Night Bird's Reign (41 page)

“She neglected to mention that,” Rhiannon said.

Swiftly, his head came up. For a moment he did not move, then he stood and turned around to face her. “Rhiannon ur Hefeydd. You came after all,” he said slowly.

“Well,” she said lightly, “I was in the area and I couldn’t resist dropping by.”

His gray eyes brightened and his mouth quirked slightly. “Were you now?”

“I was.”

“Well, now that you’re here, perhaps we could talk together like two civilized human beings.”

“Well,” she said dubiously, “we could try.”

“Why don’t you sit down?” He gestured for her to sit, and they sat on the green moss, facing each other.

“Why did you change your mind?” he asked, his silvery eyes keen.

“Someone tried to kill me.”

His hands clenched into fists, but he did not move otherwise. “Tell me,” he said quietly.

She told him of the attack, and of how she had hidden the body. “I didn’t want Gwen to find out,” she finished.

“Did you tell anyone? Rhoram, perhaps?”

“No. If I had told Rhoram he never would have let me leave Arberth.”

“Hard enough for you to leave as it was, I imagine,” Gwydion murmured.

She searched his face, looking for signs that he was mocking her, but he seemed to be quite serious. “It was,” she said shortly.

“Then I am even more indebted to you for coming. There was an attempt on my life also.”

“Where? When?”

“In Ederynion. At Mabon’s festival.”

“Before you came to find me.”

“Yes. The man was killed. He took poison rather than give up the name of his master.”

“And my would-be murderer told me nothing of who—only why,” Rhiannon mused.

“The Captains of the four kingdoms will join us here in Caer Dathyl by tomorrow. They have their own roles to play, according to the poem given to me by the High Kings. But I, for one, will be very grateful for their expert protection. There is none better.”

The afternoon sun poured through the rowan branches, pooling between them as they sat facing each other.

Gwydion’s sharp gaze softened a little. “Rhiannon, I am glad you have come.”

The intensity of his gaze made her drop her eyes. “I am tired,” she said abruptly, as she stood. “It has been a very long journey for me.”

His tone was full of indifference as he replied, “Find Dinaswyn, then. She will show you to your room.” He waved her away and turned slightly to stare at a bright patch of berries hanging from one of the trees.

She turned and left the grove. She did not look back. And so did not know that Gwydion turned back to look at her the moment she had turned away. He did not take his eyes from her until she was gone.

Part 3

The Search

On winter’s first day

The one who is loved shall die,

And tears will overwhelm

The lonely heart.

Taliesin
Fifth Master Bard
Circa 275

Chapter Sixteen

Caer Dathyl Kingdom of Gwynedd, Kymru Ysgawen Mis, 494

Suldydd, Cynyddu Wythnos—early afternoon

T
he silence spun out as Gwydion and Rhiannon sat across from each other in the study of the Dreamer’s Tower.

Gwydion was not at all surprised by the silence—he had expected it. After all, Rhiannon had lived in isolation with only her daughter for company for many years. She would not be adept at the art of conversation so soon after leaving her forest.

And he—well, he had not been one for conversation either these past years. Even as a child he had often kept his own counsel.

No, he was not at all surprised by the silence.

But he was surprised by how comfortable it was.

It seemed almost a companionable silence, one that was not filled with the anxiety to speak or the desire not to. And that made him very uncomfortable indeed.

The room was a cozy one, illuminated by the bright fire that blazed on the hearth and by numerous candles placed in golden, branched candleholders. Floor to ceiling bookshelves covered the walls, broken only by the door to his sleeping chamber and the door leading to the lower levels. This door was carved with four silvery disks to represent the four phases of the moon. The ceiling was hung with clusters of small, silvery globes modeled on the constellations that wheeled in the sky above Kymru.

In anticipation of their guests six wooden chairs were placed around a long, wooden table in the center of the room. For now, both he and Rhiannon sat in cushioned chairs before the fire.

Gwydion glanced at Rhiannon, knowing that she would not notice his stare, for she was Wind-Riding.

