The Dragon Revenant (57 page)

“I’ll never love another woman,” Rhodry said. “I promise you that.”

“Don’t bind yourself to that! I wouldn’t want you to, ever. But you can promise me this: never love another woman the way you loved me, and I’ll promise you I’ll never love another man that same way.”

“Done, then.”

When he bent his head to kiss her, she twisted away.

“Please don’t kiss me, my love. It’ll only make things worse.”

Before he could answer she turned and fled, running from her lie as much as him. She flung open the door and burst out into the corridor only to charge smack into Gwin. She grabbed him by the collar and shoved him back against the wall.

“Were you spying on us?”

“Couldn’t understand a word you said. All I heard was the gwerbret yelling, and I’m supposed to be his bodyguard now, you little hellcat!”

When Jill let him go, she realized that it was sheer luck that had kept her from reopening his wounded shoulder. She took a deep breath to calm herself down.

“My apologies, truly. You’d better go in. He needs someone to talk to.” She started off down the corridor, then hesitated. “Oh, Gwin? Guard him well, will you? He’s going to need you badly in the next few weeks.”

Then she hurried on, leaving him staring puzzled after her, and ducked into the safety of Nevyn’s chambers. The old man was standing at the open window, and she realized with a profound shock that the first hint of dawn was turning the eastern sky gray.

“Nevyn, I’ve got to get out of here. Can’t we just pack and leave right now?”

“We can. My poor Jill, I—”

“Oh, don’t pity me! I can’t stand it, and I don’t deserve it. I lied to him, Nevyn. I stood there and told him I was barren, and that’s why I couldn’t marry him.”

“And what’s so wrong with that? No doubt he had to have some reason, one he could understand and cling to.”

“But a lie’s a wretched way to start a new life.”

“True, but there are lies, and then there are bandages for the soul.”

The dawn was full and golden by the time Jill and Nevyn were saddling their riding horses out in the ward, and Cullyn came out of the barracks to join them. He glanced at the laden pack mule, then nodded in understanding.

“You’re not marrying Rhodry.” It was no question.

“I’m not, Da. I just can’t. It’s the dweomer.”

“Ah.”

He looked round the ward, glanced down at the cobbles, then turned to look back at the stables.

“I’ll ride with you aways. Let me just fetch my horse.”

As he walked off, Jill realized that she’d be leaving him behind irrevocably, too. For the briefest of moments she wavered; then she caught Nevyn watching her.

“You were right,” he said. “The sooner we get on the road, the better.”

They took the south-running road from Belglaedd, heading toward the coast road that ran to Deverry proper, just as the sun was turning hot with the promise of summer. When, after about an hour, Cullyn paused his horse in the road and announced he’d best be getting back, Nevyn rode a little ways along to give them a private word with each other. Cullyn led Jill down a side lane into an apple orchard, where the branches, heavy-laden with white blossoms, hung down over a whitewashed stone fence, so that it seemed they sat on horseback in the midst of clouds.

“Well, my sweet, it’s a strange road you’ve chosen to ride.”

“It chose me, Da, and a long long time ago.”

He nodded his agreement, his eyes distant, as he thought something through. Through the perfumed mist around them the sun came in shafts.

“A better road than mine,” he said at last, and he rose in the stirrups to catch a branch and break off a cluster of apple blossoms. “Want some?”

He broke the cluster in half, handed her a sprig, then tucked the other behind one ear with a laugh for the surprise on her face.

“A warrior’s like these flowers, Jill. Like them we have our splendor in the spring, and it’s over cursed soon. I’ve been lucky enough to see my summer through, but not a lot of us are. Think about that when you remember me.”

“I will, Da. Promise.”

He watched while she tucked the sprig behind her ear; then he turned and rode off without another word. Her eyes filled with tears, but she wiped them away, thinking how odd it was that her last sight of him would be with flowers in his hair.

Rhodry rode home to Aberwyn on a day that seemed to have been arranged by the gods as the perfect backdrop for spectacle: brilliantly sunny, yet cool with a soft spring wind that kept the banners snapping and the horses’ manes flowing. All along the road the grass and the spring wheat stood tall and green; the trees shimmered in new leaf. Farmer and lord alike rushed out as the procession rode by to cheer and wave to their new overlord. When they reached the city gates, they found them mobbed with well-wishers, and the city walls, too, were lined with a cheering crowd. As they worked their way along the twisting streets to the dun itself, women threw flowers and little children ran after the warbands, turning the trip into a ragged parade.

