A Heart in Sun and Shadow (Cymru That Was Book 1) (25 page)

“Oh,” she gasped, “it’s a hound.” She quickly picked up the other to see if it was a match.

“Aye,” Trahaearn sounded pleased. “I was able to understand some of what you called out in your sleep. I thought a hound might be fitting.”

Áine just nodded and ran her thumb over the design again and again.
Emyr. Idrys. I’m halfway done now, just wait a little longer
. Her tears spilled without thinking and she watched as one touched the floor and bounced away under the table as a tiny pearl.

“There now, girl,” Trahaearn said gruffly. He shifted from one huge foot to the other. “I’m sure you’ll see your hounds again.”

Áine laughed through her sobs. “They’re men, not hounds. Well, they are hounds, one by night, one by day. It’s the curse I’m trying to break.”

“Idrys is one of these men?” Trahaearn smiled through his thick beard at her look. “You called his name.”

Áine flushed. “Aye, Idrys and Emyr. They are brothers, twins. I love them,” she added as she lifted both clasps and went to gather her damaged dress.

“Both of them?” Trahaearn asked when she returned.

Áine considered this as she tore a large scrap from her already ruined dress. She wrapped the clasps carefully in the fabric and slid them into her pack.
Was it only Idrys’s name I cried in my sleep
?

“Yes,” she said after another moment. “I love them both. They are different for all it is nearly impossible to tell them apart by looking. One is gentle and calm, the other passionate and stubborn, and. . .” she hesitated, “broken.”

He needed me more than Emyr. If we’d had more time, I would have taken Emyr into by bed as well. I wish. . .no. We will have time and time enough when I’ve broken the curse
.

Trahaearn nodded as though she’d answered something more for him than just that single question. “They are lucky to have you, girl.” He moved away from her, toward one of the tables against the wall. He pulled a bundle of gold cloth free and brought it to the hearth table.

Áine rose and joined him. Trahaearn pulled out the knife he’d shown her before, now in a simple wooden sheath.

He looked Áine in the eye and said in his graveled voice, “There’s more than one way to break a curse.”

Áine stared at the knife, recognizing the pattern of birds. “The Daughter of the Wind is your wife?” she guessed.

“Aye. As I said, she’s quick to anger.” He shrugged his huge shoulders. “If she weren’t my wife, I’d have broken the curse long ago, but love complicates life, eh?”

Áine shook her head. She could not fathom loving someone to the point of bearing such a curse, nor how someone could love and deliver such a curse. These thoughts raised uncomfortable doubts in her mind and she pushed them away. Instead she stared at the knife and felt a chill creep into her heart.

“How else does one break a curse?” she whispered.

“By killing the one that did the cursing,” Trahaearn answered.

Áine’s head reeled and her stomach tightened into a lump around her breakfast. “Kill Seren?”

The fairy smith’s golden eyes widened and he leaned forward. “Seren? The Lady of the drychpwll cursed your twins?” At Áine’s nod, he shook his snowy head. “That’s a fine mess you’re in, girl. If you kill the Lady, you’ll have to take her place.”

“Take her place?” Áine shook her own head as the chill at the thought of breaking her healing oaths and committing murder gave way to confusion.

“Seren cannot stray far from the drychpwll, that little lake she makes her home by. She wields great power from there, but her reach in either Cymru is small. If you kill her, you would be bound to the drychpwll in her place, immortal but unable to leave her domain.”

“But it would free the twins?”

“Aye. They would be free.”

You can free them
. Those words which had been such a comfort to her suddenly twisted, turning strange and terrifying in her mind.
At what cost?
Am I willing to sacrifice myself for a love I’ve known only a little while?
Her heart made no answer and Áine felt tears burning at her eyes again.

“There, girl, stop. I did not mean to make you cry again. I’d thought to help, but I can see I’ve done nothing but upset you. You’ll break the curse another way.”

Áine rubbed her eyes. “Wait,” she said with more force than she’d meant. “Give me the knife. I cannot now say what I’ll be willing to do in the future. If I use it or not, I’ll see it returned to you before I leave Cymru-that-could-be.”

