Cassandra knew her brother was right in his thinking. She and the other Ignae had, since foreseeing the defeat, had made plans to fight the oncoming force of the Shadows and were ready for the war which was sure to come, with the king now dead and the fate of all beneath him in question, the tide was no longer in their favour. Indeed if it ever had been.
A deep morning swept the castle for all those lost. Blackened drapes now hung from the battlements, disturbed by the light wind as those who had survived and could still ride and walk, rode out together to bury the dead from the battlefield, the crows could still be heard in the distance, a black stain upon the hillside.
On the day of the king's funeral, less than two days after the battle, King Gruffydd's body was placed upon a plinth, in place where the throne should have been. His coffin, ornate, larger than that for most men, was decorated in life like carvings of horses, left unpainted but somehow blackened. On the side words had been carved in Latin, but to the few, including Cassandra, they read, "even in death I hope," they were Merryn's words.
She had seen little of her brother since the day the riders had returned; and the King's most trusted advisor he had overseen all arrangements and kingly duties, a moot would soon remove him no doubt, but he took on his role most selflessly. Despite her mixed emotions, knowing what was to come, she felt a deep pride in him.
A church service was held at midday, only the lords and ladies could attend, as was the tradition, but unusually, another would be held afterwards; Gruffydd had been a well loved King, so the servants could pay their respects also. Throughout the service, bathed in coloured light pouring through the stained windows, Cassandra wished to be elsewhere, she would have gladly forsaken her seat to another and left alone to think and plan ahead.
At nightfall came the feast, all were invited to this, but to celebrate the death of a king the spread was meagre, but expected, his final campaign had cost more than lives after all.
The flickering light of burning rushes cast a warm glow over the hall within the keep. At the back of the hall three bards played jovially, the sweet sounds of lute, music box and pipe gave some life to the mourners, even if only a little. From afar, beneath the narrow windows of the keep Cassandra watched the few who danced and those still at the tables, deep in thought for the coming months.
'I do wish you wouldn't hide yourself away'.
Merryn's face, caught the half light to reveal the shadow of his once boyish grin. He sat himself on the bench beside her with and handed her a goblet of ale which she reluctantly accepted.
'I was thinking'.
'Thou hast much to think about,' He teased.
'Thy has great work to do!' She took a sip, watching a couple at the table a few feet away dancing awkwardly, richly dressed, the woman's husband supporting a heavy limp.
'Alas, but not alone as we once were. Do you remember the day Morwenna took the old fisherman north?' Cassandra winced, remembering.
'The day Dylan was murdered and Morwenna thrown overboard?' A trickle of the venom of that day seethed deep inside of her.
'From the day we found her, still breathing, we learned a lesson, not about trust, but of strength. Despite everything that had happened to her in the sea, she still survived. The seven of us may never meet again but apart we are still strong'. Merryn followed her gaze to the couple, 'he lost a friend, his brother and his king, nearly his leg had he not been standing where he was, according to those around him, but he still dances with his wife. They know what is to come, of course they do, even if they do not acknowledge it, but they carry on. Take strength from that'.
'How was Nini before she left?'
Merryn's wife, Nini, had left so quietly the morning of the battle Cassandra had not had the chance to say goodbye. She, Nini, Merryn, Llewellyn, Robert and Morwenna were the last of the original seven Ignae, chosen by the divine to fight the Shadows and spread the ancient word.
'Like you, preoccupied'. Merryn's eyes met hers. 'We have planned for this event for many years, we are prepared. Worry and woe for those more we are yet to lose will not solve a thing, enjoy the moment for now, seek joy from the smallest of things. Keep the Shadows from your mind, dear sister'.
'We are more prepared now that is true, but we don't understand completely the vision we all had. The sapphire blue light, could mean anything!' Any remaining anger she felt was quickly extinguished, replaced by cold fear.
'Hold your head high.' With that Merryn downed what was left of his drink and left her, disappearing amongst the mourners.
                                                                                                                *
Cassandra spent the following day arranging the servants. A messenger who had arrived that morning brought news that a coughing sickness had arrived in the nearby town about a day's ride away and that two people had died of it since the day before.
'Ol' men min' prab' no' efen serious'. The messenger had added before Cassandra paid him and bade him to keep safe and farewell.
It has begun, she thought to herself darkly, watching the small shape of the messenger disappear beyond the hill, but remembering her brother's words she pushed the thought aside.
On her way back to the keep she crossed the bailey, the open part of the castle fortress where the lower class lived and tended to the livestock surrounded by the curtain wall. Before she had reached halfway she caught word of a conversion between two servants, she detected their energies as hostile and fearful so she instinctively slipped in behind a large wooden storage hut nearby to listen.
'I don' like it no more than thee, but if I were to wager I'd say tha' we would be be'er to scarper be'ore the moot'.
'Where would thee go? Powys? England and be killed by King Harold's men?'
Cassandra peered round the corner, two servants, men, she knew them to be father and son, they had been part of the castle since long before Cassandra had first arrived twelve years ago. The father. Huw was in his late fourties with a round stomach and bent back, his son was scrawny and tight cheeked, Nial she remembered his name was.
'If we stay here, ' Huw warned, 'we may be! Thee knows the traitor 'ad 'elp! T'is too dangerous!'
'Maybe thee nex' king will stop 'im! Thee wan' the English...'
There came a violent shushing sound. 'Sshhh! We ken know nuffin' don' ferget!'
She heard no more, after a long moment, held under baited breath, she peered round again, they were gone.
Merryn would want to know what she had heard. If there was poison amongst the court before the moot, corruption would thrive. Another victory for the Shadows. They could not have foreseen this. 
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