Chapter 3
T he last time Darien had seen the seer’s daughter was more than a decade earlier, at her father’s funeral. The village arrow maker, he was well loved by all. The sickness that tore through the Isle of Ely that winter took too many good men and women, her father included. Since the earl had always refused to allow Darien this trek to the seer’s cottage, and the girl—nay, woman—had never attended feasts or festivals at the castle, he’d not been in her presence in some time.
She’d been a beautiful girl and was now an even more beautiful woman.
While his father spoke to the mother, he watched Aeliana’s almond-shaped eyes, the green and brown shade as remarkable as her other features, as they assessed him. Her dark brown hair was pulled back on both sides, but errant strands escaped and framed her face. In the candlelight, those wisps appeared almost auburn. With her cheeks and lips, the same shade of rosy pink, the seer’s daughter could only be described as perfect. Yet it was an unearthly perfection—a quiet mystery in her gaze hinted at something beyond beauty, as though the secrets she kept had etched themselves into her soul.
He did not know this woman, and yet...
“Mistress Aeliana,” Darien’s father said. “It has likely been many years since you’ve been in the company of my son.”
She bowed, those big, beautiful eyes lowering as well. “It has indeed,” she said, standing upright once again.
“My lady.” Darien had rarely had his words stolen from him because of a woman’s beauty, but he’d suddenly taken leave of his senses. He wanted to ask how she was not yet married. Or perhaps she was, and came to her mother’s cottage this eve because of his father’s visit. “My father,” he said once he remembered how to string two words together, “speaks often of your mother and has mentioned you follow in her footsteps. But I recall little else, I am sorry to say.”
“Perhaps because there is little to recall.”
The words were softly spoken, but the meaning behind them roared in his ears. Somehow, Aeliana had little notion of how extraordinary she was. Little to recall? He was certain no statement had ever been less true.
“I will admit that I am surprised to see you, Sir Darien,” the seer said.
“I understand.” Darien’s father spoke before he could explain. “This is highly unusual and breaks with tradition.”
Though he could not take his gaze from her, Aeliana did not look his way. She watched his father and her mother’s exchange instead. Willing her to look at him, Darien only stopped staring when the guard noticed. It would not bode well for his father to have any hint of his interest in a woman Darien could never claim.
“The reason for that tradition is so that he”—Nimue nodded to Darien—“is not tied to me in any way.” The seer did not appear pleased, and neither did she hide the fact from Darien’s father. He was a kind and fair leader, and his sharp tongue and quick wit did not often invite open displeasure directed toward him. Of course, Darien had been raised to simultaneously revere and fear this woman, so it made sense she would not cow to his father, even if he was the earl and leader of this isle. “I am certain you do not need to be reminded of your great-grandfather’s demise.”
Darien stared at the woman in shock. If he hadn’t heard the words from her mouth, he would not believe that she had reminded his father of the darkest period in the Isle of Ely’s history.
Darien could not resist another glimpse. This time, Aeliana was looking, though he could not read her thoughts. As his father explained the reason for Darien’s presence, he ignored Sir Bradon’s scrutiny and continued to revel in the differences between Aeliana the girl and Aeliana the woman. Aside from her curves, of course, a mark he had no business staring at captured Darien’s attention. He’d seen such marks on men before, etched into their skin, but never on a woman. And never so small, and delicate, nor positioned on the chest, so low that it nearly nestled between her breasts.
She caught him staring.
Darien looked up just as his father and the seer moved into the back room of the cottage. He followed and watched as Nimue sat beside a covered table, a circle of candles casting an eerie glow about the room. The daughter stood behind her mother, a vision if Darien had ever seen one.
“So you wish to hear it from me?”
It took Darien a moment to realize the seer spoke to him.
“I do,” he confirmed.
“It will not change because you will it so,” she warned.
He exchanged a glance with his father. They’d argued, Darien refusing to believe their cause was lost. The earl, sensing this battle of wills was a losing one, suggested he hear the seer’s words for himself.
It mattered not. Darien would not be swayed.
With no response to offer, he remained silent and watched as the seer pulled a pouch from beside the table and took out what he knew to be runes. Although Darien had not seen this ritual since he was a boy, so long ago his mother had been the one to bring him to this cottage, he remembered it well. When the seer closed her eyes and began to chant in Old Norse, he watched, as mesmerized now as he’d been then.
He peeked over the seer’s shoulder. Aeliana’s eyes were closed as well.
Did she also possess her mother’s skill?
Without warning, Nimue stopped chanting, opened her eyes, reached into the pouch and cast her runes onto the table.
“The runes are clear,” she said softly, her fingers resting on one of them in the center. “This Ehwaz speaks of movement, of a transition long overdue. Matilda’s journey is not in vain. Her cause is just. But...” She hesitated, her fingers gliding over a different rune. “There is chaos ahead. The Hagalaz tells of destruction that will shake the very core of what we expect.”
She glanced directly at Darien. “The road is littered with obstacles, ones that will not be easily overcome. Nauthiz ”—she tapped a rune—“represents constraint and sacrifice. The runes do not promise her victory,” she continued, her voice growing quieter. “They warn of trials, of battles lost as well as won. The future is not set, my lord. The crown—” She paused. “Eludes her.”
No. It could not be.
“Mother—”
Aeliana was cut off by a look from her mother. What had she been about to say? Darien would have prompted her, but something in her expression held him back. Where before, her features had been soft, almost demure, now those same big, beautiful eyes flashed in a way that held Darien’s tongue.
Instead, he addressed the seer. The same woman whose ancestors had been advising the earls of Ellswood for centuries. “Have you ever been wrong before?”
Neither his father nor Nimue were pleased with the question, but too much was at stake not to ask.
“The runes do not lie,” she said, picking them up one by one.
“That was not my question,” he pressed.
In response, Nimue gazed at her daughter, but Darien could not interpret the look that passed between them.
“Not since I was an apprentice myself. Even then, the runes did not lie, but I misinterpreted them. Could there be more to this reading? Perhaps. They do not always give us a full vision of the future. But I am certain she will not be crowned queen.”
“We are done here.” His father’s tone was not one Darien wished to argue against. He’d done so many times growing up, but never successfully. Instead, he followed him into the front room to join Sir Bradon as the seer and her daughter followed.
“Apologies for the interruption to your evening,” his father said to the seer.
“None are necessary. We are at your disposal.” With that she bowed, as did the daughter, just before the latter escorted them out. As Darien crossed the door’s threshold, a tug on his tunic was so slight, at first he thought he’d snagged it somehow.
It was no snag, though. Aeliana had followed them through the door and was silently asking him to stay back. He did, pausing as she leaned forward to whisper.
“Come back. I will be waiting.”
And with that, she stepped away from him, back inside the cottage, and closed the door.