A Heart in Sun and Shadow (Cymru That Was Book 1)

by Annie Bellet

  “How’re the mighty hunter’s wounds this morning?” He smiled as he opened his pack and pulled out the leather-wrapped bundle of dried venison. Taking a long hard strip, he sawed off one end with his small knife and popped the meat into his mouth to soften.

  “Give over, Em.” Idrys sat back down on his cloak beside his brother. “I feel like Govannon tried to reforge me overnight.” He took the strip of meat out of Emyr’s lap and cut himself a piece.

  “Or perhaps like someone rolled you down a mountain?” Emyr was smug and not the least bit sore.

  “I said leave off. Or I’ll give you a split chin to match mine.”

  “I’d never wish to be so pretty as you,” Emyr said around his mouthful of meat, unperturbed.

  “Is it really that bad?” Idrys tried to keep the vain whine from his voice without much success. Both twins were acclaimed for their height, their dark curling hair, and their strong and handsome faces. They’d just reached the age where the opinions of woman had begun to matter and they enjoyed the blushing attention.

  Emyr glanced at his brother. It was really that bad.

  The cut on his chin had scabbed in the night and now marred the clean line of his jaw. The purple bruise over his right eye had expanded its territory as well, reaching down to his cheek and up into his hairline.

  Idrys had rinsed in the stream the night before, so at least his hair was clean in its braids. Pulled back from his face, however, his hair did nothing to hide the swelling of his forehead or the dark bruising. Another scrape that Emyr hadn’t noticed the night before graced his twin’s neck below the ear in long oozing weal to the shoulder.

  Likely from his bow, Emyr thought. They hadn’t brought a change of clothing, meaning only to be gone a night at most and Idrys still wore his dusty tunic, the soft, deep brown weave streaked with dust. The threads were beginning to unravel around the torn shoulder.

  “You should mend that. I think I’ve a needle,” Emyr said, trying to cover how long he’d been silent.

  Idrys sighed as Emyr dug through his pack for the little stitching kit. He hated sewing, though he’d learned at his mother’s knee just like his brother. He knew better than to complain of “women’s work” around his fierce and stubborn mother. She’s going to laugh when she sees my stitching and probably not let me be until I admit she was right to make us learn.

  * * *

  It was high afternoon again when Idrys spotted the snow-white buck. This deer was smaller by at least half than their prize of the night before with only two points on his antlers.

  Idrys motioned silently to his brother and crouched at the edge of the clearing. The buck was pulling the fresh growth from the low brush here and apparently oblivious to the presence of the twins.

  “Oh no,” Emyr whispered. “We’ve got only one bow between us, Idrys. We’re going home.”

  “Look at his coloring. He’s small, but with a coat like that! We’ll be better received if we bring such a gem.” Idrys’s eyes filled with stubborn fire as he glanced at his brother.

  “I can’t believe I’m even listening to you.” Emyr carefully strung his bow even as he shook his head.

  “You won’t regret it,” Idrys promised.

  “If we had a deer for every time I’ve heard that, we could feed the entire cantref,” Emyr muttered. His reluctance faded as the joy of the hunt took over. He crept closer and took aim.

  Something warned the deer. It raised its delicate head and bounded away into the trees. Drawing his knife, Idrys gave chase.

  Cursing, Emyr followed after his twin. They dashed through the woods after the white shadow of the hart. Idrys curved off to the right, aiming to cut the deer off from that side. Emyr took the left, running headlong through the trees. They leapt a small rushing brook and dashed between the leaning boles of the mighty oak and slender popular and ash.

  The deer stopped abruptly and stood quietly shaking in a clearing near a second, wider brook. The boys slowed and circled the edge, Emyr taking aim. Just when he would have loosed the arrow, the buck sprang away again, disappearing into the underbrush near the stream.

  The boys dashed after it again. They broke through the underbrush and saw no sign of their quarry. Idrys checked along the banks for hoofprints or a sign the buck had crossed. There was nothing.

  “Deer don’t just vanish,” he muttered after some minutes of frustrated searching.

