by Lisa Rector
His nod confirmed her question. One grand window spanned the back of the room, allowing the sunlight to shine in. Paintings covered the walls, and several easels stood in the room with unfinished canvases on them. More artwork consisting of landscapes, portraits, and still lifes of various subjects leaned in rows against the walls and in the corners.
“Did you do these?” Ahnalyn asked, breathless as she tipped through the stacked canvases.
“Catrin and I did. We share the same love of art. It’s one of my hobbies. When you live forever you develop many talents.”
Ahnalyn lifted her hand to remove the cloth covering one of the easels.
Aneirin tried to intercept her but was too late.
She pulled the cloth down, revealing a painting of a charming, young emrys under the boughs of a willow tree. Ahnalyn’s breath caught in her throat. Her mother’s face smiled back at her. The artist had captured her in a pensive moment.
“My mother. Is this one yours?” Ahnalyn asked.
“Yes.” Aneirin turned scarlet up to his ears and flinched in a rare, awkward movement.
Ahnalyn searched his expression. “Are you sure you didn’t love her? You’re as red as your dragon stone.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “Not in the same way. She was one of my closest friends. I loved her like a sister.”
“Then why are you so embarrassed?”
“Embarrassed because it’s still sitting in the easel, and I haven’t been able to look at it for years. A day doesn’t go by when Catrin fails to look at it. She says she never wants to forget her face.”
“She was so dazzling. I almost forgot what she looked like.” Her voice quivered with those last words.
“You should have it. It’s yours.”
Ahnalyn smiled at Aneirin and turned back to the painting. “Thank you,” she muttered. A heavy ache set in her heart. Her mother could have been with her forever. She should still be alive. She could have even met her grandson.
Aneirin touched her shoulders and whispered in her ear. “I’m deeply sorry. I wish circumstances were different.”
“She’s dead because of me.”
“I told you that’s not true.” He wrapped his arms around Ahnalyn, but she squirmed out of his grip and turned to face him.
“Caedryn showed me in my dreams.”
“You can’t know that was how it happened. He twisted your dreams.”
“No, I remember. The memory was accurate. I did it… with my power—my dark power. I was so scared. It exploded out of me before I could stop it, before my mother could react to defend herself. They should have told me what I was. Then I would have known. I could have been taught how to control it.”
“But you were young. We don’t have a lot of control when we’re young.”
“That’s no excuse. How many emrys go around killing their parents?”
Aneirin just stood there, looking down at her.
“Answer me! None! I shouldn’t be here in Gorlassar. I’m dangerous. I’m evil. The same tainted blood that flows in my father’s veins flows in mine. You should have seen the looks the emrys in the city were giving us. Aneirin what are you doing? I don’t belong here.”
“He’s not your father.” Aneirin touched her chin. “You do belong here. I can teach you to control your light.”
Ahnalyn stepped back. “So what is this?” She gestured to the both of them. “Are you making up for your guilty feelings? Coming to rescue me? Telling me you love me? You don’t know me. I’m not my mother. I am not a replacement!”
“Ahnalyn, don’t make this difficult! Don’t you think I know you aren’t your mother? I did this for Seren! I did this for Niawen! You deserved to be saved. How could I leave you?” Aneirin searched pleadingly in Ahnalyn’s face. “And I know you don’t want to admit it, but I can’t help or hide how I feel about you. Look at my light. I can’t control it.”
He was glowing again. Apparently, even when you’re yelling at the one you love, you can still glow.
“Maybe you should try,” Ahnalyn said. “Cephias said you weren’t planning on falling in love for a couple of centuries. Why now?”
“I guess I had to meet the right person.” Aneirin shrugged, his voice had softened. He grinned at her, all forgiving in his face, while his eyes were asking—no pleading—for forgiveness back.
Why does he have to look at me like that?
“Aneirin… you… are just so…” She clenched her fists, at a loss for words. Tiny ridges framed his eyebrows, and he pursed his mouth together so his chin dented. Waiting. Hopeful. Aneirin was infuriating and, at the same time, difficult to resist.
Ahnalyn was a feeble match for his charms. Her muscles relaxed ever so imperceptibly as she fought to remain irritated. He was actually wearing her down with his smooth demeanor, squashing every volatile eruption that pulsed through her.
