May Earth Rise (50 page)

There had been many times in the past years he had despaired of ever seeing this moment today, the moment when Arthur would confirm Kymru’s Rulers and his Great Ones in their positions, the moment when the Kymri would freely celebrate one of their sacred festivals. Then they would prepare to journey to the colleges for the graduation ceremonies, secure in the knowledge that Kymru again belonged to the Kymri.

Gratitude for all Rhiannon had done to help this day come about rushed over him. He opened his mouth, and said the words that had been waiting there for so long.

“Will you marry me?”

Rhiannon’s comb froze in the middle of a stroke. Slowly she put it down and turned away from the mirror to face him. Her green eyes sparkled as she gazed at him.

“Yes,” she said simply.

His heart leapt, but he did not let his joy show on his face. “We have to go to Caer Dathyl for a few months after the ceremonies,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Cariadas needs more training before I can leave her there with confidence.”

“Of course,” she said, lightly.

“And then, we can go where we will.”

“Indeed.”

They were silent for a moment, and he saw her eyes begin to glitter dangerously. He had expected it—indeed, he had invited it—and worked hard not to smile. The silence lengthened and he schooled himself to show a look only of polite enquiry as her brows rushed together.

“Gwydion ap Awst, you asked me to marry you and I said yes. If you don’t at least act happy right now I will—”

“Give me a Mind Shout? Shoot me full of arrows? Walk out that door and never come back?”

“Yes! All of those!” She rose and made as if to leave, but he was faster. He put his body between her and the door, then laughed, his silver eyes sparkling. “Oh, Rhiannon, what makes you think I would ever let you go?” He reached for her and took her in his arms, kissing her slowly and thoroughly.

At last he drew back to look at her. “Where should we live?”

The knowledge seemed to come to him at the same moment it came to her. He could tell by the look in her eyes, by the smile on her lips. He held her to his heart and thought that it was only right that they would come to live in that place where he had lost so much. Only to have the Shining Ones return the love he had lost, and more.

G
ERIANT LEFT HIS
rooms and walked down the corridor toward the High King’s hall. He knew that she would be there, and that knowledge made it hard for him to breathe.

Would she speak to him? Or would he have to content himself with looking at her from afar? And if she did speak to him, what would she say? His heart ached at the thought that she would simply pass him by. Even if she did not—could not—love him, perhaps he could at least be her friend. Surely she would grant him that much. He did not read too much into her gesture of sending him her token to wear into battle. That was an action that was easier to take from a long way away. Face to face things would be different. Very.

But of course, in that he was wrong.

“Geriant,” she said softly.

He turned at the sound of her voice. Enid stood in the center of the corridor, her auburn hair twisted into a long braid wrapped loosely with a gold ribbon. A necklet of opals rested at her throat and he noticed that they trembled slightly as she took a deep breath in response to his gaze.

“Lady of Rheged,” he said slowly, his hands tightening into fists in an effort to keep from reaching out to her. He bowed slightly.

“Oh, Geriant,” she said, “aren’t you at all glad to see me?”

His face twisted at her words. She held his world in the palms of her hands, and she thought nothing of it. “Is it not enough that you have my heart, Enid?” he rasped. “Do you want my soul, too?”

She stood frozen, listening to him, making no move.

“For years I have loved you. Did you think I had stopped? Did you think I would ever stop? Because I won’t. I will never stop loving you, even if you don’t care for me.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he was not done.

“I will never ask for anything from you, if that is what you are afraid of,” he said evenly. “Never. I will simply love you. Forever. Make of that what you will.”

He bowed again and turned to go, for he could not bear to hear what she would say next. He had told her the truth, and expected nothing from it.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me!”

Startled, he turned back.

She stepped forward until she was right in front of him, barely a handsbreadth away. “What do I have to do, Geriant? Do you want me to ask the Druids to write it in fire? Do you want me to ask the Bards to shout it to everyone in Kymru? Do you want me to beg the High King to proclaim it to the world? Or maybe that’s all just too complicated for you. Maybe if I use small words you will understand.”

“Understand what, Enid?” he asked, confused.

“That I love you, you dolt!” she flared. “That I can’t stand one more moment without you! That I am healed from the past and want to face the future with you!”

