by Signe Pike
“No. Sit, please.” She smiled. “I do hope you are enjoying yourself.”
“Indeed. I thank you.”
“And this must be your brother, Lailoken.” Her eyes raked him approvingly.
Lail rose to take her hand. “My queen.”
“My queen,” she repeated, her slim fingers still clasped in my brother’s. “How charming.”
“You must be pleased to have both your sons home from their travels,” I said, in an effort to wrench her talons from my brother. “I heard Lord Rhydderch say he has most recently been abroad in Dalriada.”
Elufed gave a shiver but her eyes were bright, as though the very thought excited her. “Yes, playing at niceties with the Scots. Our most unpredictable neighbors.”
“For a Westman, Conall is not as unpredictable as he might be,” Rhydderch said. “But his chiefs are strong and loyal, and the Scots yet have ironclad ties to the Scots of Ulster, not fifty leagues across the sea. Strathclyde must maintain a strong presence of ships on our coast if we mean to protect our trade routes.”
“And what of Strathclyde’s land borders?” I asked.
“The day Westmen cross the borders of Strathclyde in malice is a day they will live to regret.” Rhydderch’s eyes filled with a startling passion, but his mother only laughed.
“My son.” She released Lail’s hand at last. “You are truly our champion.”
I watched Rhydderch stiffen almost imperceptibly. How curious.
“Well.” Elufed settled her gaze on me. “I hope you will find everything to your comfort. Should you have need of anything, you must only ask.”
“Thank you.” I bowed. “I am glad we have met at last.”
“Yes.” She tilted her head. “I can imagine you are.”
Elufed shot Lail a lingering look before turning to take her seat to the left of the king. I watched, my cheeks inflamed by the sting of her barb.
“It would seem your mother doesn’t care for me,” I said to Rhydderch.
He turned to me, his eyes for the first time appearing kind. “I wouldn’t say that. After all, my mother was the one who sought to invite you.”
I wanted to beat at my head in confusion. In this world at the top of the sky, nothing was as it seemed. I had thought surely Rhydderch had been the one to summon me. Or at least Tutgual, looking to secure Strathclyde’s wealth and borders by joining with our rich lands to the south. But Elufed? What did this woman of snow and ice want of me?
I was sickened already by Clyde Rock’s web and its weavers. Rhydderch read my face and took pity on me.
“Watch,” he said, “and listen. It’s those who are too eager to speak who make the most dangerous missteps in King Tutgual’s court.”
His hand was on mine, warm and reassuring. I took a breath and met his eyes. “Do you mean to say that your father’s court is a perilous place to be?”
“It can be, yes. Quite perilous.” His gray eyes were intent. “But not with me by your side.”
• • •
The wine flowed like a ruby river. I watched as Lailoken and Rhydderch toasted and began to trade wits. Each time I imagined I’d emptied my cup, it was full once again, until the sky beyond the high windows had darkened to twilight and Tutgual’s great room became a swirling glow of music, hearth smoke, and wine. Straight-backed servants brought plate upon plate of delicacies on fine glazed stoneware. The flicker of oil lamps and hearth flame was mesmerizing, and I watched as brown-hooded monks and male white-robed Keepers moved about the room in a delicate dance of mutual avoidance. All the while I felt Elufed’s watchful gaze upon me, tracking my every gesture.
I had been readied, told what to expect. But Tutgual was cruel.
He grew bored and set about arming his servants, commanding them to fight as his warriors bayed like wild dogs. My father and our retinue sat stonily, outranked and unable to object, until one poor steward lost an eye and Father took the chance to rise in fury, insisting the fighting cease lest any more blood spatter his fine clothing. My father was large and strong. No one assumed he was clever, too.
Rhydderch watched with immovable features. He was at one moment approachable and the next a veritable wall. For a while I found it infuriating—before the liquor took hold.
I tried to temper my sipping, but the rich earthiness of the wine soothed my hot nerves. And so with each tip of my glass I became bolder, more cunning. Let Rhydderch think the wine had won me, setting my tongue loose to betray all my secrets. Though my head spun from keeping pace with him, my face was as calm as a forest pool. I smiled and laughed, willed my eyes to light with merriment. With intellect. And as the evening wore on, I willed them to smolder.
