Æthelgifu

Æthelgifu’s perspective is farsighted, even among the Cynn. She’s been a witch and a princess, an abbess and a diplomat, all as an apprenticeship to her true calling. Now she’s Ieldra, and has had fifteen lifetimes to hone an instinct for treachery and manipulation learned at her grandmother’s knee. Her induction wasn’t certain by any means, but when she crushed Rheged during the Ostmen invasions, it was no more than had been expected of her. She tolerates the Lancea et Sanctum because some faithful children of Albion have found a home there, but considers their cryptochristianity a ridiculous affectation. Better to cultivate a willing flock than harry them into an unproductive grave, after all.

But the Ieldra can see her own ways fading. Fewer families petition to enter into the Weihan Cynn’s protection; fewer children are being taught the old kinds of respect. Æthelgifu is canny, though, and has tightly guarded the secret to her substantial personal power, the threat of which has kept the Cynn in charge of an increasingly modern England. The Weihan Cynn, through Æthelgifu, hold the pacts that bind unnatural powers to their aid: wolves that walk, spirits of the sea and air, and the solitary beasts that remained in the bog and in the fen. And of course, her new allies from the south may be spun into a promising escape route if things go sour.