A Heart in Sun and Shadow (Cymru That Was Book 1) (30 page)

No. No. I’ve arrived too late. I barely made the walk here in a full day on young and healthy legs. I have lost before I could even begin
.

The vision of having months to convince the twins of her identity slipped away with this new knowledge. Blodeuedd said it had been a few years; did the twins even still love her? Or remember her? Despair swamped her and Áine would have crumpled to the ground again had not Blodeuedd’s strong arms caught her up. Áine wept into the fairy woman’s warm shoulder.

She had failed and her heart felt as though it would never stop dying. She couldn’t breathe, her throat choking closed on grief.

“Áine, no, do not give up hope. I can get you to the village if you’ll trust me? There is still time, Áine, still time.”

Áine raised her eyes, which were no longer the green of new leaves but a faded grey-green of old moss, and nodded.

If Blodeuedd could get her there before sunset, Áine would find a way to tell the twins what she needed. She’d communicated easily enough with Blodeuedd, and the fairy woman had recognized her, hadn’t she? There must still be a way.

Stop it, silly girl. Don’t give in so easily. You’ve come far too far for this weeping and wailing at the smallest hitch
.

She dried her face on her sleeves and gave Blodeuedd a wan smile. The beautiful fairy woman stepped away from her and raised her arms to the sky. She shifted, her body sparkling like waves in sunlight and turned into a huge white owl. Before Áine could fully take in the change, the owl beat her wings and rose into the air. Áine put an arm up to block the dust from her eyes and soundlessly cried out as the owl snatched her up in her claws.

When she’d flown with Bran, Áine had been nauseated and disoriented. She’d have never thought she would wish for that kind of flying again. It was much worse clutched in the claws of the owl. Her bones screamed in protest at the heavy weight of the talons gripping her tightly and feathers tickled her face, which was crammed in close to the owl’s underbelly. Áine squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe shallow breaths.

It felt like an eternity before the owl dropped her as gently as it could to the soft grass beside a road. Blodeuedd appeared again, her body strangely transparent.

“I cannot stay here long, but down this road lies Clun Cadair. I wish you all luck and happiness, Áine. May your love bring to you more joy than mine brought me,” Blodeuedd said. “But if it does not bring the happy ending you might wish, return to me. I would gladly share the Ilswyn.” Then she shimmered back into a smaller owl and winged away toward the forest.

Áine dragged herself to her feet. Her body wanted to rest, to lie on the somewhat soft ground and settle, but there was not time for that. She still had a long way to walk and a lot of thinking to do about how she would tell Emyr what must be done. He’d likely be in the middle of a feast on this day, but at least in summer the llys would be more or less empty of people and Áine doubted she’d have trouble getting an audience with the chief.

Just have to decide how I’m going to tell him who I am and what I can do. I just have to hope he somehow knows me or find some familiar gesture or thing to show him
.

She hobbled down the road, leaning heavily on her cane. The sun rose higher, beating down on her with the full force of its summer heat. Her robes grew damp with sweat and grit itched at her legs and wormed its way into her shoes. She thought she heard voices and wondered if she were hallucinating again in her exhaustion and worry.

She wasn’t going mad, for soon behind her came a little cart pulled by a dun mare with a man of middle years singing happily on the seat. He waved to her as she stepped to the edge of the road to let him pass. Áine waved back and the man pulled the cart to a halt.

“I greet you, old mother, do you make your way to Clun Cadair?” he asked.

Áine nodded, motioning to her mouth to show she could not speak.

“The day is hot, the road dusty. Please, hop into my cart and I’ll take you with me, for I too travel there and on this fine day I’d hate to have it said Aled Ap Aled let one of his elders walk in the heat.”

Áine smiled up at him, careful to keep her lips shut tight over her empty gums. She accepted his arm and sat herself in the back of the cart, her legs dangling off the end. The cart was loaded with three large casks and Áine motioned to them with a clear question on her face.

“Aye, that is my family’s specialty. We’re brewers, you see, and I’m bringing our finest for the Chief’s wedding feast tonight.”

Emyr pulled his tunic to lay straight over the soft linen shirt beneath and sighed. He’d gone over and over the marriage contract with the lawgiver. He was clean and dressed in his finest clothing, despite the warmth of the summer day. Idrys stared up at him from his place on a sheepskin by the hearth in their room.

