by Holly Taylor
It still made him uneasy that the Coranians had taken Arianrod and her unborn child with them. But he had promised Havgan, as Rhiannon had so insistently reminded him. And there was nothing to be done about it now.
As Tybion helped him put on his gold-lined boots, Arthur glanced around the huge room. The High King’s chambers were opulent, opulent enough to make Arthur wonder if Idris, Macsen, and Lleu had ever been truly comfortable here. The bed was large, surely the largest one he had ever seen, with a gilt headboard. The coverlet and hangings glittered silver and gold in the light of the roaring fire in the huge fireplace. Hangings covered the walls. Spun by the woolworkers of Gwynedd, they depicted Cadair Idris in various seasons—surrounded by the first flowers of spring, by heavily laden fruit trees in summer, by blowing leaves of gold and red in autumn, and by bright snow in winter.
Massive wardrobes covered one entire wall, making Arthur wonder who would ever have enough possessions to fill them. He sighed, for he supposed that one day he would. And would, no doubt, have to wear them all in ceremony after endless ceremony.
Tybion glanced up at Arthur as he finished putting on the boots. “My lord?” he asked, at Arthur’s sigh.
“Nothing,” he muttered.
But Tybion smiled unexpectedly. “It is a bit much, isn’t it?”
Arthur, startled to see sympathy in his Steward’s eyes, grinned. “Frankly, I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it.”
“Perhaps not,” Tybion conceded.
“It’s just so huge. Almost half of one entire level.”
“There is the round table in the center, where the rooms connect” Tybion pointed out. “It takes up a great deal of room. You could easily get all the rulers, their captains, your Great Ones, and their heirs around it at once.”
“And isn’t that a fun thought?” Arthur murmured.
“And then the rest of the level is made up of the High Queen’s apartments.”
For some reason, Arthur blushed. He didn’t even want to determine why.
“Which are currently empty,” Tybion pressed on, “but won’t be empty forever.”
Arthur did not answer, but became very busy, all of a sudden, adjusting his boots.
“We hope,” Tybion said.
Arthur looked up suddenly, sure that Tybion was laughing at him. But his Steward’s face was impassive. Had Arthur just imagined the momentary gleam of laughter in Tybion’s blue eyes?
“All is ready for your journey tomorrow,” Tybion said. The Steward’s abrupt change of subject was more than welcome to Arthur.
“The last time I went to any of the colleges for a graduation ceremony I was only four years old. Gwydion, Susanna, and Cai accompanied me. It will be strange to be there again.”
“Strange for many,” Tybion said solemnly, “for it has been three years since there were any ceremonies.”
“My Great Ones have done well to be ready for them in such a short time,” Arthur said proudly.
“Indeed they have.”
Caer Duir, though not occupied by the Coranians, was in another way the most challenging of the colleges to restore. Cathbad had corrupted the Druids, and Sinend was finishing the task of rooting out enemies within her own ranks. Her father, Aergol, had begun this assignment, for he had had intimate knowledge of the Druids truly allied to Cathbad’s cause. Armed with the knowledge Aergol had left behind, Sinend had recalled all Druids to Caer Duir. Those who had not come were declared outlaw and hunted down. Those that did come were examined, and many lost their posts. Sinend refused to collar any Druids, but there were other ways to ensure that they behaved, and Arthur left that to Sinend’s able leadership. For now she was assisted by her brother, Menw, but he would be leaving soon to go to Ederynion, for Queen Elen needed a Druid.
As for Neuadd Gorsedd and Y Ty Dewin, the common folk of Rheged had proudly assisted in putting these colleges to rights. For as soon as the Coranians were routed the people began to come to the two colleges, bringing with them books and other treasures that had been saved during the death march of the Y Dawnus across Rheged. A little over a year ago, the Coranians had, by treachery, found and invaded the caves of Allt Llwyd and hundreds of Y Dawnus had been captured. Many Bards and Dewin had carried precious books and instruments for as long as they could until they had fallen, dying from exhaustion and want. But after the army had moved on, the people of Rheged had come out to claim the bodies and had saved their belongings. Now that Kymru was free again, they had triumphantly returned the belongings to their rightful colleges.
Neuadd Gorsedd, the college of the Bards, had been occupied by the wyrce-jaga, and they had done much damage. Cynfar, with the able assistance of his great-uncle Dudod, had made a great deal of progress. Cynfar’s father, Elidyr, had been less helpful, for the man seemed to still be dazed by his wife’s death. Without a murmur he had given up his post as Master Bard to his son. But Cynfar, though he was young, was proving to be more than able. Many said he was like Anieron Master Bard all over again. There could be no higher praise.
Y Ty Dewin, which had been occupied by the Preosts of Lytir, had been in better shape, but the gardens had suffered and there was still much that needed to be put to rights. In this Llywelyn was ably assisted by Myrrdin.
