by Holly Taylor
“Viper or not,” Havgan murmured, “I mean to have her. And there are ways, Catha, of controlling venomous snakes.”
“You cut off their heads,” Baldred suggested.
“No,” Havgan said serenely, “you charm them.”
“Good luck,” Baldred said dubiously. “You’ll need it.”
Havgan marched up to the dais, Sledda and Sigerric on either side of him, with Penda, Baldred, Catha, and Talorcan following behind. Gwydion stayed where he was, blending with the crowd. Havgan and his men bowed to the royal family.
“I come to make my greetings upon my return to fair Athelin,” Havgan said. “And to feast my eyes on the even fairer Aelfwyn.” He smiled up at the Princess, who colored, but remained silent.
“And how did you find the state of the country, Lord Havgan?” the Empress asked smoothly. “Was all to your liking?”
“You are kind to ask, fair Empress,” Havgan replied easily. “I regret to say that the city of Tamworth was not as clean as I would like. But I left word with your brother about the trash littering the streets.”
“And was all satisfactory in Dere?” the Emperor inquired innocently.
Havgan smiled genuinely. “Indeed. The Arch-wyrce-jaga Hensa put on a splendid hunt for us. Not one single Heiden was left alive.”
The crowd clapped enthusiastically. “Well done, Lord Havgan. It was our hope that your journey was all that you could have wished for,” the Empress said with manifest insincerity. She must still be irritated over her brother’s failure to kill Havgan, Gwydion thought, or she would have kept her sarcasm under tighter wraps.
Havgan bowed. “Thank you. It was, indeed, all that I could have wished for.” He bowed, then started to move away. He turned back abruptly, as though just struck by a new thought. “Oh, one other thing. I have never seen the gardens of Cynerice Scima. They are reputed to be magnificent. Might I take a stroll there?”
“You wish to walk in the gardens?” the Empress repeated in a puzzled tone.
“Indeed. They are very fine, as I understand.”
“Oh. Well, perhaps you wish for some company on your walk,” she said.
“I think not. You are kind to offer.”
The Empress smiled and took her daughter’s hand, turning to Havgan. “Aelfwyn knows every inch of the gardens. Allow her to show them to you.”
Aelfwyn gasped and tried to snatch her hand back. But her mother held tight.
“I do not wish to trouble her,” Havgan said doubtfully. “I really would prefer—”
“No trouble at all, is it, Aelfwyn dear? You must keep Havgan company.” She stressed the last word ever so slightly.
After a pause, Aelfwyn nodded. “If you wish for my company, Lord Havgan,” she said coolly, “it is yours.”
Havgan smothered a grin, and reached out to take Aelfwyn’s cold hand in his own. He bowed, then the two of them left the hall. Havgan signaled for Gwydion to follow them, as he and the Princess walked out arm in arm. Gwydion smothered a grin himself, for this was what Havgan had been after all along.
THE GARDENS WERE nice, Gwydion admitted, though that was scarcely the point. Delphiniums and snapdragons blossomed in spiky profusion against the low, rocky walls lining the graveled paths. Blue cornflowers and white chamomile set off the red and yellow rockrose that sprawled across the shining stones.
Irises surrounded a pool in the center of the garden, and water lilies floated on its calm surface. Havgan guided Aelfwyn to a bench beside the pool. He plucked a delicate sprig of lily of the valley and gravely presented it to her. Hesitantly, she took it in her hands.
“Accept a poor adornment from a man who longs to please you. Diamonds you have. And this is but a poor flower. Yet it is only the first of many gifts I will give you.” Smiling, he plucked it from her fingers and tucked the sprig behind her delicate ear.
“The first of many gifts you will give me?” she said sweetly. “I think the first one of us to give gifts shall be me. After all, it is only by becoming my husband that you can be Emperor.”
“So, Princess. Truly do they call you Steorra Heofen. For you shine as brightly as the stars,” Havgan said. “And as cold.”
“To some, perhaps,” she said, idly plucking the flower from her hair and twirling it in her slender fingers.
“Aelfwyn, we are to be wed—”
“That,” she said sharply, “remains to be seen.”