  “That one did. Did you see his hocks? Red as blood they were.” Emyr shivered despite the warm summer light.

  “Fairy stories again? I’ve never seen one of the fair folk, have you?” Idrys said and made a face.

  “Stories eh? Then where did your deer go?” Emyr’s mouth set in its own stubborn line, his expression mirroring his brother’s.

  Idrys balled up his left fist and advanced toward his brother in mocking threat. He paused suddenly and looked around. Emyr was about to ask what it was when he too heard the sound.

  Singing. It was a woman’s voice, lovely and pure. They couldn’t quite catch the words but the tune was both merry and haunting as it rang through the wood. The notes came from upstream and Idrys moved toward them.

  For once Emyr didn’t argue with him and followed his brother wordlessly. They moved quietly through the forest along the stream until they came to where it pooled in a deep stone basin. A rushing waterfall spilled over the stones into the lovely glade, its bubbling joy a sweet counterpoint to the haunting beauty of the song. The boys crouched low in the brush, frozen by what they saw.

  A woman bathed in the water, naked to her waist. Her hair was red as fresh blood and her skin even in sunlight glowed as pale as white stone. Her face had high cheekbones and full red lips. Her eyes were silvered, the pupils dark pools within swirling depths. Her breasts were full with high pale nipples peeking out between the long silken strands of red hair.

  Transfixed, the twins stared their full. Here was one of the fair folk, they were sure. She could not be anything but Other. Their mother was widely considered a fine beauty, but next to this woman, Hafwyn’s tanned skin and dark features would be as impressive as a candle lit in daylight.

  The Lady ceased her singing and the clouds cleared from the mind of the two boys. Emyr tugged his brother’s sleeve and motioned with his head that they should leave. Idrys shook his own head and refused to look away from the lovely creature.

  “You don’t have to hide, children. Come, speak with me a while.” The Lady’s voice rang out in a welcoming caress.

  Idrys stood immediately, giving Emyr no choice but to follow suit.

  “We greet you, Lady, though we did not mean to disturb you,” Emyr said formally, bowing.

  Idrys bowed alongside his brother, grateful that at least one of them was capable of polite speech in this moment.

  “I am not disturbed, as yet, young prince.” She walked from the pool toward them.

  “We are no princes, Lady,” Emyr responded, flushing as the water grew shallow and her body was revealed. Every inch was as pale as the rest, save a nest of dark red curls between her slender thighs.

  “Are you not the sons of Brychan, Chief of Llynwg? Perhaps I was mistaken and rude boys have instead come upon me?” Her words held a bite though her smile did not as she tilted her head to one side.

  “We are, I mean, there is no mistake. I am Idrys, my brother is Emyr, Lady.” Idrys found his tongue.

  “Come then, sit with me a while and comb my hair.” She turned and walked along to the bank to where a pale blue coat and matching shift lay warming across the rocks. She dressed, wringing the water from the ends of her waist-length locks. Then she picked up a carved bone comb and held it out to the boys.

  “As it please you Lady, we meant no harm. We were hunting deer and came upon you by accident,” Emyr said as they both walked to her.

  The Fair Folk could be dangerous. Tales ran of them abducting youths to attend them for centuries in their halls or of the Folk playing cruel tricks on foolish mortals. There were tales a
lso, however, of fairy maids who would take a mortal lover for a time. Emyr nervously remembered the former tales; Idrys excitedly recalled the latter.

  “My name is Seren, princes. Attend me and we shall speak of how you may repay your rudeness. I believe it was only an accident, do not fear.” Her smile was open and so bright it hurt to think of anything else.

  The twins dropped their packs and came to sit beside her where she indicated. Idrys sat up behind Seren, perching on a stone where he could pull the carved comb through her hair. She smelled of honey and tilled earth fresh after a rain.

  She asked them questions then, about their family and their lives, listening to their stuttering replies with a tinge of amusement. Emyr did most of the talking, Idrys fascinated by the softness and beauty of the Fairy’s hair as it poured over his hands like blood stroke after stroke.

  The shadows deepened and grew long. Emyr raised his head and looked about them.