He stood there, his mouth open, unable to speak. He knew he looked like a fool, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Now kiss me, you idiot,” she demanded.

He did what any wise man would do—he obeyed.

B
EDWYR, SOON TO
be named Captain of Gwynedd, walked purposefully to Queen Morrigan’s chambers in Cadair Idris. His right arm grasped the hilt of his sword as if for comfort. Though his left arm was gone, cut from him in that last, terrible battle, he could still feel pain shoot through the limb that was no longer there. It was an odd feeling, to say the least.

Over and over and over again he had commanded his wife, Tangwen, to leave him, to find an able-bodied man and make a life with him. At first, she would speak soothingly to him, insisting that she loved him. After a while, she would scowl at him when he spoke like that. Now, she just rolled her eyes and changed the subject. Last night, she told him that he was getting to be dull, always saying the same old thing. And she would give him something better to talk about.

She had, and now, as he walked down the corridor, he almost smiled against his will, thinking of last night.

But then he schooled himself to be stern. He had a job to do and he would do it. And no distractions from Tangwen would divert him.

He knocked on Morrigan’s door and opened it. Queen Morrigan was ready for the ceremony, dressed in a gown of deep blue, with sapphires in her auburn hair. Her dark eyes were flashing in irritation brought on, Bedwyr knew, by the fact she was dressed up within an inch of her life. Morrigan had never liked that.

Ygraine stood next to Morrigan, satisfaction on her face. He knew that Morrigan’s mother had fought hard to get her daughter dressed and she had a right to be pleased.

“What is it, Bedwyr?” Morrigan asked irritably, putting her hand to her elaborately braided hair.

“Stop fussing with it,” Ygraine hissed. “You’ll just mess it up.”

“All the pins are hurting my head,” Morrigan insisted.

“They are not,” Ygraine said coldly.

Bedwyr cleared his throat and the two women deigned to notice him again.

“What, Bedwyr?” Morrigan asked again, adjusting the folds of her gown.

“Stop that,” Ygraine insisted, lightly slapping Morrigan’s hands.

Morrigan made an exasperated sound in her throat. “And just what am I supposed to be able to do in this get up?” she asked. “I can’t fight, I can’t ride, I can’t do anything.”

“For this afternoon you aren’t supposed to do anything,” Ygraine pointed out, “except to curtsy every once in a while and nod your head.”

“Stupid ceremony,” Morrigan muttered.

“Pardon me,” Bedwyr began.

“What?” they both asked at the same time, exasperated.

“You can’t name me as your captain!” Bedwyr shouted, exasperated in his turn.

The two women stopped sniping at each other and turned to face him. Two pairs of dark eyes suddenly gone cold examined him in such a way that he had to swallow hard and remind himself he was a brave man.

“Are you insane?” Morrigan demanded.

“You will do as you are told,” Ygraine said flatly.

“I can’t,” he insisted. “Look at me!”

They studied him in puzzled silence.

“You look fine,” Morrigan said after a moment. “In fact, you look like you are a lot more comfortable than I am! Try having to wear a dress!”

“I have told you and told you that it is your obligation today,” Ygraine said to Morrigan, Bedwyr once again forgotten.

“I don’t have an arm!” Bedwyr shouted, again trying to get their attention. “How could I possibly protect you with one arm! How could I possibly lead your teulu with one arm! How could I be of any use to you—to anyone—with one arm!”

“You will serve my daughter and that’s the end of it,” Ygraine said, her tone as hard and cold and brittle as ice.

“I will not. Because I can’t. I’m sorry.”

He turned to go, but the whisper of a blade cutting through the air halted him. Quicker than thought, he had his blade out and whipped around, parrying the dagger Morrigan had thrown, turning it aside in midair.

Morrigan grinned. “Can’t?”

Bedwyr suddenly couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I told you so,” Ygraine said with satisfaction. “And I am never wrong.”

“Except about this dress,” Morrigan muttered.

Bedwyr left as the two began to argue again. He knew enough to know when he was beaten.

A
RTHUR ENTERED BRENIN
Llys, his head held high, trying to tell himself he didn’t look like a complete fool. He walked slowly as the crowd—kings and queens, captains and lieutenants, Y Dawnus—all parted for him.

