Spindle and Dagger - J. Anderson Coats Page 0,10

dirt and a worthless alliance and a nagging voice in his ear. I’ve a saint at my back, and all I must do to please her is keep her namesake safe from all harm and near me always.”

It rolls off his tongue so easily. You’d never know that Saint Elen and her promises were straws I grasped at while I was still changing the dressings on the wound beneath his arm, when the fever that nearly put him before his Maker still muddied his thoughts enough for him to take it as gospel. He should have died that day at my sister’s hands on the floor of our steading in a pool of his own blood.

I nod, though, because he’s done what I told him Saint Elen required. I’m safe from all harm and near him always. I was just not careful what I asked for. Because I got it.

THE CHAPEL IS A STONE’S THROW FROM THE HALL. It’s empty this time of day, no priests around. There’s no proper door so it’s cold within, a skiff of crunchy snow pushed along the threshold. Before the altar lies the body, shrouded in linen and dim. I mean to go further, to look upon Llywelyn penteulu well dead, but even now I cannot.

Even this close, my throat turns to sand. My mouth goes sour. And I am up against the steading wall and Miv is crying and there’s a body at my feet fire iron through the neck and Llywelyn penteulu is roaring in my face. Hard to the floor cold everywhere can’t struggle.

Torn to pieces. Skin to skin. The smell.

There were others after him, but he was the first. Until they let me up.

There’s a scuffle at the chapel doorway, and Einion ap Tewdwr appears, holding a pale, swaying Rhys by one arm.

We killed them both and seized all the beasts. Einion said it like he’d killed them himself. Mayhap he had. My father would have struggled. My mother, too, but they’d have been no match for a warband.

“Miracle girl.” Einion points with his knuckle. “Out here. Now.”

The lads know better than to speak roughly to me. Mostly they don’t speak to me at all unless it’s to ask something trivial, like will I mend a tear in a tunic or refill a mug of mead. I’m too wrung out to challenge Einion on it, though, and Owain is definitely not in a humor to dress down one of his own in his father’s hall while Llywelyn penteulu’s body is barely cold, so I step into the bright outdoors, blinking against it.

“Stand here,” Einion growls, and I’m not sure whether he’s talking to me or Rhys. Einion releases Rhys and storms into the chapel. In moments he’s back, and he says, “Whatever you did, there’s no sign of it.”

“No sign of what?”

“Marks. On the body.”

I gape at him, and he scoffs. “Oh, come now. I don’t for a moment believe you were paying your respects. What other reason could you have for being in there?”

I have no answer that will make sense to the likes of Einion ap Tewdwr, so instead I show him my empty hands. “I’ve no weapon.”

“Doubtless Llywelyn penteulu’s brother thought that, too. Just before you broke his neck with a fire iron to the windpipe.”

Rhael told me not to be afraid. We would give them the food we’d prepared. We’d give them the animals in the byre. We would give them whatever they wanted, then they would leave. She said it clear and confident, gripping and regripping the big knife, and I believed her.

I face Einion steady on and ask, “What do you want?”

“Show her.” Einion jostles Rhys forward with a shake of tunic.

Rhys merely sways like a drunk. Einion sighs and pushes up the boy’s sleeve for him, revealing a deep gash the color of rancid meat. When Einion swivels Rhys’s arm, the boy sucks in a breath and a flash of bone turns like a fish’s silvery belly.

“Is this from the raid?” I ask. “The raid from days ago?”

When Einion nods, I groan, but I can hardly blame Rhys for not wanting to be called baby and told to grow a pair. Especially considering that worse befell one of their family that morning.

“Why did you not bring him to the court physician?”

“The boy needs a miracle as well as medicine.” Einion peers at me. “What does Saint Elen say?”

I did not think. I only acted. I never used the word miracle.

They do, though. All