“You think you’re a sneaky one, don’t you? Scheduling the wedding for the daylight.” Emyr shook his head and glared at his brother. The hound’s dark eyes met his without expression. “Deal with none of the ceremony and reap all the rewards of the lovely bride.” He tried to keep his tone light and teasing.

Emyr knew Idrys was not looking forward to his wedding night. It had been a terrible battle of wills among Emyr, Idrys, and Hafwyn to get Idrys to agree to marry at all. But reason had won out in the end. The twins needed to produce an heir. Being cursed did not free them of this duty.

Idrys rose and paced to the door, whining in his throat.

“All right. You’re right; I can’t avoid the hall forever.” Emyr adjusted the beaten silver torque at his throat and opened the door, following his brother into the great hall.

The door to the courtyard was thrown wide, allowing sunlight and air to penetrate into the busy room. A fire burned in the great hearth despite the weather and women of both cantrefi worked around it. The tables were arranged both inside and out so that all might share in the feast. Much of Clun Cadair’s population was missing due to the season, however, with the addition of the people from Rhufon, the llys felt as full as it ever did in winter.

Emyr’s bride stood near one laden table, helping to arrange a last minute garland of flowers down the center. He paused and watched her, his heart lifting as she turned a gentle smile toward him. Eirian’s mother had been a Mercian. She was small like the people of Cymru, but fairer of skin, with golden-brown hair like good honey and eyes the color of a winter sky. Her blue wedding gown hugged her slender frame and pert breasts, the embroidery at the neck and cuffs done in gold and red thread, cleverly depicting little birds and flowers intertwined. Her hair was loose and long down her back, contained only by an etched silver circlet and a few summer blooms woven into her curls with silver wire.

Eirian was soft-spoken and loved hounds. It had not been so difficult to make her understand that her husband’s favorite hound would sleep in the room with them, nor had she said one word about Emyr and the hound disappearing at sunset thus far.

Who knows what she’ll think of me rising before dawn, but by then we’ll be wed and she’ll adjust. All husbands have oddities, I hope
.

Emyr smiled back at her. This marriage was a good thing, he knew. Good for the cantref, good for the twins’ spirits. Idrys would not be unkind to Eirian, and Emyr hoped that in time her gentle ways would wear down his brother’s stubborn sorrow.
The gods know I haven’t had the greatest luck
.

A commotion in the courtyard drew many looks toward the door and Emyr followed his brother’s dark form outside into the bright sunlight. It was only an hour or so before the ceremony; Emyr hoped nothing had gone too horribly awry outside. He guessed that Llew or someone had dropped some of the meat roasting for the feast or somewhat like that.

He had not expected the cause to be a bent bundle of rags and dirty grey hair waving what looked very much like a fallen branch. The old woman poked her makeshift cane at Urien again as he tried to block her path into the great hall. The big man leapt back to a gale of laughter from the bystanders.

“Come now, Urien,” Llew called from by the pits of roasting meat, “one poor old woman isn’t going to topple you, is she?”

“She certainly seems determined,” Urien said and waved his hands at her. “Old mother, old mother, calm down. There’s a wedding today, you can’t disrupt the preparations so.”

“Easy, Urien,” Emyr came up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll see to her.” He stepped forward and saw the muddy green eyes of the old woman light up. “I am Emyr ap Brychan, Chief of Llynwg, perhaps I can help you?”

The woman came right up to him and Emyr lifted his face away from her smell. She was filthy with road grit and her hair hung in thin greasy locks around a deeply wrinkled face. He had never seen a woman so old and wondered that she’d even made the journey here. She stared up at him with an intense familiarity, but he was sure he’d never met her before as he would have recalled such an ancient crone.

“Please, what is your name? Do I know you somehow?” he asked, catching her thin wrist in his fingers as she reached to touch his face.

Her eyes lit up and she nodded vigorously and then pointed to her throat as she opened a mouth long deprived of teeth. Emyr realized then that of course the poor woman could not speak.

“Did I meet you when you were younger?” he guessed, for he could not place her.

Again she nodded.

“An old friend of my mother’s, are you?”

