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anyone really, but she had to know what it meant, and if she could not tell her mother, there was only one person she could unburden herself to.
    Provided that person would listen to her.
    After the meal was over, and the women had gathered at the hearth as the men gathered at the mead benches, instead of sitting at her mother’s feet as she usually did, Gwen allowed Little Gwen to usurp her place without a murmur. Instead, she settled away from the warmth of the fire, just in the shadows, and fixed her gaze on the priestess, silently willing the woman to look at her. If it worked to will people not to look at her, the opposite should be true too, shouldn’t it?
    For the longest time, the priestess seemed oblivious to Gwen’s gaze. The usual talk went on, of the luck of the hunt that day, of the feast to come on Samhain, of those who were expected to pledge to each other by leaping the fire that night. Of the thickness of the wool, the taste of the wind, speculation on how hard the winter to come might be.
    But finally, slowly, the priestess turned her head and looked into Gwen’s eyes. Her solemn gaze met Gwen’s anxious one, and, finally, she nodded once, then indicated the door with a little inclination of her head.
    Gwen got up and headed for the door, as if she were going to relieve herself at the privy. But she lingered beside the door, shivering in the cold with her cloak around her, waiting for the priestess.
    She did not have long to wait. The priestess slipped through the door and shut it against the wind, then reached down and gripped Gwen’s shoulder.
    “Your eyes were burning holes in my back, child,” she said, calmly. “What is your trouble? For surely you have one, if you gave up your place at the hearth and hardly smiled at your father’s thanks.”
    “I—I saw something!” Gwen blurted. Then the words came tumbling out of her, like an avalanche of pebbles, as she described the battle of serpent and bear. When she was finished, she waited in silence.
    “I do not know what this means,” the priestess said, after a long silence, in which the cold wind whipped their cloaks about them. “That it is a vision, and one portentous for you, I have no doubt. But I cannot tell what it means.”
    “Oh,” Gwen said, in a small, and disappointed, voice.
    “But I will meditate on this,” the priestess continued. “And if the Goddess sends me enlightenment, I will tell you.” The hand on Gwen’s shoulder relaxed, and the priestess gave her a little pat. “You did well to tell me, Gwenhwyfar. Such visions are rare; your mother has never had one. Should you have another such, do not fear to confide it to a priestess.”
    “I won’t,” said Gwen, and that seemed all there was to say. Feeling vaguely cheated, she went back inside and spent the rest of the evening on the edge of the cluster of her sisters, shivering, until the queen sent them all to bed.

Chapter Three
    The morning of Samhain dawned as perfect as anyone could have asked for. The sun was warm enough for pleasure but not so warm as to make the old people grumble about summer-out of-season and bad omens. A cloudless sky and not even a hint of wind meant that the fires would send their smoke straight up, not into anyone’s face. A hard frost three days ago had killed the flies, and the hunts had been outstanding; in short, everything was as perfect as one could want to celebrate the High King’s wedding, the harvest, and the rites of the Lady of the Fields and the Lord of the Wood.
    Gwen and her sisters were rewarded for much hard work in the days before by being given a holiday today. They couldn’t stay abed though; the moment the sun was up, so were they, getting their hair braided, putting on their best gowns and shifts. The castle hall was full of people already; folk had been coming for days, and every little space where someone could lay his head had been taken up by someone. There were even tents pitched all about the castle and