Free The Prince of Powys by Cornelia Amiri, Pamela Hopkins, Amanda Kelsey Page B

daffodils to land at
    her feet. She picked up the flowers. Each time her hands
    gathered a bundle she laid them on the rim of the stone wel.
    Once the flowers were picked up and the edge of the wel half-
    covered with bunches of posies, she dusted off the stone rim and
    plopped down.
    As she hummed a Saxon melody and waited for Elisedd’s
    return, her head reeled with comparisons of Mercia and Powys.
    There were no daffodils in Mercia. No Leri, Carthann, Elisedd,
    and certainly no Blaise. Scan had been her only friend before she
    came to Powys. Strange, but she felt more at home in the Celtic
    hil fort than in her own Saxon realm.
    The sound of footsteps brought her from her musings. Elisedd
    walked toward her with a clay jug in each hand. He set the
    pitchers down on the rim of the stone wel and yanked the rope
    to pul up the large wooden bucket, then filed the jugs with
    to pul up the large wooden bucket, then filed the jugs with
    water.
    Branda took over from there. She lost herself in the pleasure
    of delicately arranging the flowers just so, until they looked
    perfect.
    She handed a jug of daffodils to Elisedd. “For Carthann.”
    “You are sweet for a Saxon.”
    Feeling light and bubbly she smiled. “My thanks.”
    Elisedd nodded and with long, bold steps walked toward the
    sunroom.
    He liked her now. She’d grown on him. Carthann would
    suspect the flowers came from her. Branda liked her too, but
    what of Blaise? What did he think of her?

    * * * *
“Blaise, Blaise, Blaise…when wil I see you again?” As she
    mumbled his name into the dark stone wel her voice vibrated off
    the wals in a clear echo.
    She pressed the pitcher of daffodils to her chest and languidly
    headed to the grianan, dawdling with every step, so as not to
    disturb a tryst between King and Queen. She reached the
    sunroom with perfect timing for at that moment Elisedd stepped
    out.
    The grin on his face fled and was immediately replaced with a
    warrior’s scowl, but he couldn’t fool her. Branda knew her
    meddling had worked. The Queen had received the attention she
    deserved; now Carthann and Elisedd were sure to think fondly
    of her. She’d become less of a hostage and more of a guest.
    She curtsied to Carthann. “M’lady, a fair morn to you.”
    “Branda, the daffodils are lovely.” Carthann gestured to the
    window ledge where her jug of yelow flowers sat brightening the
    hard stone.
    “The King picked them for you.”
    “I know.”
    The smile on the Queen’s face was rapt with joy. A buoyant
    feeling of pure elation kindled in Branda’s chest and spread out,
    engulfing her in a glow of warmth. She walked to the ledge and
    set her pitcher of wild flowers next to the Queen’s.

    * * * *
* * * *
    Before she went to bed that night, Branda smiled at the
    cheerful gold flowers. She drifted into a deep sleep and saw a
    man’s head float freely, without its body, above a field of
    daffodils.
    It was an oval face with weather-worn skin, al its features,
    nose, cheeks and lips appeared attractive yet big. The mop of
    fiery red hair which draped the head was matched by a long
    drooping moustache and beard.
    This severed head spoke in a deep, melodic voice. “I am
    Bran, god of the Celts. Hark my words, Branda. To stay where
    you belong, you must seek the treasure I hid in Dinas Bran long
    ago.”
    Branda had no fear. Instead, she wanted the strange head to
    stay and talk with her. “Tel me more.”
    The head and the daffodil field suddenly vanished.
    Upon awakening, she glanced at the daffodils to get her
    perspective. “No floating head.”
    She nudged Leri from her sleep. “I must tel you about my
    dream.”
    Leri listened intently to every word. “Wel, Bran was a god,
    and his greatest treasure was the cauldron of eternal life.”
    Branda remembered the guard she rode with to Dinas Bran
    said the hil fort once held the Holy Grail. “Leri, this cauldron you speak of, do you mean the Grail?”
    “One is a Christian belief, the