“Ah. Do you truly believe that Aelbald can defeat me?”
“No,” she said, not looking at him. “But I hope for it.”
“You prefer that weak fool to me?”
“At least he is not the son of a fisherman. I do prefer him to you. Immensely.”
“Of course, you do. Because you will not find a fisherman’s son as easy to control. I will not be an Emperor like your beloved father, my dear. And you will not hold the same place as your mother. And it galls you, doesn’t it?”
Well, so much for charming the viper, Gwydion thought sourly. Apparently Havgan had given up on that tactic.
Aelfwyn rose, but Havgan yanked her back down. “Now, Aelfwyn,” he said in a pleasant tone, his amber eyes glittering, “we can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way. But we will do this. You and I are to be married. I will win the tournament. And you can be my partner or my enemy. Whichever you please.”
“You’re hurting me,” Aelfwyn said stiffly.
“I mean to. And it can get worse, Aelfwyn. Much, much worse. Now choose.”
Again she tried to pull away, but he held her fast.
“I can call the guards,” she threatened.
“Yes. Today you can. But later, when we are wed, you won’t be so lucky.”
She abruptly stopped struggling and stared at Havgan, her green eyes finally showing fear.
“Now, Aelfwyn, let’s try this again. Partner or enemy? Answer.”
“I’ll never feel anything for you but hatred,” Aelfwyn burst out. “Never.”
“Hate me all you want, Aelfwyn. It means nothing to me. But don’t work against me. Don’t even think of it. Or, princess and heir that you are, your life will be short.”
“You dare to threaten me?”
“Yes. I, the son of a fisherman, do indeed dare. And why not? We all know that peasants have no manners.” He smiled wolfishly. “I will leave you to think about it.” He ran his finger gently around her ear, down her long neck, and lightly touched the shadow between her breasts. “In the meantime, think of our wedding night. As I will.”
Fear washed over her pale features as he stood abruptly and marched out of the garden, not even bothering to look back.
“What do you think?” Havgan asked Gwydion as they made their way to the outer courtyard where the others were waiting.
“I believe you made your point,” Gwydion said dryly.
Havgan laughed. “Yes, I believe I did.”
THE MOMENT THEY returned to the house, Gwydion hurried up to the room he shared with Rhiannon. As he burst through the door, she started. She had been sitting in a chair, looking out the window at the city, just as she had been when he left.
“You’ve just been sitting here?” he asked. “You didn’t try to go anywhere?”
She looked at him in surprise. “You told me not to.”
He studied her for a moment. “What’s wrong, Rhiannon?” he asked gently. “What’s the matter? Ever since we left Dere, you’ve been so … so biddable.”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” she asked tiredly.
“I thought it was,” he muttered. “Now I’m not so sure. Talk to me. Please.”
She turned and looked out the window. Gwydion waited quietly. At last, without turning around, she spoke. “I hate it here, Gwydion. Truly hate it. There is a sickness in the Empire, and the stench of it makes me ill.”
“I want to go home, too, Rhiannon. Don’t you think I do?”
She turned and looked at him. “Oh. For a moment I thought we were talking about me. I should have kno
wn better.”
Gwydion almost smiled. She sounded more like her old self. “We are. Sorry.”
She looked out the window again. “It’s more than hating it here. It’s Lingyth. I couldn’t … I couldn’t save her. Worse than that, I killed her.”
“You killed her?” Gwydion was shocked. “Havgan killed her. Or, rather, the Wild Hunt did.”
“She died because she knew about us. And she refused to tell.”
“She died because she read the wyrd-galdra. Havgan would never have let her live. You must know that.” Gwydion took her hand. “You know that,” he repeated. “If you must blame someone, blame me. I saved his life.” He laughed harshly. “Twice.”
She sighed. “You had no choice, Gwydion.”
“Neither did you. Have a choice, I mean. You couldn’t have saved her. No matter what you did. Rhiannon, look at me.” She turned to him, her face expressionless. “Rhiannon, I need you to be in this with me. Completely. I can’t do this alone.”
She looked at him in astonishment. “Well, that’s new.”