“Looks like they’re glad to see you, Your Grace,” Cullyn remarked.

“No doubt.” Rhodry grinned at him. “It means there won’t be war. They’d welcome the Lord of Hell himself if he had a clear claim to the rhan.”

From Cullyn’s slight and ironic smile, he knew that his captain agreed.

At the massive gates of Dun Aberwyn Lady Lovyan stood waiting, wearing the plaid of Aberwyn in her role as regent, but her kirtie was woven of the browns and reds of the Clw Coc to remind everyone that she was a lord in her own right as well. She was also wearing the ceremonial sword of the gwerbrets, slung over her shoulder in an antique baldric, because she was too short to carry it gracefully in a sword belt. As Rhodry dismounted, she strode to meet him, and the golden hilt winked and the jewels sent long sparks of sunlight around her face.

“Am I welcome here, regent?” Rhodry said.

“Always, my lord, to what is rightfully yours.” With a flourish bespeaking some practice, Lovyan drew the sword and handed it to him hilt-first. “It gladdens my heart to welcome you home.”

The crowd shrieked and screamed like banshees as Rhodry hoisted the sword and held it over his head so all could see. Cullyn stepped forward and smoothly drew Rhodry’s own sword so he’d have a free scabbard to sheathe the golden one, then fell in behind him as he and Lovyan walked into the dun. Their path was lined with servants and riders, all cheering and waving, and on either side the door the dragon banners fluttered in the wind, as if they too greeted the heir. Just inside stood a handsome dark-haired woman with her hands on the shoulders of a beautiful little girl, all scrubbed and combed and dressed in a cut-down version of adult finery.

“My wife, Your Grace,” Cullyn prompted. “And your daughter.”

From the way the crowd was watching him, Rhodry knew they expected a grand gesture; a simple acknowledgement of paternity would be far too paltry for the occasion. He knelt down in front of the child, whose enormous violet eyes studied him with all the haughtiness of a great lady. Around her clustered a gaggle of gnomes and sprites, and in the air above hovered a pair of sylphs. She brought such a feeling of wildness with her that seeing her was like stepping into a forest.

“Know who I am?” Rhodry said. “My da.”

“That’s right.” Ye gods, he was thinking, what have I sired? She’s more an elf than I am! “Want to sit at the table of honor with me?”

“I do.”

When he held out his arms, she allowed herself to be picked up, and the gnomes danced round his feet as he carried her across the great hall.

Because of the pomp and ceremony, Lovyan had no chance at a private word with Rhodry that day. First all the noble-born servitors had to welcome the Maelwaedd home; then his vassals appeared to swear their oaths of loyalty; finally there was an enormous feast that lasted until well after midnight. Since she went to bed long before the revelers, when she came down the next morning, she was expecting to find the great hall empty, but Rhodry was sitting alone at the head of the honor table, drinking a tankard of ale and staring into the peat fire smoldering at the hearth.

“His Grace is up early,” Lovyan said.

“I never did need much sleep.” He rose, making her a half-bow. “Come sit down, Mother. I’ve much to thank you for.”

A servant appeared, bringing her usual morning bowl of warm milk and honey and a basket of fresh bread and butter. Rhodry took a chunk of the latter and nibbled it while they talked over the current business of the rhan, the spring taxes and the feuding lords who might or might not need his judgments on their affairs. She was surprised at how seriously he listened, asking her often to explain some detail or to recommend some servitor to tell him more. Finally he grinned at her.

“I can practically hear you thinking: ye gods, how much he’s changed!”

“Well, you have. I haven’t seen you for three years—or a bit more now, truly.”

“Do you remember, Mother, when you told me that I’d never been raised to rule? You were right enough, and now I know it, too. There’s much work ahead of me, but I promise you, I’ll tend to it.”

“I’m pleased to hear it, Your Grace. At least you can read and write. I insisted on that, you know, even though your father thought it a waste of time for a younger son.”

“No doubt he did.” For a moment Rhodry looked oddly distracted; then he smiled. “There’s one thing particularly pressing at the moment. I’ve got to marry, and soon.”

