“Am I welcome here, regent?” Rhodry said.
“Always, my lord, to what is rightfully yours.” With a flourish bespeaking some practice, Lovyan drew the sword and handed it to him hilt-first. “It gladdens my heart to welcome you home.”
The crowd shrieked and screamed like banshees as Rhodry hoisted the sword and held it over his head so all could see. Cullyn stepped forward and smoothly drew Rhodry’s own sword so he’d have a free scabbard to sheathe the golden one, then fell in behind him as he and Lovyan walked into the dun. Their path was lined with servants and riders, all cheering and waving, and on either side the door the dragon banners fluttered in the wind, as if they too greeted the heir. Just inside stood a handsome dark-haired woman with her hands on the shoulders of a beautiful little girl, all scrubbed and combed and dressed in a cut-down version of adult finery.
“My wife, Your Grace,” Cullyn prompted. “And your daughter.”
From the way the crowd was watching him, Rhodry knew they expected a grand gesture; a simple acknowledgement of paternity would be far too paltry for the occasion. He knelt down in front of the child, whose enormous violet eyes studied him with all the haughtiness of a great lady. Around her clustered a gaggle of gnomes and sprites, and in the air above hovered a pair of sylphs. She brought such a feeling of wildness with her that seeing her was like stepping into a forest.
“Know who I am?” Rhodry said. “My da.”
“That’s right.” Ye gods, he was thinking, what have I sired? She’s more an elf than I am! “Want to sit at the table of honor with me?”
“I do.”
When he held out his arms, she allowed herself to be picked up, and the gnomes danced round his feet as he carried her across the great hall.
Because of the pomp and ceremony, Lovyan had no chance at a private word with Rhodry that day. First all the noble-born servitors had to welcome the Maelwaedd home; then his vassals appeared to swear their oaths of loyalty; finally there was an enormous feast that lasted until well after midnight. Since she went to bed long before the revelers, when she came down the next morning, she was expecting to find the great hall empty, but Rhodry was sitting alone at the head of the honor table, drinking a tankard of ale and staring into the peat fire smoldering at the hearth.
“His Grace is up early,” Lovyan said.
“I never did need much sleep.” He rose, making her a half-bow. “Come sit down, Mother. I’ve much to thank you for.”
A servant appeared, bringing her usual morning bowl of warm milk and honey and a basket of fresh bread and butter. Rhodry took a chunk of the latter and nibbled it while they talked over the current business of the rhan, the spring taxes and the feuding lords who might or might not need his judgments on their affairs. She was surprised at how seriously he listened, asking her often to explain some detail or to recommend some servitor to tell him more. Finally he grinned at her.
“I can practically hear you thinking: ye gods, how much he’s changed!”
“Well, you have. I haven’t seen you for three years—or a bit more now, truly.”
“Do you remember, Mother, when you told me that I’d never been raised to rule? You were right enough, and now I know it, too. There’s much work ahead of me, but I promise you, I’ll tend to it.”
“I’m pleased to hear it, Your Grace. At least you can read and write. I insisted on that, you know, even though your father thought it a waste of time for a younger son.”
“No doubt he did.” For a moment Rhodry looked oddly distracted; then he smiled. “There’s one thing particularly pressing at the moment. I’ve got to marry, and soon.”
“Just so.” She hesitated for a long moment. “I don’t mean to cause you grief, but what’s happened to Jill?”
“She left me. That should be cursed obvious.”
“Very well. I don’t have to know why.”
“Oh, in a year or two I’ll tell you. Once the wound’s not running blood.”
When he stood up, pacing restlessly to the hearth, she followed, willing to let the subject drop for a while to spare him pain, but he continued it himself.
“I’m going to marry out of the rhan.”
“It would be best that way. When I heard you were safe, I started negodations with the tieryn of Elrydd. His elder daughter is lovely as well as shrewd.”
“Too bad, because you’ll have to break them off. I’ve sent Blaen off to be my second and ask for Ygwimyr of the Auddglyn’s sister. Aedda, I think her name is. I don’t give a pig’s fart what she looks like. I want that alliance.”