He nodded, his eyes glued to her face. “Yes, it is. But that’s the truth.”
Some color returned to her pale face then, and she straightened a little in her chair, never taking her eyes off him. The gods knew that it cost him to say what he had said. And perhaps she knew it, too.
At last she said, “I am going to bring them down, bring them all down, for what they have done. Somehow, someday.”
“Yes,” Gwydion said. “We are. You and I, remember?”
“Is that a promise?”
“It is,” he said steadily.
“All right. I’ll hold you to that. How much longer do you think we will be here?”
“Until the tournament. And until I can find those plans.”
“I think I know where they are,” she said mildly.
“What?”
“I said—”
“I know what you said. But how did you—” Gwydion broke off, staring at her. “Wait a minute. You said you hadn’t gone anywhere today. You lied!”
“I said I stayed here. Which is true. But I did Wind-Ride.”
“Where to?” he asked between gritted teeth.
“I Rode to Havgan’s room while the rest of you were waiting in the courtyard to go to the palace. He was there alone. He had just let the corner of that tapestry by the fireplace drop down. Then he left.”
“You know he senses something when we Ride.”
“But he doesn’t know what. And it was only for a moment.”
Gwydion frowned, thinking of what Rhiannon had seen. “Something behind the tapestry? A cupboard?”
“I would guess so. And he must keep the plans there.”
“Why is he so secretive about the plans in his own house?”
“Why do you think? He’s been warned about deception from those around him twice now.”
Gwydion nodded. “Makes sense. All right, then. That’s where I’ll look on the day of the tournament.”
“Unless we have a chance before then.”
“We can hope, but I doubt it. Whenever he leaves, he takes us with him.”
“I stayed here today. He thought I was really ill. Maybe you should get sick, too. And soon.”
There was a clatter in the courtyard. A man rode up, leading someone on another horse. The man’s black robe proclaimed him for a wyrce-jaga. His companion was not so easily placed. Man or woman, they couldn’t tell, the figure was so heavily cloaked. And on such a hot day, too. Gwydion looked closely at the figure. “A woman, I think, from the way she moves,” Gwydion said. “One of Havgan’s whores, probably.”
“In broad daylight? That’s not like him.” She studied the woman as the wyrce-jaga spoke to a guard. “And only if he likes them old now. Look at her hands.”
She was right. The woman’s hands were gnarled and worn. Sledda came out of the house, and the wyrce-jaga lead the woman to him, talking quietly. Sledda looked shocked for a moment, then his face became bland. He nodded and signaled for the woman to follow him. The other wyrce-jaga mounted his horse and rode off.
Rhiannon looked at Gwydion blankly. “Another reading, do you think?”
“I don’t know.” He stood still for a moment. “Quickly, bar the door.”
Rhiannon did so as Gwydion settled himself down on the bed. “Watch over me. I’m Riding to Havgan’s room.”
“But what about Havgan?”
“If he senses me too strongly, I’ll come right back.”
“You don’t know that they have taken her to Havgan’s rooms.”
“Where else would they take her?”
“He might send for us.”
“If he does, nudge me and I’ll come back. Gods, I can’t believe that I wanted you to be the way you were. You’d argue with me all the way down if we both fell off a cliff.”
“No one’s perfect,” she said with a grin. “Go on. I’ll keep watch.”
GWYDION’S AWARENESS FLOATED down into Havgan’s chambers, unseen. Havgan was seated at the large table, surrounded by Sigerric, Penda, Catha, Baldred, and Talorcan. He was regaling them with portions of his conversation with Aelfwyn. Sigerric sat silent and white-faced. Talorcan, too, kept silent. But the rest were laughing.
“And then I said ‘choose—enemy or friend,’“ Havgan was saying.
“And she chose enemy, of course,” Baldred said.
“So she did.”
Penda laughed. “You really know how to turn on the charm, don’t you?”
“Women just throw themselves at his feet when he does that,” Catha said.
The door opened and Sledda entered, alone. “Lord Havgan, you have a visitor.”
“Who?” Havgan asked in surprise, as he absently rubbed his forehead.
“The headache again?” Sigerric asked quietly.