“Good enough for me.” Aneirin smiled, flashing his teeth.
He must have sensed her softening. Ahnalyn scolded herself.
His toasty hand grabbed hers. “Let’s go, I want to show you something else.”
They left the middle room and entered the one on the right, featuring a wardrobe and bureau and a generous bed with slate-blue bedding atop a low platform. A mild breeze floated through the room’s wide, open window, billowing cream-colored curtains.
“This is my room. You can sleep here. I’ll sleep on the chaise in the studio,” Aneirin said.
Ahnalyn ran her fingers over a silver comb and an ornate mirror on top of the bureau. “Your room is lovely. You don’t have to give up your bed. I can sleep in the studio.”
“Not likely,” Aneirin said. He led her to the rear of his room, where a door opened to the outside. “This is what I wish you to see.”
Ahnalyn and Aneirin emerged from the bedroom onto a path surrounded by luscious grass. A grove of trees rimmed the yard’s edge, and a path led from the back door to a gap between to lanky poplars.
“The trees are quite nice,” Ahnalyn said, sensing Aneirin was seeking approval.
“It’s an arboretum. I planted these trees myself when I first moved up here, at least two of most of the species here in the dragon realm. Over seven hundred. Cephias helped me gather them.” Aneirin puffed out his chest. “It’s my collection. The path winds through them for a mile and leads back here. Would you like to walk with me?” Aneirin held out his hand.
Ahnalyn took it. “Sure. Tell me about your trees.”
The more she learned about Aneirin, the more he amazed her. She shouldn’t let anything shock her anymore. The emrys displayed many capable talents and skills, causing her to feel insignificant. Aneirin’s concern for simplicity and nature, seen through his trees and art, and even in the style of his home, revealed his sensitive side. He cared about her and her son and about helping the mortal realms. He wanted to make up for Niawen’s leaving the dragon realm, though Ahnalyn couldn’t blame Aneirin for this—Niawen had made that choice.
As they meandered through the grove, Aneirin talked about his family and the emrys. Aneirin had thirteen siblings total, he being the youngest. Catrin was the second youngest, barely over seven hundred years old. Very few emrys were riders because they outnumbered the dragons, but Aneirin was lucky to have Cephias chose him. It just didn’t happen to any emrys. Aneirin’s favorite pastime was flying on Cephias, sometimes up into the mountains to camp for the night, just the two of them.
The pain surfaced in Aneirin’s eyes as he talked about Cephias. He missed their bond.
The more Aneirin talked about everything, the more he glowed under the shadow of the trees. His enthusiasm and love for life was all encompassing. Ahnalyn didn’t even think he noticed because it was so normal for an emrys. Just another everyday occurrence. To be so full of love and light—Ahnalyn didn’t think she could ever be this radiant. His skin took on a translucent sheen, rather like the sun shining through to the water’s depths. It made her catch her breath, and it made her want to cry.
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Aneirin stopped. “Are you all right?” He studied her face.
Ahnalyn looked at Aneirin in frustration, giving her head a slight shake. She turned away, but Aneirin wouldn’t let go of her hand.
“Don’t do that, Ahnalyn. Don’t turn away from me. Did I do something wrong, again? I want you to feel like you can tell me anything.”
“I can feel how you have such a huge passion and love of life. I don’t think I could ever match that. I would always feel inferior,” Ahnalyn blurted.
“Is that what you’re afraid of? Afraid you could never measure up to me? Ahnalyn, this couldn’t be further from the truth. You have great potential. I can see it.”
A tear burned in the corner of her eye. “I don’t see what you see.”
Aneirin turned, facing Ahnalyn. His hands slipped under her hair at the base of her neck, and he brought his forehead to her forehead and closed his eyes. Ahnalyn couldn’t help but notice every single breath she took. His touch made her so nervous.
“I don’t ask anything of you. I love you for who you are.” Aneirin pressed his lips to her cheek. Ahnalyn closed her eyes, as his lips touched her again and again, softly and slowly, up her cheek, until his mouth reached the corner of her eye, kissing away the tear. His hands cradled her head and his mouth lingered.