“What? Rhoddo, I’ve met that child at court, and she’s one of the worst choices you could make! She’s a pretty little thing, with lovely manners but no brains at all, and she’s as timid as a field mouse.”
“Too blasted bad.”
“Rhodry!”
By then the great hall was coming alive, with sleepy lords and riders alike stumbling in for their breakfasts. In a mutual silent agreement they went up to her reception chamber, a spacious room where the windows stood open to let in the soft spring sun. In a shaft of dust-flecked light they faced each other.
“If His Grace had only sent me a messenger, I’d have naught to say about it,” Lovyan said, picking each word carefully. “But as it is, things are most awkward …”
“If Her Grace had only waited to consult me, all the awkwardness would have never arisen. I’m sorry, Mother, but you’ll have to deal with Elrydd and put them off. Come now, you’re good at that sort of thing. You’ll doubtless enjoy all the politicking and wrangling.”
Lovyan suppressed an impulse to slap him, the way she would have once. All over again she felt that she was dealing with a stranger.
“I cannot believe that Blaen, well-intentioned though he is, is the proper person to arrange an important marriage.”
“And I disagree. It’s too late, anyway. By now his speeded courier will be at Ygwimyr’s with the letter asking for his sister.”
“Rhodry, you’ve never met the lass. I have.”
He shrugged and strode to the window to look down.
“Why are you so set on a marriage-bond with the Auddglyn? I simply don’t understand.”
“My apologies, Mother. There’s somewhat you don’t know.” He turned with one of his unhuman sunny smiles.
“On the Auddglyn coast there’s a town called Slaith. Ever heard of it? Of course not—neither have most people. It’s a pirate haven, and Ygwimyr’s known of it for years and done naught about it. Why? Because he doesn’t have a fleet. When he marries his sister to me, he’ll get the use of mine, because in return I’ll get the right to sail into his rhan and burn that stinking filthy hellhole to the ground.”
Although he was still smiling, his eyes were terrifying, not with the blind berserker rage she’d seen so many times before, but with an icy hatred, self-aware and murderous. Involuntarily she stepped back a few paces.
“By all accounts Aedda will make a decent-enough wife,” Rhodry went on. “Since the one woman I want in all the kingdom is beyond my reach, any other will do well enough—so long as she’s related to Gwerbret Ygwimyr.”
“I see.” Although she wanted to say more, her mind seemed to have failed her, and for the first time in her life, she truly did feel that she was growing old. “Well, there’s naught that I can do about it, then, is there?”
“Naught.” He smiled again, more normally, and softened his voice. “Ah, Mother, my apologies. We’ll soothe Elrydd’s feelings with a good chunk of gold, and in a year or two, it’ll all be forgotten and done with. If his lass is a great beauty, she’ll have better men than me hunting her.”
“Well, that’s certainly true enough.”
At the steel in her voice his smile disappeared.
“Since His Grace has matters so well taken care of,” she went on, “I’ll be returning to Dun Gwerbyn soon, if indeed His Grace intends to leave that rhan in my hands.”
“By every god! What do you think I’d do, stea
l your rightful inheritance over some little thing like this?”
“It’s not a little thing, Rhodry. That’s what you’re refusing to understand. For a man like you the wrong kind of marriage can poison his whole life—and his rule. You need a partner, not a mouse. Why can’t you just make some ordinary war pact with Ygwimyr …”
“Because he’s a jealous, suspicious bastard, and there’s not a hope in all three hells of him letting me on his lands unless I’m kin. Mother, I’m not discussing this any more.”
“Then listen to one last thing I say. If I’ve read Aedda aright, she’ll grow to hate you, and if she does, you’d best make very sure who fathers her younger sons.”
For a long moment he paused, his mouth half-caught in the strangest smile she’d ever seen on a man’s face, a stunned amusement, a laughing disbelief. Then he did laugh with a toss of his head, an utterly elven gesture that froze her heart as she realized what that smile must mean.
“Oh no doubt,” Rhodry said. “Mother, on that matter I’d trust your word beyond the oaths of a thousand priests, I would indeed.”
The time for fencing was long gone.
“You know the truth, then, don’t you?” she said, forcing her voice calm.