Havgan nodded. “It is of no matter. It will stop soon. It always does. Show the visitor in, Sledda.”
“I think, my lord, that it would be best for you to see this visitor alone.”
“Except for you, eh, Sledda?” Talorcan asked, as he, too, rubbed his forehead.
“It will be as Lord Havgan commands,” Sledda said smoothly.
“You have a headache, too?” Penda asked Talorcan.
“Caught from Havgan, no doubt,” Baldred said with a grin.
“No doubt,” Talorcan said softly.
Havgan frowned, studying Sledda’s impassive face, obviously not listening to their banter. “Very well, I’ll see this visitor alone.” He turned to his friends. “I’ll finish the story another time.”
“Do,” Catha urged. “I’m interested in learning your technique!”
One by one, they filed out past Sledda. When they were gone, Havgan asked quietly, “Who is it?”
“Your mother.”
Havgan froze, staring at Sledda. “My mother? How did she get here?”
“Guthlac, Master-wyrce-jaga of Cantware, brought her here at her urging. It seems that some days ago she slipped out of Sigerric’s mother’s house and made her way secretly to him. She insisted that he bring her here.”
“So no one but Guthlac knows where she is,” Havgan said slowly. “Well, as long as she is here, I will see her. But after that, she goes right back to Apuldre. And I want her watched more closely.”
Sledda bowed and left. His brows knit, Havgan began to pace the room slowly, absently rubbing the back of his neck. Gwydion was intrigued, too intrigued to leave just yet, though he knew Havgan was sensing something. Gwydion had heard hints before that Hildegyth, Havgan’s mother, was a madwoman. It was no wonder that Havgan would wish to keep that quiet, particularly now, at the very threshold of his final bid for power.
The door opened, and Sledda escorted Havgan’s mother into the room. She threw off her hood and stood still, gazing at Havgan. Neither one moved. Sledda, stationed by the door, said nothing, but his pale gaze glittered as he looked from mother to son.
Hildegyth was thin almost to the point of e
maciation. Her cheekbones stood out sharply beneath pale gray eyes. Her hair was white and hung over her bony shoulders. Her face was strangely unlined, as though nothing that had ever happened to her had the power to truly mark her. She stepped forward, holding out her arms.
“My son. My gift from the sea.” Her voice was off-key, with a strange lilt to it.
Slowly, Havgan took her thin hands in his. “Maeder. Why have you come?”
“Are you not pleased to see me, my son? It’s been a long time. Or so they tell me. But it doesn’t really feel that way. Time bends strangely, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?” he asked evenly. “I ask you again, why have you come?”
“Why have I escaped my jailers, you mean?”
“The Lady of Apuldre is not your jailer. She is Sigerric’s mother. A kind and worthy woman. She took you in when I begged her to.”
“Took me in when your father was murdered and I had no one to look after me.”
He sighed. “Faeder was not murdered. It was an accident.”
“Was it?” Her strange eyes glittered.
“Yes. You remember. It was lightning. Lightning that struck the house. It was an accident.”
“Yes. Accidents do happen, don’t they? Particularly when you want them to,” Hildegyth mocked. Havgan paled but did not answer, and Hildegyth went on. “There, there, my son,” she said, putting a wasted hand on his arm. “It doesn’t matter. We never needed him, anyway.”
“I don’t know what you are trying to say—”
“Yes, you do.” Her gray eyes, no longer vague, looked at him sharply. “As to why I have come—I come to warn you.”
He sighed. “Of what, Maeder?”
“Of the sea. Of your plan to defeat the Kymri. To tell you that you are a fool.”
Sledda jumped as though he had been stung. “Be careful what you say, woman,” he said harshly. “You speak to—”
“I know to whom I speak. Do you?” Hildegyth asked, a strange smile on her face.
“I believe that I do,” Sledda said, his voice steady.
Hildegyth studied him for a moment. “Yes, I believe that you do.” She turned back to Havgan. “I have come to warn you, my son. You must not go to Kymru. I have told you again and again, you must stay away from the sea. Become Warleader, if that is your wish. Send men to take Kymru, if you need to. But do not go yourself!”