“I…” Ahnalyn started, breathless words barely coming out.
“Shh.” One of his thumbs ran over her lips.
Ahnalyn drew a deep intake of breath. She didn’t want to let Aneirin do this to her, but she stood there with his hands on her face. His lips kissed my face. His thumb touched my mouth.
Ahnalyn didn’t move.
Aneirin didn’t move.
They were frozen under a spell.
A rustling started in the treetops. The wind picked up and whipped Ahnalyn’s hair across her face. Mini rain droplets fell from the trees. The sky opened up, and a sudden cascade of water sheeted down upon them.
The spell was broken.
Aneirin and Ahnalyn bolted for the cottage.
They were drenched by the time they reached Aneirin’s bedroom. Dripping and laughing, Ahnalyn didn’t know whether the laughter was relief because the spell had been broken or exhilaration because of their run in the rain—maybe both.
Catrin bounced into the room with Einion. “I knew the downpour would bring you in. I have a bath ready for you, Ahnalyn. Thought you might like to relax and warm up.” Catrin shot Aneirin a chiding look.
“Thank you,” Ahnalyn said, through chattering teeth.
Ahnalyn followed Catrin, still carrying Einion, into the washroom off the kitchen. A metal tub, ample enough for a person to submerge herself in, sat in the room’s center, and a faucet protruded through the floor to fill the tub. Gauzy curtains covered a sink under the window, hiding the stormy skies. A wardrobe stood against one wall with a padded stool. Creating a soothing atmosphere ideal for a relaxing soak, candles blazed around the room. The tub waited, filled with water.
Catrin stuck her hand in the water. “Tell me when the temperature feels right.”
Ahnalyn dipped her hand into the bathtub, experiencing an increase in heat as Catrin poured her light’s energy into the water. “It feels perfect right… now.”
“Towels and robes are in here.” Catrin opened the wardrobe’s doors. Several bottles nestled together on a shelf. She selected one and poured the contents into the tub. “Lavender and rose water. Enjoy.”
Catrin left the room.
After stripping off her wet clothes, Ahnalyn climbed into the tub. The hot water instantly eased her rattling teeth as she sank under the surface. She should learn how to heat water like that. Sure would beat boiling it over a fire.
Now that she was alone without even her son to mind, Ahnalyn mulled life over. She was grateful the clouds were generous enough to rain when they did, providing the much-needed escape from the intense interlude with Aneirin. Why did he have to show such unconditional love for her? Surely a more worthy emrys existed for Aneirin to love?
Ahnalyn surfaced, leaned her head back, and sighed as she closed her eyes. Her thoughts came in rapid, punctuated succession. She could hardly follow them. They were so jumbled in her mind. What was she going to do? Lord Caedryn was attempting to conquer Talfryn. He had her dragon stone. She was half-emryn. Her son was half-emryn. Einion was heir to Terrin, which was under Caedryn’s cruel rule. Her father and her people, whom she cared about, were there. Ahnalyn, a total outsider, was here in the dragon realm. Aneirin was in love with her. Niawen had left Gorlassar because of her feelings for Aneirin. Everything was a mess.
Ahnalyn no longer resented her mother’s choice to leave Gorlassar and to conceal the truth about this realm and her heritage. She just didn’t understand why. With so much to learn, Ahnalyn was far behind, and in the time of the emrys, she was a mere child—a baby. She could understand Aneirin’s frustration.
She would be safe here and her son too. Einion could stay in the dragon realm and, when he was older, reclaim Terrin. He’d grow up with the opportunities she was without.
But Ahnalyn couldn’t ignore those people who had relied on Lord Brenin. He had made everyone feel safe. She had felt safe. Now Brenin was gone, and her people needed liberation from the evil tyrant. In her short time as Lady of Terrin, she had grown to love them. She would fight for them at whatever cost. Lord Caedryn would have to be dealt with.
The cooling bath water had originally calmed her, but now agitation bubbled under Ahnalyn’s skin. She stepped out of the tub and grabbed a towel, vigorously rubbing her body. Her clothes were still soaked, so she grabbed a robe, wrapped it around herself, and tied it shut. A tap at the door startled Ahnalyn.
