Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (22 page)

Word of Siana’s death reached Cærwyn by way of a messenger from the Steward of Helygen, Connor’s uncle Declan Morehl. Connor could not believe it. He, too, was unaware of the capability of killing a Meïnir in such a way. The stories of their regenerative capabilities abounded, but nothing such as this had ever occurred, as far as he knew.

Having heard the news from Alric before dawn, just after the messenger arrived, Connor knew the attack on his brother’s caravan would have occurred several days past. Rhodri would be out of his mind with grief.

While concern for his brother was at the forefront of his mind, as was the grief of losing Siana, he could not help but see this as his way out of Cærwyn. He would go to help his brother in Helygen, and from there, he could depart for Arlais.

His uncle would be less capable of putting a stop to his actions if he were to depart from Helygen instead of Cærwyn. The northern border of Helygen was slightly closer to Arlais as well, so the journey would not be such a distance as it would from Castle Cærwyn.

Connor pulled back the window covering and peered outside. It seemed with each passing day, the weather grew colder. He feared the winter months would be especially harsh. He was not certain how long it would take to reach Arlais, as his departure from Helygen would be determined by how his brother fared.

If he was lucky, he would reach Arlais in time for the Ddirym Festival. He had never witnessed an Arlaïn festival before, so it excited him greatly to think he could witness one of the largest. The festival celebrated the year’s end and the coming of the new year. Not only would those who resided at Arlais attend, but all of the outlying villages who practiced the Old Ways, most of which were located at the edge of the forest near the Brynlands, would arrive at the Hwerydh Brynmor for the celebration. Ceridwen was forbidden to speak about any of the festivals to him, which made it all the more exciting to be there in person.

Intense pain struck Connor, and he dropped to his knees. His chest burned and his head pounded. Visions of Ceridwen filled his sight, blinding him to reality. He could see her lips move as she spoke with the Lady Rhiannon, who glowed with a mysterious aura, but he could not hear the words. It was as though he hovered above in the small, stone room where the two of them stood. He could smell the pungent aroma of herbs in the air and hear the patter of rain upon the thatched roof.

Then he found himself back in his room, gasping for air. He felt cold sweat break out over his entire body as he clutched his chest. Warm blood poured from his wound, oozed onto his fingers, and pooled in his palm. He clenched his fist and felt it slosh between his fingers. When he pushed himself up to his knees, from which height he was able to clutch the bed to stand, he left a bloody palm print on the floor.

I will not die like this
.

Connor shook his head, to gather his wits. He lay back on the bed, feeling the blood still weep from his wound. He must not tell anyone, certainly not his uncle. If Alric knew of this incident, he would not allow him to travel to Helygen, even if it were to visit his brother Rhodri.

The wound no longer bled, but the striations had spread further, like a web across his chest and up his shoulder, and they remained tender to his touch.

Day had not yet broken, so he had an excuse to sleep, but his previous visions worried him. They were so vivid. How could he have seen Ceridwen and Rhiannon so clearly? Had Ceridwen perhaps gifted him with the ability to see visions before she left Cærwyn?

It was the only explanation that made sense to him. What he experienced was unmistakably a vision. Connor did not know she had that form of power. He also had not known she was a priestess of such high rank until he saw her in the robes of an attendant. While thankful for such a gift, he did not enjoy the extent of its overwhelming nature. Although, he surmised, if he had not been standing, he would not have collapsed, reopening his wound. It came upon him so suddenly, he was not sure how to prepare for the next experience, were there to be one.

Dawn arrived far sooner than he expected. He knew he must make his intentions to depart for Helygen known to his forgetful uncle this day, while the news of Siana’s death remained at the forefront of his mind.

Connor worried to leave his uncle’s side. Alric was visibly much more frail than he had been even the night of the clansmeet, and he noticed Alric struggled with his breath every once and again. However, he never acknowledged it openly to his uncle. Alric would simply deny any trouble.

He must push these worries to the back of his mind. If he spent all of his time worrying about Uncle Alric, he would never leave Cærwyn. Nonetheless, he remained torn between the love of his uncle and the desire to travel to Arlais. After all, he had no idea how long the curse would take to kill him. His time ran short, and he worried his death would come quickly if he did not reach Rhiannon for help.

He managed to wind another bandage around his chest. He dreaded his attempt to put on his tunic, but he suffered through it with clenched teeth. He took a shallow breath before allowing himself to breathe more deeply. The wound stayed closed, and he felt no blood. Despite the discomfort, he maintained his ability to put on his braecci, the warmly woven pants for this time of year, and adorned his vest. If he were to impress upon Alric his ability to travel, he must look his healthiest.

He washed his blood-stained hands in the basin, watching the water turn red. He took his time, gathering the courage to speak with Alric.

When he left his room, he made sure to close the door. No need to frighten a servant with the blood on the floor. They would only tell his uncle anyway. He would clean it himself later. He went down the hall and the stairs at as normal a pace as his body allowed. He knew his uncle would be in the main hall by now.

He stifled a grimace as he pushed the heavy door open. Alric did not notice him at first, deep in conversation with King Denorheim, his new wife at his side.

Bronwen, however, noticed him immediately. Her And she seemed displeased with his entrance into the hall. Her callous gaze strengthened his resolve to speak with his uncle.

“Ah, Connor, it is good for you to join us.” Alric lifted his chin as Connor walked forward. “You are feeling better, I trust?”

“Completely fine.” Connor bowed his head to his uncle, placing his fist on his chest in affirmation.

“He comes from your stock.” Braith laughed, slapping the table. “Of course he would heal so quickly.”

“Then, come, sit here at the table and join us.” Alric motioned to a chair next to him.