“I do, at that. I’d never blame you for a thing, mind.”
“My thanks.” Slowly, and as casually as she could manage, she found a chair and sat down. “You know, I never told you about your father because I was afraid you’d abdicate. You did have such a fine sense of honor, Rhoddo, and I somehow always knew that the rhan would need you one day.”
“So I did, and so it did, and you were right enough, weren’t you?” All at once he sighed and ran both hands through his hair. “But all that’s a long time behind us, Mam. Aberwyn’s mine, and cursed and twice-cursed I’d be before I gave her up.”
At last she could smile, thinking that after all was said and done, she’d raised him well.
“When do you think Aedda will arrive for the wedding? Would you like me to plan it?”
“A thousand thanks, Mother. I’d like nothing more.”
ONE
For some weeks now Alaena had had trouble sleeping. Every morning she would rise before the sun, throw on a linen shift, and go out into her night garden, perfumed with jasmine and honeysuckle, to pace aimlessly back and forth among the statues of her husband’s ancestors until the dark sky turned to gray. At times she would sit on the edge of the marble fountain and run her hand back and forth in the water like a child while she wondered if she would ever hear what had happened to her barbarian boy. Now that his good looks were far away from her, she was nothing but pleased that she’d never gotten pregnant or persuaded him to stay. Marrying a freedman would have been the mistake of my life, she would think, but I do hope he’s safe and well. Once the sun came up, she would hurry back inside where it was dim and cool and take out her fortune-telling tiles. Although her readings were always inconclusive, still she pored over them, often for hours at a time, hoping desperately that she would see something—even some bearable misfortune—that would break the tedium of her days. She never found anything more thrilling than the usual love affairs and news from afar.
Yet those common predictions did come true for her in a spectacular way—or so she saw it. One particularly hot afternoon, she was lounging on her cushions and desultorily studying a lay-out of tiles when Porto appeared in the doorway. “Mistress? There’s a Deverry man to see you, Evan the horse trader by name. He says he has news that might interest you.”
“Really? Is he an old friend of my husband’s or someone else I should know?”
“No. I’ve never seen him before.”
“Well, show him in, and have Disna bring some wine.”
Her visitor was wearing a pair of gray Deverry trousers and an embroidered shirt instead of red-and-gold robes, all his rings and jewels were gone, and his pale hair was soberly cut and neatly combed, but Alaena recognized him the moment he strolled into the room.
“Horse trader, indeed! Or have you cast a spell on yourself, wizard?”
“Do you realize that you’re the only person in this town who’s recognized me?” Without waiting to be asked, he stepped up onto the dais and sat down next to her on a purple cushion. “Everyone else remembers my finery, not my face, which is, I must admit, all to the good. For this trip, at least, I prefer to be known as a shrewd merchant, not a theatrical fool.”
“I never thought you were a fool at all.”
“Really? Then my disguise was not, alas, impenetrable.”
Disna came in with the wine and set the tray down on the low table. She glanced at this so-called Evan with a perfectly ordinary curiosity—apparently she too failed to recognize the wizard of last autumn.
“I’ll pour, Disna. You may go.”
But Evan picked up the pitcher before Alaena could reach it and filled both their goblets. When he looked up with a lazy, soft smile she felt a flickering of sexual warmth, simply because his mouth reminded her so much of his brother’s.
“Is Rhodry well?”
“Most definitely. Do you realize who he was? The gwerbret of Aberwyn? He’d been kidnapped by political enemies and sold into slavery in a vain attempt to keep him from an inheritance.”
“No!”
“Yes, oh yes indeed, and so, my paragon of all things beautiful, I wouldn’t bother feeling shamed if I were you. He may have been a slave here, but at home I think he’d qualify as your equal.”
“In social position? Certainly.” She had a sip of her wine. “What a fantastic story! And here I was just thinking that nothing interesting ever happened to me.”
“Although normally I’d hate to correct one so lovely as you, in this case I must point out that you were indeed mistaken. Not only did something of great interest happen once, perhaps something even greater may happen in the future.”
“Oh, really?” She allowed herself a lazy smile to match his. “Is your brother going to come my way again?”