The chill of night crept in. Logs were tossed on the fire. Wasn’t that his elbow skimming softly against mine?
When he leaned close to point out his sister, Gwenfron, hadn’t I felt his lips nearly brush the lobe of my ear?
Lean closer, I urged him. Smell the scent of sandalwood at the hollow of my neck. Breathe in the heady spell of the lavender water with which I washed my hair.
Not because I wanted Rhydderch, but because this night I had seen a world so much larger than any I’d known before. And I had found it full of people with hard and frivolous hearts who should certainly not be trusted with the well-being of a kingdom.
I had witnessed the power wielded by this merciless and violent king perched at the top of Clyde Rock. Tutgual did not care for the people of Strathclyde any more than he cared for my father or our warriors, our farmers or our halls. He cared only for our wealth, our land with its countless heads of prize cattle, our rich tributes of grain. It was only because we gave it freely that he did not take it by force.
Now, at last, the path unfurled beneath my feet. I saw the place for me beside the prince, and the way Rhydderch’s eyes lingered on the curves of my breasts. I saw my choice: depart tomorrow and risk our family’s fading into obscurity, or this evening strike and leave my mark. Win the favor of Lord Rhydderch, and I would secure both my family’s and my people’s protection for as long as we both would live.
And so I set my powers loose and bid them capture him.
In our world, kingship was earned, not given. It could be as easily claimed by an uncle or a brother as by any of the king’s sons. And there was an aura about Tutgual’s son that shone like a beacon. Rhydderch was a man marked for kingship. When the time came for a new leader to rule Clyde Rock, it could be none other than he. And I would be the woman to stand by his side.
CHAPTER 26
* * *
I woke to a racket. Squinting in the weakly lit guest quarters of Clyde Rock, I struggled to sit and immediately identified the culprit: Lailoken lay sprawled on a fleece-lined cot beside the window, openmouthed and snoring. His wavy hair had turned squirrel’s nest overnight, obscuring his face against the pillow.
He’d stayed with me, as was custom, to be certain my innocence was kept intact. But, truth be told, I was glad for his company. It had been so long since we two had shared a chamber. As a child, I would crawl in beside him to chase away my fear of foul spirits and beg him to tell me of the creatures in his dreams. Now he had grown into a man. Yet here, as he slumbered, I could yet remember the little boy who chased away my shadows, and my heart swelled with softness.
“Wake up,” I said. Lail frowned in his sleep, his sandy brows drawing together disapprovingly.
“Lailoken.” I reached a finger to prod his fine nose and he shot upright in bed, flailing for his sword.
“It’s me! Only me,” I said, then narrowed my eyes. “Do you truly believe an assailant would wake you by thumbing your nose?”
He frowned again before taking in the pallor of my skin, his face broadening into a truly obnoxious grin. “The drink’s done you in.”
“Hasn’t,” I said, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. “I’ve only just woken is all.” Disheveled as he was, his blue eyes were irritatingly bright.
“It concerns me how adept you
’ve become at feasting,” I said.
“I am the son of a king,” he said. “Stomaching drink is what we must do.”
Lail swiped at a wavy shock of hair plastered to his forehead. “So tell me, sister, what do you remember, then? For I shall wager it’s not much.”
Determined to prove him wrong, I scoured my memory, but the events of the previous night were consumed in fog. Scraps surfaced, and I collected them: the pounding of drums and racing of pipes. Lailoken and Rhydderch laughing and passing a cup. Spinning to the music with the women of court, my footwork fast, my dress twirling in a purpled cloud as face upon face gathered to leer at the daughter of the red-bearded king. There was Lailoken’s arm in mine as we followed the bobbing lantern of Tutgual’s servant across the wet summer grass toward the quiet looming guesthouse, the stars overhead swallowed by cloud.
“I do remember watching you talk idly with Rhydderch for quite some time, as if you were long-lost friends,” I said. My voice was light but I had felt a sting of betrayal. It was not lost on my twin.