And thinking of Myrrdin had Arthur grinning.
“My lord?” Tybion asked, curious.
“I was thinking of my great-uncle Myrrdin.”
At this Tybion grinned himself. Myrrdin had arrived at Cadair Idris late last night and had thus far managed to avoid the inevitable. But he couldn’t avoid it forever.
“I’d bet on Neuad any day,” Tybion said.
“So would I, Tybion. So would I.”
MYRRDIN DONNED HIS robe and settled its silvery folds. He glanced in the large mirror in his chamber. Not bad for an old man, he thought as his reflection gazed back. His white beard, newly washed, was cut short and his dark eyes glittered in the light of the flames dancing on the small hearth.
His smile faded as he again contemplated his reflection. He could see, now, the bags under his old man’s eyes put there by his journey yesterday. He had arrived late last night along with Llywelyn from Y Ty Dewin, and had gotten very little sleep thinking of what he must do today.
And he must. He had been a coward up to now, avoiding the coming moment. Avoiding the truth. Avoiding the pain he knew would soon come.
But he would wait no longer. He was determined to put an end to it—not for his sake but rather for hers.
For if it had been up to him he would never even contemplate doing what he was going to do. If it had been solely up to him, he would stay with her until the day he died. Which would, he thought, not be as far from now as he wished. And that was the problem.
Enough. He was stalling. Best to get it done. Find her, tell her, leave her, and mourn her for the rest of his life.
He marched to the door, determined at last, and flung it open, only to stop dead at the sight of her standing there.
“Myrrdin!” Neuad breathed, her beautiful blue eyes soft with love, her golden hair flowing down her slender shoulders to her slim waist.
He cleared his throat. “Neuad,” he said, forcing his voice to be neutral.
She smiled, paying no attention to his tone and stepped into his arms. He had not even been aware of having opened them to embrace her, but he had. She raised her flawless face to his and kissed him passionately.
At last he drew back and cleared his throat. “Neuad,” he began, more hesitantly than he meant to.
“Go ahead, Myrrdin,” she said, walking past him and into his room. “I am certain that this will be interesting.” She sat down on the bed and patted the mattress, inviting him to sit next to her.
Knowing better, he dragged up a chair and firmly settled into it, facing her. “Neuad, you must forget me.”
“Really?” she murmured, her blue eyes gazing at him in a way that made it hard for him to breathe.
“We—we have had a lovely interlu
de together.”
“Thank you,” she said softly. “I agree, it has been lovely.”
“And it has meant a great deal to me.”
“Myrrdin, cariad, do you think you could move this along a little?” she said sweetly. “We are going to be late.”
“Neuad,” he said desperately, “I’m too old for you.”
“There now, do you feel better?” she asked. “And are you done?”
“No,” he said, raising his voice a little in frustration. “I am not done! It’s over between us. As I said, these past few months have been wonderful. But it’s over.”
“It will never be over with us, Myrrdin,” she said, her tone still sweet, but her blue eyes beginning to cool.
“Neuad—”
“I will leave Queen Morrigan’s court and come to stay with you at Y Ty Dewin.”
“Neuad—”
“I’m pregnant.”
The words dried up in his throat. Stunned, he could only stare at her.
“My body tells me it happened the night before the battle. Do you remember that night?”
“I will remember that night for the rest of my life,” he breathed.
“And it will be a boy.”
“I—”
“And I will name him Lailoken. We will raise him together, you and I. And you will forget this foolish notion that you are too old for me.”
“I—”
“No more talk, Myrrdin,” she said softly, reaching out to gently touch his face. “There is no more to say—you are my man, and you will stay that way. Like it or not.”
Mesmerized by her eyes, he leaned forward and kissed her. She drew him to her on the bed and he thought no more about leaving her. Ever again.
They were going to be late for the ceremony. Very late, indeed.
GWYDION STRETCHED OUT on the bed, hands behind his head, and watched Rhiannon brush out her long, black hair. An occasional silver strand flashed beneath her comb, strands he thought just as beautiful as the shadowy ones that shimmered in the light of the fire.
For many years he had somehow always managed to watch Rhiannon. But he would never have thought there would come a time when he didn’t have to hide that fact. He would never have thought he could be so content, his heart so free, his burden lifted. So much had changed these past several weeks, he almost felt like a new man again.
For one thing, the dreams had passed from him and on to his daughter. Every night he slept soundly, dreamlessly, in Rhiannon’s loving arms. Every morning he woke up in a safe place, with his beloved beside him. Every day he saw Arthur shoulder his burdens, doing what he must to bring Kymru safely through the end of the storm and into safe harbor at last.
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.
GERIANT 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.
BEDWYR, 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.”