He took the opportunity to study her in a leisurely fashion, which he would not have done if she had been paying attention. His gaze lingered on her beautiful emerald eyes, her high cheekbones, her slim neck, her full breasts, and her slender waist. If she hadn’t been so patently dangerous he would have considered offering himself as a sexual partner. But she was dangerous. He knew it. He knew with every fiber of his being that to become involved with her would be like playing with fire. But fire was not to be toyed with. No, he would not toy with her, much as he might want to. And he did want to.

At last she stirred and her emerald eyes sharpened. Gwydion quickly looked away from her and into the fire.

“They are coming,” she said, and though there were no windows for Gwydion to check the truth of her statement, he did not need to. For she was right. They were here, at last.

T
HE DOOR OPENED
slowly, and Dinaswyn stood framed by the doorway. “Your guests have arrived, Dreamer,” she said formally, then stepped aside to gesture them in.

The first one through the door was Achren, King Rhoram’s Captain. Her black hair was tightly braided to her scalp. Her black and green riding leathers were travel-stained. The badge of Prydyn, a black wolf on a field of green, glittered on her tunic. Her cloak was forest green wool. Her dark eyes were bright as she saw her old friend again. Rhiannon flew from her chair and embraced Achren.

“So,” Achren said with a grin, “we meet again.”

“So we do,” Rhiannon answered dryly with a glance at Gwydion, “at the will of the Dreamer.”

“Indeed,” Achren said. “And I must say,” she went on, turning to Gwydion, “this had better be good. I’ve been on the road for almost a month.”

“As have I,” Angharad said as she entered the room. Her tunic and trousers of white and sea green were dusty, but her green eyes were bright and alert. The badge of Ederynion, a white swan on a field of sea green, was sewn onto her tunic. Her molten red hair was bound in a braid that reached down to the small of her back, and her cloak was sea green. “And I agree with Achren,” she went on, “this had indeed better be good.”

“Rhiannon ur Hefeydd,” Gwydion said formally, “this is Angharad ur Ednyved, the Captain of Queen Olwen of Ederynion.”

Both Rhiannon and Angharad formally bowed to each other.

“So, you were indeed found,” Angharad said, her brows raised.

“And persuaded to come to Caer Dathyl, like the rest of us,” Trystan said as he entered. His dark brown hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck with a strip of red leather. His green eyes sparkled as he smiled. His red cloak and his leather tunic and trousers of red and white were clean but worn and the white horse on a field of red, the badge of Rheged was fastened to his tunic. “Like these ladies I came from a long way myself. Unlike them, my looks are diminished by my weariness.”

“Very good, Trystan,” Angharad said. “Flattery will get you almost anywhere.”

“Almost,” Trystan said, his hand on his heart. “You cut me to the quick.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Angharad answered dryly.

“Very wise,” Cai said the last one through the study door. His brown hair hung loose to his shoulders, and his sharp brown eyes were alert as he took in the entire room at a glance. He wore riding leathers of blue and brown and the badge of Gwynedd, a brown hawk on a field of blue, was fastened to his tunic. He had discarded his brown, woolen cloak and carried it over his arm.

“Rhiannon, this is Trystan ap Naf, Captain to King Urien of Rheged and Cai ap Cynyr, Captain to King Uthyr of Gwynedd.”

The two men bowed to Rhiannon, then moved forward to the table at Gwydion’s signal. Angharad and Achren also moved to the table, sitting opposite the two men. Rhiannon took her place at one end of the table while Gwydion turned to dismiss Dinaswyn. But Dinaswyn was too canny to remain for a dismissal and had already left.

“So,” Gwydion said as he took his seat, “let us begin.”

But Rhiannon interrupted him. “Actually, I’m curious about Alban Nerth. I suppose that most of you were on the road traveling during the festival.”

He realized that she was right—they all needed some time to settle in, and talking of the Alban Nerth celebrations that took place just two weeks ago would help to do that. Alban Nerth specifically honored the warrior. All day warriors participated in games of strength and agility such as archery, spear throwing, and horseback riding. The three or four warriors that excelled at these games took part in one final contest: to be the first to shoot their arrow through an apple in mid-air.

“Actually, I did not have to leave Tegeingl until four days ago,” Cai said. “So I was in the city for the festival.”

“And no doubt won,” Rhiannon smiled.

Cai grinned ruefully. “Actually, I didn’t. I was one of the four to shoot for the apple, but another’s arrow found it first.”