“I like him,” Lail said. “In spite of myself. I want to dislike him, truly I do. But he’s smart, Languoreth, not cruel like his father. I think someday he might make a fine king, if only his father would ever name him tanist. You could do worse than to wed a man like him.”
I wrapped the coverlet more tightly around me and turned to the wall.
“You could scarcely stand as Desdemona helped you undress,” Lail said.
“If that is your attempt at an apology, you might try again.”
Lail came to sit with me, his eyes solemn. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you want me to despise him, but I can’t. And if I am right, do you not see what a world of difference a man like Rhydderch might make in place of his father at court? Do you remember the blood, the way it seeped over the stone, Languoreth? Or have you forgotten that, too?”
“Of course I remember,” I said. Even the haze of alcohol could not make me forget.
“Then take heart, sister.” Lailoken stretched to drink from a bedside cup. “You were captivating. You were clever. You were disarming. You’ve done it, or I’m a fool. You’ve won the favor of Rhydderch, son of Tutgual King.”
I searched Lail’s eyes to see if he could help me test the weight of it. But there was only a sinking in the pit of my stomach and the ghost of another man’s kiss still burning upon my lips. My fingers traced them as if I could still find Maelgwn there. But I had spurned him. He was leagues away by now, and there would be another woman. I’d soon be forgotten.
Lailoken read my thoughts. “You think of him still.”
“Of course,” I said quietly. “Did you think me so fickle I might soon forget?”
The fire had gone to embers. I took the cup from my brother’s grip and sipped, shivering in the morning damp.
Eager to distract me, Lail looked about the room and made a show of rubbing his muscular arms. “It’s damn drafty on this hilltop. Where is Desdemona? Our fire’s gone cold.”
Her cot beside the door looked long abandoned.
“Off to sort breakfast, I’m sure, though I’ve certainly no stomach for it.” I stood and moved to the window, unlatching the shutter.
“Close that thing, won’t you?” Lail said. “Can’t you see I’m half-frozen?”
“Oh, hush.” I leaned on the sill. “The great warrior Lailoken.”
Mist had settled in thick-bellied clouds on the summit of Clyde Rock, and the air was wet, heavy with the smell of seaweed and silt. I breathed in deeply and it cleared my head.
“I suppose it’s not a horrible place to live,” I allowed. “You can see all the world from up here.”
“Yes, and much of that world would come right to your door,” Lail said, still angling to cheer me. “Traders and merchants, chieftains and Picts. Life here would provide you an education greater than any Cathan might offer.”
“No.” I turned. “Not greater than Cathan might offer.”
Lail avoided my gaze, leaping up as a brisk knock sounded at the door and Desdemona entered with a tray.
“That’s breakfast, I’ll wager, and thank the Gods. I could eat my weight in beef,” he exclaimed.
“No beef,” Desdemona said. “Salt pork wi’ oats.”
“And bannocks with butter!” Lail grinned, his mouth already full. “Desdemona, you’re a goddess.”
Desdemona’s pale cheeks tinged scarlet as Lail leaned across to snatch a crusted roll.
“For goodness’ sake, Lail. You act as though you’ve never eaten,” I scolded.
“Chases the drink away.” He inhaled the steam coming off the bowl.
“I pray you’re feelin’ better, m’lady,” Desdemona said. “Will you eat?”
Nausea rose as the scent of yeast wafted from the tray. “No, Desdemona, thank you. I’ve no stomach for it.”
“She will.” Lail swiped a crusted bannock from the tray and pressed it into my hand. “Take one. You may not want it now, but trust me, you’ll wish for it on the boat.”
• • •
We’d scarcely had time to dress when the low bellow of the horn sounded from beneath the banks of cloud. I smoothed my plait, my emotions churning, as Lail stood and brushed the crumbs from his tunic.
“The ship’s at bay,” he said. “They’ll be waiting. Now we must only say our good-byes.”
He gave me a reassuring nod and strode to the door to help me with my cloak.