“I doubt that. He’s nicely safe and married off by now, I imagine, to Jill—the woman who was pretending to be my slavegirl.”
“Only pretending?”
“Only pretending. She was Rhodry’s betrothed the whole time.”
“Fascinating! It was kind of you to come tell me—that Rhodry safe, I mean.” She had a sip of wine. “Were you passing this way on business?”
“No. I came specifically to see you.”
“Very very kind, then.”
“Kind? Perhaps, but to myself. It would be a cruel man indeed who’d deny himself the pleasure of seeing you again after having met you. All winter long I’ve thought about the lovely Alaena and this room, filled with your presence like some rare perfume.”
She smiled again, but delicately, while he sipped his wine and merely watched her. He’s the same rank as the brother of an archon, really, she thought to herself—a very important man. And what if he really were a sorcerer? She remembered, then, how frightened she’d been by seeing him perform his marvels, and how exciting that fear had been.
“Will you dine with me tonight, Evan? I’ve never shared a meal with a wizard before.”
“I should be honored. I’ve never shared anything with a woman as beautiful as you.”
When he raised his goblet, she clinked hers against it, and for a moment their fingers touched.
Two
After he slipped away from the gwerbret and his men in Abernaudd, Perryn rode north, keeping away from the main roads and sticking to country lanes and patches of fallow country. At first traveling was difficult. Although he was used to being out on the road, often for weeks at a time, he had none of his usual gear with him, no woodsman’s axe, no kettle, no fishing lines and rabbit snares. His pitifully small cache of coppers dwindled faster and faster as he bought meager provisions at one farm or another. Since he didn’t even have a flint and steel to light a fire, he slept cold under hedgerows or covered with leaves in copses. With Nevyn’s strictures about steali
ng fresh in his mind, he resisted all the small temptations that Wyrd put in his way: chickens loose from their pen with no farmer in sight, meat pies left cooling on untended windowsills, axes carelessly left in woodpiles. Finally his newfound piety was rewarded when he reached Elrydd and found a caravan, heading north into Pyrdon, that needed a man who was good with horses. From then on he was decently fed and a good bit warmer.
While they worked their way north, Perryn tried to avoid thinking of his future, but when they left Eldidd behind and headed toward Loc Drw, the question became unavoidable. With a soul-numbing weariness he realized that there really was nowhere to go but back to his Cousin Nedd and Uncle Benoic. At first they would rage at him, but they’d take him in. For months, of course, maybe even for years, he would be the butt of hideous family jokes and humiliating references, trotted out as an example of stupidity and dishonor—but that would be nothing new. He could live with it, as he had before.
At Dun Drwloc the caravan disbanded, and the master paid over Perryn’s wages, a generous four silvers’ worth of coppers, enough money in that coin-shy area to replace his gear and provision him for the long ride to Cerrgonney. By talking with the local merchant guild, which had a map of sorts, Perryn figured out that if he rode northeast through the province of Arcodd, he had about three hundred and fifty miles to go to reach his uncle’s town of Pren Cludan. The locals, however, suggested that he take a longer route by heading straight east to the Aver Trebyc, which would lead him to the Belaver, which he could then follow straight north to Cerrgonney.
“You could get lost if you just head north, lad,” the merchants all said with grave nods of their heads. “The roads aren’t too good, and there’s long stretches of naught but forest. The Arcodd men call their blasted wilderness a province, but there’s only two proper towns in the whole thing, and them far apart at that.”
Perryn didn’t bother to tell them that Arcodd sounded like paradise to him. When he rode out, he headed north, angling east whenever the roads and deer trails would allow and following his inner lodestone that pointed, grimly and inexorably, to his kin and their version of a welcome. During his first four days of riding, Perryn saw no human beings at all. Soon enough, though, he came to farms and fenced meadows, where white cattle with rusty-red ears grazed under the watchful eyes of young lads with dogs. Everyone he met asked him where he came from, but in a kindly way, and when they found out he came from the south, they treated him as a marvel, that he should travel so far and not get himself lost. Since the spring was blossoming and the threat of winter’s famine over, everyone was generous, too, offering him a meal here or oats for his horse there.
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