The murmuring and fidgeting behind me stops instantly. The room is filled with such a silence as might be found in an empty tomb. I would swear an oath that Wenna is holding her breath. I can clearly see Rhodri mouthing soundless curses at me. For this is a moment heavy with meaning, and all present know it. Tanwen can never be a titled child in the royal household, but in the absence of a legitimate heir she does have a position, an unassailable place, as the only offspring of the prince. To acknowledge her now would be to underline this, would bestow a measure of status upon this little one that could never be taken from her. Were Brynach to spurn her, however, were he to lose his nerve, to falter in his deep love for her, to be swayed by the vitriol and ambition of his wife and her family, then Tanwen would never know true respect. Would never be able to claim her rightful place. Would be banished to the shadows and margins not only by her physical heritage, but by the bastardy of her birth.

He hesitates. The pause stretches too long and too wide. And I become aware of something else. Of another level of influence at play. At the far edge of my thoughts, where my mind melts into my ancient soul, I hear whispering. Whispered words that are urgent. No, vehement. I pay heed to them, straining to catch their meaning and to discern their origin. And now I have it! A hex! Clear as a full moon in a summer night’s sky. Dark magic, sent to turn my prince from the path of truth, to bend his will and plant black-hearted notions in his mind. Nesta! This is her wicked work!

I put my eyes on her. My eyes and my own sharp-edged will. She does her best to look away, to evade me, but she cannot. Her wavering gaze is locked into mine, and I send to her—into her—such a shock of magic, lake born and nourished, fierce with the ancient enchantments I have been blessed with, that she cannot continue with her loathsome efforts. The whispers cease.

Prince Brynach blinks away his confusion. He smiles. He reaches across the table and takes Tanwen in his arms and the two exchange the sweetest of glances. He bends over her and kisses her tenderly.

‘Hurrah for Tanwen!’ The cheer goes up and others join in the cry. More ale is called for, as Hywel demands a toast to the new babe, and the room is filled with good wishes and merriment. Amid it all Wenna remains still as a standing stone. I pity her. I admire her quiet dignity. Nesta’s face blackens with fury. Rhodri gets to his feet, muttering his refusal to be a part of such outrage. But Brynach notices none of this, for he has eyes only for his beautiful baby daughter.

Chapter 17

17

TILDA