  “I beg your leave, Seren,” he said, for she’d insisted they call her by name. “But we’re going to be sorely missed if we don’t start home. We’ve already been gone a day too many.”

  “Nonsense, my princes, it is near dark. You cannot travel in these woods by night; it would be most dangerous. Stay with me and we shall speak of this come sunrise.” She motioned and a small hut appeared on the other side of the pool where they were certain none had been before.

  Rising, she walked around the water to the door. Idrys looked at his brother and shrugged. Neither wanted to anger the Fairy, so they followed.

  The inside of the hut was far larger than its exterior suggested. Woolen tapestries in bright colors hung on the walls. They told the tale of a hunt, with a large red and white boar the centerpiece of each panel as it ran before a flood of hounds. The hunters depicted were all of the Folk, tall and graceful even in stitching.

  A wide platform covered in the fur of many creatures was arranged against the back wall while a lush spill of sewn pillows and sheepskins surrounded a bronze firepit in the middle. Over the pit hung a large pot from which delicious smells emanated. The princes, having not eaten since their meager breakfast, salivated at the sight of the bubbling stew.

  Seren laughed. “Sit, my guests, and make yourselves comfortable.” She picked up two copper bowls from a smooth wooden shelf near the door and dished up the soup.

  The twins hesitated for a moment, the stories once again clouding their minds. Was it safe to eat the food the Fairy offered? Both decided with a shared look that angering Seren by refusing her hospitality would be far more dangerous and gave in to their empty bellies’ demands.

  It was venison stew, full of fresh summer roots and herbs as well as tender savory meat. The twins ate their fill, marveling how the pot never seemed to empty despite the second and then third helpings. Seren reclined on the pillows, watching.

  “I fear we’ve been rude, Seren,” Emyr said when he finally noticed she touched nothing of the meal herself.

  “I do not gain my strength from mortal fodder,” Seren answered his unspoken question. “You are my guests. It is proper you should not hunger.”

  “Thank you,” Idrys said, nudging his brother.

  Emyr’s face remained clouded with thought, however. Not from food, but from what? Where are we really? Oh, Idrys, what have we stumbled into now? Emyr shivered again, though he tried to hide his fear and returned to eating. Seren missed the tremor and the dark look.

  Idrys did not and watched his brother out of the corner of his eye, suddenly worried himself. Emyr always thought things through and he listened better than Idrys had ever been able to as well. Emyr noticed things and his instincts were usually good, though often Idrys paid them no heed in favor of action.

  Seren rose and picked up a small bone jar from her shelf. She knelt then beside Idrys and opened the lid. The jar held an unguent of some sort, its pungent herbal smell not unpleasant, though strong.

  “You two would be as alike as raindrops if not for this bruising,” she murmured. Idrys held still as she gently rubbed some of the ointment into his bruises and wounds. He braced himself for pain, pain that never manifested.

  Her touch was warm and gentle, the pungent ointment seemed to coat his aches and they began to fade immediately. He heard Emyr gasp as Seren rose and stepped away.

  “Still pretty?” Idrys said, trying to make a joke to wipe the astonishment off his brother’s face.

  “Feel your face, Idrys,” Emyr said softly.

  Idrys raised a hand to his face, touching his chin. Where there had been dark scabbing there was nothing now but slightly slippery unblemished skin. He felt above his eye then and his neck. The bruise was gone, as far as he could tell, and the oozing weal as well.

  “Thank you, Lady,” he said in wonder to Seren. He too felt a chill now, for the Folk were not generally known to give a gift without a leash attached. He looked back to his brother and saw that same fear in his dark eyes.

  Seren walked to the bed and sat gracefully at its edge. She beckoned to the young men. “Come, princes, let me show you how I am nourished. Let me sate your curiosity while you may perhaps sate me.” Her voice purred, the tones of her earlier song reflected in the inflection of her words. Her silver eyes smiled at them, heavy lids and long lashes lowering seductively.

  The twins glanced at each other once more and silent thoughts flew between them in that gaze. Apprehensive, but also excited, they rose together, each feeling flushed and confused at the tumult of emotions. Then Seren’s slender arms opened to welcome them to her bed, and there was no more thinking.

