She looked long on Gawen’s sleeping face. It seemed impossible that the pounding of her heart should not be loud enough to awaken him. Had this big boy actually been so small that he could lie in his father’s two hands? He had grown from something smaller than the seed of a flower, engendered in that moment in the forest when her last defenses had gone down before Gaius’s need. And yet at the time she had been triumphant, certain that this was a sacred thing.
And Gawen was beautiful. How, out of such sorrow, could such beauty be born? She scanned again the childish features, and the long body with hands and feet just a bit too big, discerning within them the promise of the man he could become. She could not see that he resembled Gaius all that much. Once, that had disappointed her, but at least now she would not have to suppress a flicker of hatred whenever she glimpsed his father in his eyes.
But he was Gaius’s son; and because of him, she had been willing to let Gaius marry the daughter of a Roman official. Only now, it seemed, he was going to divorce Julia and renounce all his promises for the sake of Senara, who might as well have been her own little sister. Senara, who was younger, and apparently to Gaius, more beautiful.
At Eilan’s waist hung the curved dagger she had been given when she became a priestess. She fingered it for a moment. So often, at the rites, she had used it to draw the ritual drop of blood for the cauldron of prophecy. There, at the wrist where she could see the pounding of the blood, one stroke, hard and deep, would end all her troubles, at least for this lifetime. Why should she wait for the fate that the Goddess had promised her? But if she took her life, what would become of Gawen?
Deliberately Eilan took the sickle and returned it to the small sheath at her waist. In the faltering light of the lamp her face must have shown something she had not intended, for Huw rushed forward…
“Lady?”
“We will go back to my rooms now, and then you must bring Senara to me.”
It was not long before he returned with the girl in tow. Senara’s dress was wrinkled; her eyes were hot and her cheeks smeared as if she had been crying. She saw Eilan and cried out, “Lady, forgive me; not for the world—”
“Be quiet,” Eilan said. “I haven’t the strength for any more of this. I have had a warning of death; it is a gift of the Goddess that the High Priestess shall know her time.” She drew breath, and Senara, seeing the little dagger loose in its sheath at her waist, went white beneath her tears.
“That cannot be true,” she said desperately. “It is written in the holy books that no man knows what a day may bring forth—”
“Silence,” Eilan said tiredly. “There is something very important that I must say to you. If I am wrong, it will not matter whether you believe me, but if I am right, there is something I must ask.”
“Of me? Anything,” Senara said submissively.
Eilan drew a long breath. “You heard me say that Gaius and I had a son. Gawen is that child. I want you to marry Gaius and take his son away with you. Promise me”—her voice, which had been perfectly steady when she spoke of her own death, broke—“promise me only that you will be good to him.”
“Oh no,” Senara cried out. “I would not now marry Gaius Severus if he were the only man on the face of the earth.”
“You promised to do as I asked,” Eilan said quietly. “Is this how you keep your word?”
Senara looked up, and again her eyes spilled over. She said, “I want only to do what is right. If you think—” She stopped, breathing hard. “If God has chosen to take you, I suppose it is His business, but you must not lay hands on your own life, Eilan!”
Eilan drew all her dignity about her like a cloak as she said, “It does not really matter to me whether you believe it or not. But if you will not help me, Senara, then you may go.”
Senara trembled. “I will not leave you alone in this state.”