Trahaearn stared at her unblinking for a long moment. Then he wrapped the knife back into its shining cloth and held it out. Her hand brushed his as she took it from her and her healing senses flared, warning her there was great pain there. Áine looked up at him.

“Your hands, they hurt more than a little, don’t they?”

“It’s nothing like it was.” He shrugged and folded his hands into a large pocket on his leather apron.

“Not yet,” Áine said. “I can fetch more stones and take the pain again before I go.”

Trahaearn laughed, bitter and booming. “I can see what this Idrys shares with you, girl. Stubborn indeed. But the morning wears on and you must go. You’ve given enough of yourself to me already. Go.” He motioned toward the stairs and turned back to his forge.

Áine hesitated, words forming in her mind and disappearing before they could touch her lips. She shivered and rubbed her palm against her forehead.

“Thank you, Trahaearn,” she said.

He did not respond nor look back at her.

She climbed the stairs toward the doorway. Sunlight filtered in and the bright leaves of the holly greeted her as she left. The mountain rumbled and the doorway to the fairy smith rose again from the rubble and re-formed behind her one last time.

Áine set out across the moor toward the woods and Seren’s home with a heavier pack and troubled heart. She did not look back.

Warm satisfaction bordering on the smug settled into Áine’s heart at Seren’s annoyed expression. The Lady was clearly not in the least bit thrilled with Áine’s return or her success. Áine kept the smile off her own face, barely.

“These are the clasps you wished, are they not, Lady?” she asked, though the tightness around Seren’s mouth and her pinched look of disappointment had already confirmed what the Lady might answer.

“Yes, halfling.” Seren’s swirling silvered eyes studied her, taking in the new gown, the embroidered slippers.

Áine shifted from one sore foot to the other, the satisfaction fading even as Seren composed her own face.

“Would you care to rest?” Seren said with a cold smile that turned the question into a comment on Áine’s appearance.

Áine ran her chafed hands over the soft blue linen and gritted her teeth. Her pack rested against her leg and Áine imagined the slender blade calling to her from within its gilded wrappings. All she had to do to end all of this was take that knife and plunge it deep into this selfish and infuriating creature’s breast. No more tasks, no more swallowing pride and anger and begging this woman for crumbs. Emyr and Idrys would be freed.

And I’d be trapped at this pond. I’d have to sleep in her bed, wear her clothes, and become the Lady. Forever
.

She realized she’d been staring off into the water over the Seren’s shoulder and shifted her green gaze back to the Lady. “No. I’d like my next task,” she said and then added as an afterthought, “please.”

Seren’s eyes narrowed. “Very well. I need strands of hair from the tail of the March Cann.”

“A Fairy steed? Where will I find this creature? And how much hair do you need?”

“You ask so many questions.” Seren sighed. “To the north lies a lake. In the middle of the lake is an island formed of drowning oak trees. The March Cann can be found there. I need at least two strands, clearly.”

Before Áine could ask anything more Seren turned and slipped into her cottage, the heavy door closing behind her. Áine ran a hand through her tangled hair.

“I hate it when she does that,” she muttered. A soft laugh echoed across the clearing and Áine snatched her pack from the ground and turned away.

She put the sinking sun on her left and walked toward where this lake might be, shoving away all bloody thoughts about the contents of her pack and Seren’s slender throat.

She walked until it grew dark, then called a little ball of light and walked until her legs and feet demanded rest. Áine released her light and wrapped herself in her cloak. She forced herself to eat some bread and then curled against a tree, Idrys’s little wooden horse clutched in her hand.

The bright birdsong of early morning woke her and, after a quick breakfast, Áine set out again. She kept herself pointed north, putting one foot in front of the other. In some places the forest grew too dense and she had to pick a careful path through the brush and brambles. She felt as though she made no progress, that she’d be trapped in this wood forever. The trees here were younger and grew so close together that Áine couldn’t see the sun, only its light filtering in through the canopy, green and diffused.

Sweat ran in trickles down her back and between her breasts. Her hands stung from tiny cuts. The light grew dimmer and Áine paused to pull another twig from her hair. She wished for her braids, but her hair was still far too short to pull away from her face or the entangling vegetation.