  Three

  The sun was already sailing high over the branches by the time the twins woke. They found themselves alone in the Fairy’s bed. Idrys rolled over and propped himself up on one arm to look at his brother. Emyr’s eyes opened and a small smile played across his generous mouth. The smile faded, however, as he recalled all of why they were there and not just the mysterious and beautiful events of the night before.

  “It’s too bad they won’t ever believe this story,” Idrys said with a wistful sigh. “How many can claim that one of the Fair Folk made them men, eh?”

  Emyr gave his brother a light push. “I don’t feel any more a man today than I did yesterday. Besides, father will be sick with worry.”

  He rose from the bed, suddenly uncomfortable with his nakedness around his brother in a way that he’d never been before. He ruefully thought of his words a moment ago. No, not like a man, but still, she’s changed us somehow.

  “True.” Idrys yawned and stretched. “But ah, I think it worth it.”

  Emyr threw him another amused look and found his tunic. Pulling it on he went to the door and reached to pull it open. The door didn’t budge. He put his full weight against it until he finally fell back into the sheepskins, his arms burning.

  “Quit playing, brother.” Idrys rose and walked to the door. He set his weight against it and got the same result as his brother. They shared a look and then both tried, gripping the smooth wooden handle hand over hand.

  The door stuck.

  Both men sat down then, the sense of dread from the evening before returning full force. They were stuck in a fey home, trapped by a lady of the Folk. Emyr and Idrys looked at each other with apprehensive eyes.

  “I think I like stories better when they stay stories,” Idrys said.

  “No argument here. I tried to tell you we should leave that white buck well enough alone, didn’t I? But no, you just had to go running after every bleeding whim of yours, as usual.” Emyr’s words held more bite than he intended, fear turning what was meant as a gentle rebuke to something crueler.

  To his surprise Idrys dropped his gaze and curled up with his arms around his knees, mouth pressed into an unhappy line.

  Unaccustomed to this lack of fight from his twin, Emyr sat for a few minutes in silence, thinking. He took stock of the small cabin. There was a covered pail, much like the indoor privy buckets he was used to at home. At least their captor had provi
ded for that need, though it cut off an excuse to leave the house.

  He looked finally to the small window. The windows at home were usually shuttered or covered in leather scraped thin enough for light to come through. This one looked too smooth and clear for leather.

  Rising, Emyr went to investigate it. The pane felt like stone under his fingers, warmed from the sun and very hard. He rapped on it with his knuckles just in case. The stone reverberated a little but otherwise didn’t budge. He dug with his nails around the edges, seeing if there was a way to dig free the pane. Emyr thought they might be able to squeeze out of the opening if he could remove the barrier.

  “Emyr.” Idrys’s voice held a warning and none too soon.

  Emyr stepped free of the wall near the window and turned to his brother just in time as the door swung open and Seren entered carrying a basket under one arm. She closed the door behind her and smiled at the twins.

  “You’re awake, lovely. I’ve brought a present for my loves.” Her smile was brilliant and for a moment chased away the shadows of fear in their minds.

  Idrys, still naked, and Emyr, in his dark brown tunic, both moved to take the basket from her. It was a beautiful basket, woven of dyed rushes in twisting knot-work patterns that evoked images of long-legged birds.

  Having reached her first, Idrys removed the covering of fine linen and found to his delight the basket was laden with fresh berries and ripe pears. Forgetting his earlier melancholy, he turned to his brother and they sat down with the gift to break their fast.

  “Thank you,” Emyr said and Idrys echoed him with a mouth stuffed with berries, the red and purple juice running down his chin.

  Seren smiled benevolently down at them and then moved to sit on the skins beside them. Her fine-boned hands gently played with Idrys’s dark curls. She’d unbraided his hair the night before, remarking on how perfectly similar the twins were in visage.

  They were so different in personality, however, she mused. Emyr had loved her with determined concentration, touching her as though she were fragile. His passion had come as reverence more than sexual desire.