“Just so.” She hesitated for a long moment. “I don’t mean to cause you grief, but what’s happened to Jill?”

“She left me. That should be cursed obvious.”

“Very well. I don’t have to know why.”

“Oh, in a year or two I’ll tell you. Once the wound’s not running blood.”

When he stood up, pacing restlessly to the hearth, she followed, willing to let the subject drop for a while to spare him pain, but he continued it himself.

“I’m going to marry out of the rhan.”

“It would be best that way. When I heard you were safe, I started negodations with the tieryn of Elrydd. His elder daughter is lovely as well as shrewd.”

“Too bad, because you’ll have to break them off. I’ve sent Blaen off to be my second and ask for Ygwimyr of the Auddglyn’s sister. Aedda, I think her name is. I don’t give a pig’s fart what she looks like. I want that alliance.”

“What? Rhoddo, I’ve met that child at court, and she’s one of the worst choices you could make! She’s a pretty little thing, with lovely manners but no brains at all, and she’s as timid as a field mouse.”

“Too blasted bad.”

“Rhodry!”

By then the great hall was coming alive, with sleepy lords and riders alike stumbling in for their breakfasts. In a mutual silent agreement they went up to her reception chamber, a spacious room where the windows stood open to let in the soft spring sun. In a shaft of dust-flecked light they faced each other.

“If His Grace had only sent me a messenger, I’d have naught to say about it,” Lovyan said, picking each word carefully. “But as it is, things are most awkward …”

“If Her Grace had only waited to consult me, all the awkwardness would have never arisen. I’m sorry, Mother, but you’ll have to deal with Elrydd and put them off. Come now, you’re good at that sort of thing. You’ll doubtless enjoy all the politicking and wrangling.”

Lovyan suppressed an impulse to slap him, the way she would have once. All over again she felt that she was dealing with a stranger.

“I cannot believe that Blaen, well-intentioned though he is, is the proper person to arrange an important marriage.”

“And I disagree. It’s too late, anyway. By now his speeded courier will be at Ygwimyr’s with the letter asking for his sister.”

“Rhodry, you’ve never met the lass. I have.”

He shrugged and strode to the window to look down.

“Why are you so set on a marriage-bond with the Auddglyn? I simply don’t understand.”

“My apologies, Mother. There’s somewhat you don’t know.” He turned with one of his unhuman sunny smiles.

“On the Auddglyn coast there’s a town called Slaith. Ever heard of it? Of course not—neither have most people. It’s a pirate haven, and Ygwimyr’s known of it for years and done naught about it. Why? Because he doesn’t have a fleet. When he marries his sister to me, he’ll get the use of mine, because in return I’ll get the right to sail into his rhan and burn that stinking filthy hellhole to the ground.”

Although he was still smiling, his eyes were terrifying, not with the blind berserker rage she’d seen so many times before, but with an icy hatred, self-aware and murderous. Involuntarily she stepped back a few paces.

“By all accounts Aedda will make a decent-enough wife,” Rhodry went on. “Since the one woman I want in all the kingdom is beyond my reach, any other will do well enough—so long as she’s related to Gwerbret Ygwimyr.”

“I see.” Although she wanted to say more, her mind seemed to have failed her, and for the first time in her life, she truly did feel that she was growing old. “Well, there’s naught that I can do about it, then, is there?”

“Naught.” He smiled again, more normally, and softened his voice. “Ah, Mother, my apologies. We’ll soothe Elrydd’s feelings with a good chunk of gold, and in a year or two, it’ll all be forgotten and done with. If his lass is a great beauty, she’ll have better men than me hunting her.”

“Well,
that’s
certainly true enough.”

At the steel in her voice his smile disappeared.

“Since His Grace has matters so well taken care of,” she went on, “I’ll be returning to Dun Gwerbyn soon, if indeed His Grace intends to leave that rhan in my hands.”

“By every god! What do you think I’d do, steal your rightful inheritance over some little thing like this?”

“It’s not a little thing, Rhodry. That’s what you’re refusing to understand. For a man like you the wrong kind of marriage can poison his whole life—and his rule. You need a partner, not a mouse. Why can’t you just make some ordinary war pact with Ygwimyr …”

“Because he’s a jealous, suspicious bastard, and there’s not a hope in all three hells of him letting me on his lands unless I’m kin. Mother, I’m not discussing this any more.”