“We trust not men, but their circumstances and their greed. His allegiance is only to himself, is true.” Eluned paced slowly, her frown deepening in thought. It was a kinsman of Gruffydd that had visited, his mission so obvious that even Gwenllian had immediately guessed it. Though much had been carefully kept secret, word was spreading quietly but quickly, and men of power did not want to be taken by surprise. “If we can have his men and all his strongholds in our hands and not in Edward’s, it is no small advantage.”

Gwenllian sighed. She wanted very much not to care who her mother allied with. “Ever has he cast his lot with Edward,” she said wearily.

“He will back who lets him keep his lands,” countered her mother. She then launched on a lengthy explanation, once again, of the many ways to build this complicated web of political alliances and gain power in the places it was most needed.

Gwenllian reached out and took an apple, tracing over the skin of it with her thumbnail, resisting the urge to score it in one long, white line. She felt like a young girl again, sulking as her mother endeavored to teach her things she did not wish to learn. Intrigue and politicking were so needlessly complicated, while the sword was pleasingly straightforward. But she should listen, she knew. She should try to understand it all. At this rate, she would be enmeshed in a rebellion without even knowing who was ally and who was enemy.

Do not trust him now, Eluned was saying, but to succeed you must be forever looking ahead, mindful of potential, looking for the moment of opportunity. Plant the seeds now, she was saying. Do not make an enemy today in the place where you will need a friend tomorrow.

Gwenllian closed her eyes. She focused her attention on the smooth roundness of the apple against her palm.

“You must stop this, mother.”

It came out almost as a whisper, no hint of her words echoing back even in this great empty hall. They were alone. This latest guest had departed this morning, and Madog had taken the men to spar, leaving her and her mother to plot rebellion in solitude. Gwenllian would have preferred the warmth of the little room just behind the dais, but she feared such close quarters with her mother might actually bring her to tears.