Connor set a bundle of angelica on the table beside the mortar and pestle, and began to pluck the leaves from the stem.

“My mother was a priestess of Arlais.”

“A priestess? But they are forbidden from‌—”

“You must understand, my father is not a wicked man, you see. He has raised me and I hold no misgivings of his love for me, but he is set in his ways. The people of Gweliwch were warriors, after all.”

“I do not understand.” Connor was not versed in the Old Ways, but Ceridwen taught him enough to know that the priestesses of Arlais were, and remained, maidens with the exception of some of the Meïnir who bore children before coming to Arlais. Hume girls who had been ordained were forbidden from relations with men.

“My mother resided in my father’s house. She left Arlais with the permission of the Lady to tend to the injured during the last Gethin invasion in Gweliwch. My father became quite infatuated with her, and from their union, she bore me.”

“She disregarded the tenets of Arlais?”

Gawain was silent, and Connor felt as though he should not force the matter. Even in the dim light of the fire, he could see Gawain’s face redden and knew he was uncomfortable. Instead of asking again to break the silence, Connor furiously ground the angelica leaves in the mortar as he prattled on about anything he could think of, just to break the veritable tension. “You know, I would love to include some ginger root, but it is so expensive. I could go to the marketplace to get some, but my uncle does not want me to leave the castle‌—‌not until the crowds have left after the tourney. I suppose I could ask my uncle to send someone else to retrieve some for me, but‌—”

“What are you making?” Gawain looked up at him, his face still red.

“My uncle’s hands and feet get so sore as of late,” Connor explained, continuing to add more of the herb to the mortar. “I grind down the angelica, and ginger root if I have any, to combine them with goose fat. When he massages the finished salve on his hands and feet, it helps with the swelling. Aside from the goose fat, the ginger and angelica can be made into a tea as well.”

“Can you not‌—‌I mean, do you know how to make something to aid your wound?”

Connor dropped the pestle in the mortar. “You know?”

Gawain nodded. “I visited your quarters, but you were still unconscious.”

He picked the pestle back up and began to grind the mixture again. “I am not skilled enough. I do not even know where I would begin.”

After a long pause, Gawain sighed. “You see…‌my father is accustomed to the ways of the warrior. They take what they want with force. It may have been an evil act, but he is a good man. He did not have to raise me, a half-breed bastard born of a priestess’ ravaging.”

Connor could not think of a more heinous act. Rage surged throughout his being, and his grip on the pestle trembled. He felt as though it was a personal attack on those he loved. His own mother was a practitioner of the Old Ways.

What if it was she who had been raped? Or Ceridwen?

Somehow, he managed to keep his rage hidden from Gawain, who, Connor noticed, struggled with more words to defend his father. Then, he realized Gawain had said half-breed.

The presumption he had made upon meeting him was correct: he was, at least in part, one of the Meïnir.

“I have told no one of this before.” Gawain pushed himself back on the bench and stood. “I do not know why I tell you now.”

“No, I did not expect to hear such a thing. Please, Gawain, do not leave. Sit.”

For a moment, Gawain did not move, standing with his palms on the table and staring down at the mortar.

“Let us speak of other matters.” Connor did not realize he had lost his mother as well, and wished to know more of Gawain’s past. But he knew by looking at the boy’s scarlet face that the matter was best left alone. “Some other topic?”

Connor could see how hesitant Gawain remained. He was relieved when he reached for the bench and sat down once more.

“I have only made assumptions, but I have not yet asked: do you practice the Old Ways?” Gawain leaned forward onto the table. “I mean, you are making medicine for your uncle after all.”

“It is only medicine, not a charm or potion.”

“Do not underestimate your abilities. That is far more than most could muster.”

Connor thought for a moment. “I suppose I practice it as much as I am able. It would not be proper for the nephew of the high king to be a known follower of the Old Religion. But, through my uncle’s graciousness, I was blessed with the presence of Ceridwen. I could never practice openly though.”

“Even as a member of royalty?”

He shook his head. “There are whispers among the more ignorant servants I practice dark arts‌—‌because of the garden I keep.” Connor chuckled at the notion. “They hang on Father Andras’ every word, following him with their eyes closed…‌and I do not think he is fond of me, nor I him. He is nice enough, I suppose, but there is something about him I do not like. Though, he would never speak out against me, as he wants to remain in the king’s good graces.”

“Ah, yes, Andras. I have heard the name.”

“He holds much political power. Now more than ever, it would seem. What with my uncle’s newly announced marriage.”

“You do not sound pleased with the announcement.”

“My uncle made no mention of it to me, so it came as a shock. He has grown distant from me for some time now, far too preoccupied with more important things than to pay attention to his eccentric nephew. He used to come into the drying house with me, but not for a long time. It was our place unto ourselves when I was a child. Uncle Alric would tell me tales of the kingdom in his father’s time. I should understand the idea of marriage to Bronwen, but I am still unhappy about it.”

“My father is not pleased with the decision either.”

“Oh?”

“He is afraid of the implications the union of Cærwyn and Annwyd will have on the fortunes of Gweliwch.”

“I would not worry. He is a fair man.” Connor poured the pulverized angelica into a small crock, returning the mortar and pestle to their proper place on the shelf.

“That may be true, but a royal marriage could change even the most just of kings.”

“What do you mean?” Connor looked back at him.

“Surely he will want to please his new wife, and more importantly, her father, King Denorheim‌—‌no matter the means.”

Connor did not understand the consequences of which Gawain spoke, but he did realize that Gawain was far more versed in politics than he was. He, in truth, had not given much thought to the ramifications of the matter, only hurt his uncle had not previously informed him of the marriage, and had not the time to give it more thought.

Connor took note the crowd outside had grown silent, and the fire in the hearth was but a few glowing embers. “Come, it is late. We should retire for the night.”