Outside, I could hardly make out figures in the fog; then I saw Father standing in his rust-colored tunic and thick traveling cloak with our retinue beside the deep fortress well.
“Daughter.” His face was etched with lines as if he’d not slept. He reached for my hand. “This arrangement will all soon be done, I can promise you that.”
We waited in silence as Tutgual’s men filed from the hall, backs straight and eyes too alert for men who had spent the night feasting. Rhydderch followed behind his father, his chestnut hair still damp from a bath. He was softer and less angular in the cling of morning mist. It was only his eyes that still felt stony and impenetrable.
“My lady.” He reached to take my hand. “It was pleasing to meet you. Thank you for making the journey to Clyde Rock.”
“The pleasure was mine.” I bowed. A brittle silence descended before his brother Morcant stepped forward, his hulking shoulders hunched, wearing the same brightly woven tunic as the night before.
“I scarce had chance to meet the lady.” His shifty eyes took in the length of me, bringing to mind a beady-eyed boar. “And still such a young thing.”
His breath smelled of stale ale.
“Oh, come, now, brother,” Rhydderch said lightly, releasing his grip on my hand. “There could be no loss of conversation here. The lady Languoreth is far too clever for you.”
“Clever, eh?” Morcant shot a sharp look at his brother and expelled a humorless laugh. “A clever girl would do well to keep far from here. Clyde Rock is a place ruled by the wile of men and the brunt of our swords.”
“Morcant.” Elufed moved to stand between her sons, her fair hair beaded with mist. “Surely I have taught you a good woman is as valued a counsel as she is an ornament. You need only look to your own wife to be reminded of that.”
Morcant looked to where his wife, Rhian, stood with her head bowed and snorted derisively. I’d noticed last evening she bore bruises on her wrists.
Elufed caught me staring and I looked away. As if the thought had only just struck her, she reached to tug the thick scarlet wrap from her shoulders.
“Lady Languoreth.” She pressed the cloth into my hands. “A gift.”
“I couldn’t—”
“Nonsense,” she insisted. “It isn’t polite to refuse a gift. This fabric has come all the way from Iberia. Surely you possess nothing of its equal. Wear it in good health until we should meet again,” she said.
I accepted the garment with a bow.
Rhydderch locked his gray eyes on mine. “My lady. I wish
you safe travels home.”
He spoke as if he were reciting lines from a tablet. Perhaps Lailoken was mistaken: I had failed, behaved a drunken fool.
“Gods keep you,” I echoed. Shame began to creep into my chest, but I banished it. I met Rhydderch’s eyes instead.
“The queen has done me an honor with this invitation to Clyde Rock. But I do pray in the future, if an invitation should come, it shall be sent from your hand alone.”
Did something kindle behind his gaze? I couldn’t be certain. Rhydderch only inclined his head and guided me toward my father. But I felt his eyes on my back as we began our descent down to the realm of mortal men.
I was so consumed in my thinking that the priest and I almost did not see each other. Had we departed that morning only a few moments earlier, our vessels would have slipped silently past each other as the river’s current bore us back home to Buckthorn.
But there is nothing incidental about time. And so it was that I was descending the steps that led through the narrow chasm of rock when I heard the sound of voices from below.
I squinted in the fog to make out a trailing line of monks, heads bowed beneath the mist. Telleyr must be among them, I thought, scanning their brown hoods. Surely he will greet us. Here where the rock narrowed and the steps descended through the chute, there was not room enough for two parties to pass. And the monks had not yet halted their climb.
Up ahead, Father’s bannerman stiffened.
“Step aside,” he bellowed. “Make way for Morken King.”
At this, the man at the front of the ascending party lifted his head slowly, raising a hand to signal the monks behind him to stop. He looked up and the blood slowed in my veins.
It was the man from Bright Hill.
The shock of recognition was nothing compared with that same instinct to run, to flee. It had been a fleeting moment, and I a girl of only ten. And yet his visage had been burned into my memory.
His brown robes yet hung from his skeletal frame, and his drooping blond mustache had grown into a fuller beard, but his sharp pale eyes were unchanged, and I watched them spark as he sized up my father.
