Deva lived in Agwaine’s house for seven years, refusing all offers of marriage, her eyes constantly on the horizon – waiting for the man who would be King. One bright day in summer she was brushing her hair when she saw, in the mirror, the first grey hairs appearing at her temple. No suitor had approached her for two years now. Fear touched her and she went in search of Caswallon. She found him sitting in the sunlight in the garden behind his house, tending his roses.
Caswallon welcomed her, offering her a cup of honey mead, and she sat beside him on a long, carved bench. ‘What is troubling you, Deva?’ he asked.
The prophecy hasn’t come true, and if I wait much longer I shall be unable to bear children. Why hasn’t he come, Caswallon?’
‘Wait? Not so fast. What prophecy?’
‘When I was born, a tinker-woman told me I would be the mother of kings. Taliesen told me it was true. But where is this prince who will ask to wed me?’
‘Wait here,’ he said, and walked slowly into the house. Deva sat in the sunshine for almost an hour, and was still there when the young Donal came walking in from the hills with the faithful hound Render beside him. Caswallon returned as the sun was setting. ‘I am sorry to have kept you so long, my dear,’ he said. ‘Come, I have something to show you.’
Leading her into the house, he took a silvered mirror and placed it in her lap. ‘Look closely at the glass and you will see the prophecy.’ Holding it up to her face she looked into her own reflection, seeing the fine lines that were appearing round her eyes. The image faded, and she found herself looking down upon the scene in the front room of the old house. Cambil was holding a babe in his arms. An old woman was sitting on the rug before the young Hunt Lord.
The woman’s voice came whispering into Deva’s mind. ‘She will see the great and the strong, Hunt Lord. And a future ruler will ask for her hand. If she weds him, she will be the mother of kings.’
The image faded. ‘I don’t understand,’ said Deva. ‘That was my prophecy. So where is this King I have waited for so long?’
Caswallon took the mirror from her hands, then he sat beside her. ‘He asked for your hand, Deva, and you refused him.’
‘No!’ she stormed. ‘There has been no prince!’
The Queen who saved us named him as her heir and he will become King. He is a warrior and a great leader – and he loved you once.’
‘Gaelen,’ she whispered. ‘He is to be King?’
‘Yes. I am only sorry you did not come to me before this.”
Deva stood on trembling legs, then ran from the house. A year later she married a widower and raised three sons and a daughter.
Lennox returned twice to the highlands – once for the funeral of his father Leofas, who died twelve years after Icairn’s Folly, and once to bring Gwalchmai home after an Outland spear cut him down at the siege of Culceister. Gwalchmai had asked to be buried above Attafoss.
Gaelen never returned. On the death of Obrin he took over as Captain of the Lancers and became known as the Queen’s Champion. He and Lara lived contentedly, raising two sons and three daughters.
The clansmen served the Queen for thirty years. In the fortieth year of her reign Sigarni was called to battle by Morgase and the last great Outland army. The battle was fierce and close-run but, as always, Sigarni won the victory, leading a last charge against the shield-wall. Morgase took poison rather than be captured.
The Queen’s wounds were grievous. Gaelen helped her from the field and in the last fading light of the dying sun carried her up the slopes beyond Citadel to the Chalice Cave – and beyond! There a young druid took charge of the Queen and Gaelen watched him half carry her towards a mountain cave.
Returning through the Great Gate, the ageing warrior removed
his helm and scratched at his thinning grey hair. Idly he rubbed the ancient scar above his eye.