She thought for a moment and then shook her head.

Curious
. Emyr looked up and motioned to Urien. “Who brought her here? I can’t believe she walked, eh.”

“She rode in on Aled ap Aled’s cart,” Urien answered. “I’ll fetch him.”

Emyr released the crone’s wrist and smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring manner even as he took a step back. He turned his head back toward the open door of the hall and called for Hafwyn to come out.

Hafwyn emerged into the summer sun, dusting her hands off on her skirts. Emyr motioned to the strange old woman.

“Do you know her, mother? She says she knows me, or at least implies. She cannot speak, poor thing.”

Hafwyn looked at the crone who immediately turned beseeching eyes toward her. She studied the old woman a long moment and then slowly shook her head.

“I’m sorry, I don’t recognize her. If she’s a friend from my youth perhaps Melita might recall her, but I think it unlikely she’d know her when I do not.”

The crone stamped one foot into the ground and wobbled precariously for a moment, clearly frustrated. She pointed vigorously between Emyr and herself, and then, to everyone’s surprise, to Emyr and his dog.

Does she know somehow? Has she been sent here to disrupt the wedding? To reveal our curse? Is she some manifestation of the Fair Folk
? Emyr turned a worried gaze on his mother and found his fears reflected in her eyes.

Urien returned at the moment with the brewer in tow. Emyr motioned the man forward and asked him to tell what he knew of the old woman.

“From where and why did you bring her here?” he asked gently, pressing down on his fear.

Aled looked between the chief and the crone with wide eyes. “I did not mean any harm, I didn’t. She was walking on the road down from the woods and seemed to be heading to the feast. It seemed a terrible long way for such as she to walk, so I offered a ride in my cart. She gave me little trouble; does she bother you now?”

“She seems to think she knows me.”

Aled swallowed hard. “Well, there was one odd thing.” He paused and glanced at the crone again. She stared back at him, that same intense determination on her face as before. “Well,” he continued “When I mentioned that I was on my way to your wedding feast, the poor woman fainted dead away. And when she came to she seemed doubly determined to reach the llys. But she can’t speak, so I’m not sure the meaning of any of it. Sorry, my lord.”

Emyr sighed. This news only raised more questions and did nothing to quell his fears. “There is nothing to forgive, Aled. Go about your business now, and thank you for your kindness. It surely would have been too far for her legs to take her.”
Though I ungenerously wish you’d been a harder man and left her behind
.

Aled nodded, glanced between Emyr and the crone one last time, and then fled the courtyard.

Emyr looked down at the crone. He didn’t want to be rude or give offense in case she was one of the Fey, but he could hardly let such a shadow hang over his nuptials.

“Forgive me, old one, but I must ask it. Are you one of the Fair Folk?” he said and then held his breath.

She hesitated, a strange look on her face. When she did finally answer, she shook her head slowly. Her hesitation and tense face were answer enough for Emyr. He let out his breath and ran a nervous hand over his tunic.

“Today is my wedding day. I mean no offense, but I cannot allow you into the hall until I have the time to sort out where you are from and why. Please, go and seat yourself there by the forge. I’ll have someone bring you soft food, and you may enjoy the merriment from there.”

She looked at him with what he would have sworn was terrible despair and shook her head. She pointed to him again, and then to Idrys, who sat up and cocked his black head to one side, watching her as intently as she watched him. Then the crone pointed to herself and repeated the triangle.

Hafwyn touched his arm. “Come, my son, we’ll have time and time to sort this out tomorrow. The lawgiver stands ready and the feast nearly set. We should make sure to finish this before the hour grows late.” She gave him a meaningful look.

Emyr nodded, pushing all thoughts of the strange old woman aside. “Urien, seat her over there and see that someone brings her something soft enough for her to swallow.” He left the ‘and see she doesn’t enter this hall’ portion of his orders unspoken for the sake of courtesy.

The crone gave a silent, open-mouthed cry and threw herself at him, waving her branch. Urien stepped in just in time to prevent her from actually leaping upon him and hauled the crone away. Emyr winced and hoped his friend was being gentler than he looked to be since the poor old woman appeared fragile enough that a summer breeze might break her. At Hafwyn’s second tug on his sleeve he turned and followed her back into the hall.