In Camelot’s Shadow: Book One of The Paths to Camelot Series (Prologue Fantasy) by Sarah Zettel Read Free Book Online

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    Risa bit her lip and tried to compose her agitated spirits.
    Fortunately, she did not have long to wait. Light footsteps soon sounded against the floor, signaling the arrival of Jocosa with her faithful maid, Una.
    “Una, please ask his lordship if he will attend me here. Then you may retire.”
    Cloth rustled, indicating, Risa was certain, Una’s small curtsey. “Yes, my lady. Are you sure though …?”
    “I will send for you if I have need.” Jocosa’s voice was tired.
    “As you wish, my lady.” Risa thought Una sounded a little hurt. It was a day for bruised feelings.
    Risa did not directly hear Una’s departure. She inferred it from the sound of her mother’s sigh, from the brush of cloth as she crossed the chamber, the gentle scrape of her fingers against the uncompleted tapestry, the soft pop of a needle through cloth and the drag of thread behind it as she completed a single stitch. Risa wondered if she should reveal herself, but decided against it. There was no telling when father would walk in, and should the unthinkable happen and the scene turn truly ugly, she wanted to be able to say mother had no idea she had concealed herself in the room. That much, at least, would be true.
    Boots slapped against stone. Hinges creaked. Risa held her breath.
    “You sent for me, Jocosa?” Father’s voice was heavy with more than just an overindulgence of ale.
    “I did, my husband.” Mother’s voice was crisp, efficient, as when she was giving orders to the servants. “I am told that young Vernus was sent away with his hat in his hands.”
    Wood creaked sharply as father dropped himself into a chair. “It is not time for our Risa to marry.”
    “Tell me, pray, when will it be time?” Each of mother’s words took on a sharp edge. “She is fully nineteen and a grown woman. She is ready to be mistress of her own house and mother of her own children.”
    “Vernus is not for her.” His reply was dull. Risa wondered if he even looked at mother.
    “Why not?” Risa imagined mother throwing up her hands in wonderment. “His rank and heritage are good, his father’s standing with the High King …”
    “I say Vernus is not for her! Be content!” roared father, his fist thumping hard against the chair’s arm.
    “How am I to be content?” demanded mother. “When I watch my daughter sink into melancholy and my husband sink into a pitcher of ale?” Cloth rustled and Risa knew mother strode across the room. “What has happened to you, Rygehil? Where is the man I loved more than life itself?”
    Silence stretched out, long and heavy before her father spoke again in his thick voice. “I did not think it would be thus. I thought there would be other children.”
    “God has left us Risa,” said mother, puzzled.
    “No.” To her shock, Risa heard tears in her father’s voice. “He has not left her to us.”
    Again, a rustle of cloth. Did her mother kneel? Retreat? Risa longed to see, but forced herself to hold still.
    “I do not understand,” said mother.
    “I … she … oh, Jocosa …” emotion made father’s voice tremble. “I made a promise, Jocosa. I did it for you, I swear, I thought there would be other children. I did not know. I would undo it if I could, I swear. I have tried …”
    “Husband.” Mother spoke the word firmly, but Risa heard the fear in her voice. It echoed the fear causing Risa’s breath to flutter in her throat. “Contain yourself.”
    Father, what have you done?
    Neither drink nor grief permitted father to gain coherence. “We were returning from Arthur’s coronation. I didn’t know you were with child or I never would have taken you on the road. You were sick to death, Jocosa. I was so afraid I would lose you. You were everything to me. I was weak, and afraid. I …”
    “Rygehil, what are you saying?” Risa thought mother must have shaken him then. “I cannot understand you.”
    Risa listened, her heart growing cold and tight with fear, as her father told of