Áine heard the sound of frogs ahead and hope grew in her heart. She had to be close. She shoved her way through another thicket of young poplar and wild cherry saplings clotted around with ferns and abruptly found herself knee deep in cold water.

The forest gave way without warning. Áine gasped at the shock of the water closing over her feet and at the huge expanse of the lake in front of her. Water spread out dark and glassy as far as she could see. The sunlight glinted off its surface in places while other bits of the lake were obscured by wisps of mist the sun couldn’t burn away.

Áine twisted around and pulled herself out of the water and back into the thicket. The lake mud sucked at her shoes and threatened to steal them from her but she managed to pull her feet out carefully. Her skirt was soaked up nearly to her thighs and her shoes were a mess. Áine used a handful of leaves to get the worst of the mud off and then tied the shoes to the strap of her pack. She pulled her skirt up and tucked as much as she could into her belt. Then she held on to a slim poplar trunk and looked out over the lake.

Off in the distance, she saw a dark shape. She hoped that was the island but saw no good way to reach it. Áine looked at the forest that stretched to either side and arched around the lake toward the horizon. She wondered if her knife would cut down trees. Perhaps she could make a raft of some sort and pole her way across the lake. She chuckled at the idea and sighed.
Time to get wet, silly girl
.

Adjusting her belt, she bunched skirt to beneath her breasts and stepped barefoot into the water. She held her pack above her head and waded carefully out into the lake. The water stayed at the level of her knees. Little insects dodged away from her along the surface as she walked and the hum of birdsong drifted over the lake. The unseen frogs grew silent around her as she disturbed the lakebed.

Slowly the water deepened until Áine was up to her hips. The cold mud dragged at her feet but the sun shone welcome warmth on her head and back. Her arms ached from holding the pack up and she let it rest on her head as her shoulders slumped. The dark shape in the distance became clearer and clearer as she walked until, after what felt an eternity, Áine made out the shape of a grove of huge spreading oaks rising from the lake.

The sun dropped to the level of the lake and poured a bright spear of light across the surface as though pointing to the grove, Áine reached it and clambered out of the water up onto the huge roots of one of the trees.

The island was made up of five ancient oaks unlike any Áine had seen before. The bark was silver and black and the whispering leaves overhead held all the greens, golds, and russets of spring and autumn mixed. Áine set her pack down in the crook of the nearest tree and let her skirts down.

The roots tangled among each other, creating a platform above the rippling lake. Áine chose the thickest, widest part and sat down to rest and consider her options. The March Cann was clearly not on the little island at the moment.

Áine kicked herself for not asking more questions of Seren. She knew that Seren would disappear as soon as she was able; after all, it seemed to be the Lady’s pattern to give Áine as little chance for information as possible. The fairy steed might appear in an hour, or only once a year.

“Or once a century,” Áine muttered. She tried to count up how long she’d been in Cymru-that-could-be. A week? No, longer. A fortnight? She decided that down that path lay only madness.

The sunlight died slowly and a breeze drifted over the lake. The frogs resumed their garbled songs. Áine wrung out her damp skirt and pulled her cloak from the pack. She pulled out an apple as well and sent a grateful thought toward Blodeuedd for the gift of the pack and its contents. If she had to wait a year or one hundred, at least she wouldn’t starve. “Though I might die of boredom and despair.”

Áine sat down with her back to the one of the great oaks and curled into her cloak. She didn’t call a ball of light, worried that she might scare off the fairy steed if it came in the night. After a while the sound of the rippling lake and her own exhaustion pulled her down into sleep.

The whirring of wings and a bright glow woke her. The moon rode high in the clear sky and a creature of legend descended to the sunken oaks. Áine’s eyes flew open and she forced herself to stay still as the March Cann settled down onto the roots in front of her, its head turned away, looking out over the lake.

It was taller than any horse she’d seen, but its body was whip thin with three sets of wings extending from its withers and spine, more like a dragonfly’s wings than a bird’s. The fairy steed’s body shone with shifting light, orange, yellow, blue, and purple, shining like a rainbow at the edge of where sky meets horizon, bright and diffused all at once.