The gold-sheathed room shimmered. The fountain in the center sparkled and laughed as he passed it by. To the right of the steps leading up to the throne the Treasures gleamed silently. The pearls of Y Llech, the Stone of Nantsovelta, gleamed. The opals of Y Honneit, the Spear of Mabon, shimmered. The emeralds of Y Pair, the Cauldron of Modron, glistened and the sapphires of Y Cleddyf, the Sword of Taran, glittered.

His mother stood to the left of the steps. Oddly enough, Gwen stood next to Ygraine. He stopped in front of them both.

“Mam,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

She gave him one of her rare smiles, her dark eyes proud. “My son,” she said, reaching up to him and laying her cool hand on his check.

“Live here in Cadair Idris. Please.”

Her brow rose. “Morrigan must have promised you quite a bit for that offer.”

He grinned. “She did.”

Ygraine actually laughed. “I am sure she did.”

Arthur turned to Gwen. “You are beautiful today.”

“Just today?” she asked. Her golden hair cascaded down to her waist. She wore a gown of white, trimmed with gold. A golden niam-lann bound her brow and her flawless skin gleamed. Her blue eyes pierced him, challenging him, as she always had.

“No, not just today. You have always been beautiful to me.”

Before she could reply, he turned and mounted the eight steps leading up to the throne. The jewels twinkled beneath his feet as he climbed—topaz and amethyst, emerald and pearl, ruby and onyx, opal and sapphire.

Gwydion and Rhiannon stood on either side of the massive, golden throne. The upswept eagle’s wings that formed the backrest glimmered as though the eagle was thinking of taking flight.

“Uncle,” Arthur said to Gwydion. But Gwydion would have none of Arthur’s formality and pulled Arthur towards him and embraced him. Arthur, astonished, nonetheless had the presence of mind to return the embrace. He turned to Rhiannon, cocking his thumb at Gwydion.

“What’s got into him?” he asked, trying to sound casual but failing completely.

“Joy,” Rhiannon answered, her smile as bright and welcome as the dawn.

“Get used to it, nephew,” Gwydion said with a grin.

“I’ll try!”

Arthur sat on the golden throne and surveyed the throng. The Rulers of Kymru were all there, as well as their captains and lieutenants. His four Great Ones were also there, as well as many Y Dawnus come from the colleges or recently recovered from their wounds at the battle. He saw Myrrdin and Neuad hurry in, both looking somewhat disheveled and he could not hide his grin. Nor, frankly, could many others when they saw. But Arthur, taking pity on his great-uncle, did not say what he was thinking as the two of them made their way up toward the front, hand in hand.

“My friends, brave, beautiful folk of Kymru, we gather today to witness the fruits of our labors. For we have been victorious over the enemy, and Kymru belongs to us, once again!”

Their shouts almost deafened him, and he had to wait some time for the noise to die down. He saw tears of joy on many faces, and was aware that there were some on his own.

“We begin today with returning the rightful rulers to their places. First, I declare that Queen Elen of Ederynion, onetime captive of the enemy, is confirmed as Queen.”

Elen stepped forward, flanked by her brother, Lludd, and by Prince Rhiwallon. Rhiwallon offered no excuse for standing with her, but the look on his face spoke volumes.

“Queen Elen, do you have something to say?”

Elen bowed to Arthur. The silver and pearl torque of Ederynion glowed around her proud neck. “High King, I declare that Angharad ur Ednyved remains the PenAethnen of Ederynion.”

Angharad stepped forward proudly, her fiery red hair confined to a severe braid, her green eyes triumphant.

“High King,” Angharad called, “my Lieutenant, Emrys, was killed in the battle for Dinmael.”

“We are aware of your loss, Angharad, and mourn him,” Arthur replied.

“I have taken counsel with Queen Elen, and we have determined a successor for his post.”

“Name him.”

“We name Talorcan of Dere as lieutenant of Ederynion.”

Talorcan, standing to one side with Regan, paled. His mouth fell open in shock and he stood quite still, not believing what he had heard.

“But I, I’m Coranian!” Talorcan said in astonishment.

“You are one of us, Talorcan of Dere,” Arthur replied. “And as such have been called to serve your queen. Will you do so?”

“Yes!” Talorcan said quickly, his eyes gleaming. He bowed low to Elen. “I will serve you, my Queen, until the day I die. My life is yours.”