“Uthyr’s,” Gwydion said with a certainty.

“Uthyr’s indeed,” Cai agreed. “The only person on Earth I am not ashamed to lose to.”

“I was on the road,” Achren volunteered. “Which means I missed my chance of winning this year against Rhoram. He won last year and I was disappointed not to be able to challenge him again.”

“No doubt he won and put the arrow through the apple again this year, too,” Rhiannon answered.

“No doubt,” Achren said gloomily. “And no doubt I will hear about it every day until next Alban Nerth.”

“But surely you won wherever you stopped for that day,” Trystan said. “I know I did.”

“Of course I did!” Achren exclaimed. “Do you think I don’t know my business?”

“He didn’t say that,” Angharad jumped in. “He said—”

“I heard him,” Achren replied shortly. “And since when does Trystan need you to defend him?”

Both the women’s hands flew to the daggers at their waists. Rhiannon swiftly got to her feet. “I think,” Rhiannon said quietly, “that a brief rest might be in order. After all, you have both traveled far and are no doubt tired.”

Angharad jerked her head at Rhiannon. “Who is she who thinks she knows so much about what does or does not wear out a Captain of Kymru?”

“She’s a civilian,” Achren answered. “She doesn’t know any better. But she’s a friend of mine, so don’t be rude.”

“I, rude?” Angharad asked in astonishment.

“Some might think so,” Achren said with a grin.

“Come, come, ladies,” Trystan said with a warm smile. “Let’s begin again, shall we?”

“What’s that about?” Achren asked with her brow quirked.

“He thinks he’s charming,” Angharad explained seriously.

“Ah, charming.” Achren slowly stood up and leaned over the table toward Trystan. “Do not make the mistake of thinking I am a woman first,” she said quietly. “For, above all, I am the Captain of Prydyn and if you annoy me with your insistence of calling me a ‘lady’ I will wipe the floor with you.”

Trystan rose and planted his hands on the table, his smile gone. “And do not make the mistake of thinking that I won’t hurt a woman,” Trystan said. “If you annoy me further you will find that out for sure.”

“Don’t even think about it, Trystan,” Angharad said, her green eyes flashing. “If you take her on you take me on as well.”

Cai rose at that. “I hardly think that this is constructive,” he began.

But the three other captains turned on him as one. “Shut up!” they exclaimed.

At that, Cai’s face hardened and his brows drew together. In a dangerously quiet tone he said, “Do not even consider angering me. You would not want to see what happens if you do.”

Finally, with a sigh, Gwydion rose, the last one of them to have remained seated. “While this has been very amusing, perhaps if you gave me a few moments of your precious time we could accomplish something.” He did not raise his voice, yet they all slowly sank back into their seats nonetheless.

“Now,” he said when they were all seated and the room was silent, “let me tell you—” But what he saw in the doorway halted him, and the words died on his lips. The others swiveled in their chairs to face the doorway, and Gwydion noted dimly that each of the Captains had their hands on their daggers. A formidable group indeed.

But the figure in the doorway raised his hands in mock surrender. “I give up,” Amatheon said, pretending to cringe in fear.

“Amatheon!” Gwydion exploded. “What in the name of the Shining Ones are you doing here?”

“Interesting question,” Amatheon said as he sauntered into the room. “One I would like an answer to as much as you.” He bowed to Rhiannon and placed a kiss on her palm. “Welcome back, lady, to the land of the living.” Something in his voice, in his eyes, apparently put Rhiannon at ease and she did not take offense. Instead, she smiled faintly.

But before she could speak Gwydion rapidly crossed the room to stand before his younger brother. Amatheon wore riding leathers of silvery gray and his dark hair was pulled back and secured at the nape of his neck with a silver clasp. His Dewin’s torque of silver and a single pearl glittered at his throat. His blue eyes were weary with travel but he smiled at his brother.

“Amatheon,” Gwydion began his voice even but not concealing his anger, “what are you doing here?”

“I tell you, brother, I do not know. I know only that I had to come.”

“And I know only that you have to go!” Gwydion exclaimed.

“Not smart, Gwydion,” Rhiannon said.

Gwydion turned on her. If she was going to defend his brother—