Connor felt pleased with his farcical vitality as he practically pranced to the seat. He gave a grandiose bow with an air of sarcasm more overt than he intended. “King Denorheim, my queen.”

“What brings you here?” Alric asked.

“I have come to speak with you of Lady Siana’s death, Uncle.”

“Ah, yes,” Alric sobered.

“I fear for Rhodri. I wish to travel to see him. I would like to see how he fares after such tragedy.”

“I am unsure that such travel would do you well.”

Connor could sense the command hidden just beneath the surface of his uncle’s concerned statement.

“Husband, if Connor asserts he is healthy enough to travel, should we not consider it?” Bronwen seemed most pleased with the idea. “After all, the fresh air may do him well. How long has it been since you have visited your home province?”

“Nearly ten years.” Connor held no misgivings about her reasons for being so helpful to his cause. “And it would be wonderful to see the willow groves of Helygen again.”

“But, even if you are well, I do not know if I can permit such a thing.”

“Why is that?”

“With the attack on Rhodri’s caravan…‌who is to know how many bandits may be roaming the countryside?”

“I would travel well protected,” Connor insisted.

“Husband, you must also remember that this terrible tragedy could have been an utterly random act of chaos.”

Alric paused for a moment. “I am not sure I can provide you with escorts, and I am certainly not comfortable with the idea of you traveling the Cærwynian countryside alone.”

Connor felt the words pour out of his mouth before he could restrain himself. “I would be accompanied by Duke Gweliwch’s son and his men,”

“Rodric’s son has a number of men here in Cærwyn, husband,” Bronwen said. “Connor would be quite safe in his journey.”

“I have heard tales of Gawain’s talent at swordsmanship, and he does have a large selection of men at his disposal.” Alric now seemed to seriously consider the trip. He had seen Gawain’s talents firsthand years ago in a tournament, and he knew the boy had gifts with handling a sword, so Connor knew he might win the argument. “I will allow it on the condition his entire party of men accompany you.”

“Thank you, Uncle.” Connor stood and gave them all a courteous bow. “I would like to leave as soon as my party is ready.”

“As you wish,” Alric replied, a hint of sorrow in his voice.

Connor left the room, amazed at what had just occurred. Had he lost his mind? How could he have said Gawain would accompany him, let alone his entire military force? How could he expect Gawain to shrug off his duties when Duke Gweliwch had ordered him to stay in Cærwyn to keep watch over the activities in the castle?

Connor felt more than uneasy about the predicament he had gotten himself into. Nevertheless, he ascended the stairs, with a lump in his throat, to Gawain’s quarters. As he reached the top of the stairs, he felt the burn of the wound, and was glad his bandage had held.

The door to Gawain’s room was slightly ajar, and the morning light flooded from it into the dark hall. Reluctant to wake him, and also to put off confessing what he had just done, Connor crept to the door and peered inside. He squinted into the bright sun.

Gawain stood at the wash basin, a perfectly chiseled warrior dressed only in his braecci, loosely fitted around his waist. When the floor boards creaked, he spun around with dagger in hand. “Aye?”

“It is only I.” Connor opened the door. “It was not my intention to startle you.”

“Connor.” Gawain sighed, setting the dagger back upon the table.

Connor cringed at the large, raised scar that ran from his left shoulder to his abdomen.

Gawain caught his gaze and looked down. “Battle scars,” he said proudly. “Medals of honor.”

Connor still stared. He would have his own scars soon enough, he imagined. Should he live so long.

“Connor?”

“I am sorry, I was lost in my thoughts.”

“Aye, it happens to me often.” Gawain dried his face and pulled his tunic on.

“I have done something…‌which I find difficult to explain.”

“What is it?” Gawain said, placing his hand on Connor’s shoulder.

“I approached my uncle about traveling to Helygen.”

“Is that wise, in your condition?”

“That was my uncle’s worry as well.”

“So you will not make the journey then?” Gawain seemed relieved.

“Actually, he agreed to let me depart Cærwyn.” Connor stumbled with the words, “Under one condition.”

“What condition is that?”

“I may only travel to Helygen if you and your men are my escorts. I do not know why I brought it up but‌—”

“I will accompany you to Helygen.”

Connor looked into his kind eyes, but he did not know what to say, having expected a firm decline to his request.

“I have a condition of my own, however,” said Gawain.

“A condition?”

“I wish to accompany you when you leave Helygen. I wish to travel to Arlais.”

Connor nodded, allowing himself to smile, despite the demeanor of a noble he meant to display. “Of course.”

“I cannot return to Gweliwch now. The only place I can go is to my mother’s people.” Gawain instinctively kicked the floor with his heel. “Though, I am not so certain they will welcome the bastard son of a disgraced priestess. But, Ceridwen is there, and I need answers.”

Whatever nervousness bubbling within Connor subsided as he listened to Gawain’s reasoning. “Thank you, Gawain.”

“I will have my men convene in the front courtyard. We shall be ready to leave when you are finished packing your belongings.”

Swept up in what was happening, Connor rushed back to his room to pack. It then dawned on him, as he looked at his possessions strewn about the room, there would be no need for them at Arlais. There was a bittersweet sadness as he placed his satchel upon the bed. He filled it only with his traveling clothes, three tunics and two braecci. As he looked around the room, he found that there was nothing he was so attached to that he must take with him. He did, however, pack Ceridwen’s journal in order to return it to her.

He could not decide whether it was cold enough to warrant wearing his traveling cloak, or if he should pack it with his belongings. He judged that he had already placed enough weight upon his wound and decided to pack the cloak. He could always wear it later, should the weather turn cold before arriving in Helygen. He also packed the remaining salve, sealed tightly in a crock, and bandages Ceridwen left for him.