Catrin stood there with a garment in her hands. “I have a gown for you to sleep in.” She handed Ahnalyn a white high-waisted garment, which flowed to the floor.
“Thank you,” Ahnalyn said. It looked too extravagant for sleeping. Ahnalyn was accustomed to less.
After pulling the gown on, Ahnalyn emerged from the room, looking for Einion. She found him in Aneirin’s arms, still awake and cooing. His little eyes were fixed on Aneirin, who was babbling in a goofy voice.
“Are you serious?” Ahnalyn asked.
“One cannot help baby-speak,” Aneirin said. He passed Einion to Ahnalyn.
“He looks like he’s grown since this morning.” Ahnalyn sighed.
“He has.” Aneirin smiled.
“I’m tired. Do you mind if I turn in?” she asked, as an attempt to avoid conversation about what happened in the grove, in the rain—in Aneirin’s arms.
“Not at all. We have a busy day tomorrow.” The disappointment was evident all over his face.
“What are we doing tomorrow?”
“Dragons. We’ll see where they train, and you need to fly on your own dragon.” Aneirin grinned. He leaned in, kissed Ahnalyn quickly on the cheek, and slipped away before she could say a word.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
PEACEFUL EXCITEMENT
Even though Aneirin’s bed was quite comfortable, between Einion’s feedings, Ahnalyn tossed and turned during the night. At length, when a glimmer of daylight lit the sky, she rose and stepped out the front door of the cottage.
Ahnalyn roamed to the edge of the hill overlooking the valley. Her breath caught in her throat. She was looking over the valley from her dream—the one she had when Aneirin chased her nightmares away. The same river glistened in the sun as flowers opened to its rays. Ahnalyn half expected Einion to run out of the cottage. Her suspicions grew that Aneirin was actually the one who had planted the dream in her mind. How could she have dreamt such an accurate portrayal?
But a person was emerging from the cottage, not Einion, but Catrin.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Catrin asked. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
Catrin led Ahnalyn to a path that started at the side of the house and led down the hill into a field of flowers. At least a dozen bee skeps sat in an open space.
“I wanted to show you what I enjoy.” Catrin’s face took on a golden sheen in the morning sun. “I collect honey from my bees. Watch, they will wake for the day and start right to work. They never stop until the night, when they rest. They’re rather remarkable.”
Catrin sat in the dewy grass and crossed her bare feet underneath her. With her hair flowing down her back and dressed in a radiant, white gown, she was absolutely carefree and serene, like this quiet moment surrounded by the dawning day.
Sitting beside Catrin, Ahnalyn felt like a lump of coal—black, hard, and rough. The difference was very obvious.
Chirrups of birds penetrated the silence as they waited.
A bee emerged from the nearest skep, buzzed over to a flower, and picked up the pollen before zipping to another flower and continuing on. More bees emerged from the hives. Soon the hillside was alive with a gentle humming of wings. The bees would come back to the hive, drop off the pollen covering their bodies, and venture out again. Everything in the field was alive, creating a wondrous magic.
“Little bees bring forth the most effort of any creature I’ve ever encountered,” Catrin said, over the humming. “They work diligently. The results of their labors are marvelous and sweet, and they bring life to the flowers by spreading the pollen. Their lives are ones of constant service.”
“They’re wonderful,” Ahnalyn said.
“Their inclination for the work is inborn. They don’t have to learn it. They just do it. It’s a part of them. They’re beautiful because of it, each one of them—the drones, the workers, and the queen. They all matter. Take away one position and the hive would die.”
Catrin patted Ahnalyn’s hand and gave it a little squeeze. Ahnalyn understood Catrin’s hidden sermon, and it spurred numerous questions. Did she matter? Was the light what made Ahnalyn special? Was that what Aneirin saw? How could her inborn abilities become second nature? Could she grow past her life of turmoil and turn it around? Only time would tell.
Catrin lifted her arms into the air in a lazy stretch that ended with a yawn. “I have more hives. They’re in various parts of the valley. Different honey from different flowers.” Catrin’s mouth twitched. “But I must excuse myself. A couple of handsome men approach, and they both want your attention.” Catrin winked, jumped up, and flitted away. Her movements were so fluid.
