For this, though...
“Are you sure you can do this?” Oryan asked.
Kyri turned to look at him more straightly. She knew what it cost him to ask. He’d already lost his wife and now, in effect, he would lose his son. Her heart ached for him.
She nodded reassuringly, as that was what he needed to see.
“It’s a simple magic, Oryan,” she said gently. “It won’t harm him. In time, his hair will return to its normal color, growing darker as he ages, as happens with your children. Nor will the memory spell injure him nor will it fade until he’s of age. He’s young yet, it’s a simple matter to tuck those memories away. He’ll create new ones.”
Knowing Gawain would be safer made the prospect of parting from his son no easier for Oryan, nor that it had been his own idea.
Haerold would hunt them and if he caught them together, they’d both die and the throne would be Haerold’s unchallenged. Separated, there the chance that one of them might survive. It would be the choice of a life on the run, or a chance for Gawain to grow up somewhat normally. Safe. Or at least, safer.
Time was growing short, Oryan couldn’t put the decision off much longer and he knew it.
He looked to Morgan.
“Liliane will keep him safe,” Morgan assured him. “She’ll love him like her own. She’s been my strong left arm almost from the day she joined the Marshals. Her skill with sword and bow are undeniable, even while she’d mothered all of us.”
Even me, he thought with a mental chuckle.
For Oryan and for Gawain whom she’d grown fond of, as she did with all children, she would change her name, her life, and so keep the boy, their prince, safe.
Having no wife or children of his own, Morgan couldn’t know what it cost Oryan to do this, he only knew it did.
Kyri did know what it cost Oryan as she could ‘hear’ it. She’d ‘listened’ to Oryan brood over it in the days they’d spent riding here, turning it over and over in his mind, battling with himself until he’d finally brought himself to speak of it. She could sense his heartache clearly, but it was in his eyes as well. She had no children of her body, only the thousands of her people who looked to her, but still, some part of her understood…
The time was now then.
Going to one knee, Oryan ran a hand over his son’s hair and his heart ached as Gawain looked up at him and smiled. Oryan’s heart caught at the simple innocence in his son’s gray eyes – eyes so much like his mother’s. Gwenifer. Sweet Gwen. The need to keep his son safe warred with the need to have him close. Sending him away would be safer, but neither would Oryan be able to watch his son grow, become a man. He wouldn’t guide him…
Morgan looked to Kyriay, although somehow he’d been aware of her from the moment she’d arrived.
Their eyes met.
He could see the compassion for Oryan in her gaze.
“Oryan,” Kyri said, hearing his pain.
She’d expected no less and so come prepared, as much as she could.
He looked up.
“You may have to be parted, but you can watch him in this…”
It was only a little thing, but at least it would be something, that she offered him. She’d taken a page from their enemy.
Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a small silver bowl, only slightly bigger than her palm. She set it in his hand.
Puzzled, Oryan looked at her and frowned slightly.
“It’s a scrying bowl, such as Haerold uses to track you,” she explained, “but used another way instead. This too, is simple magic. It’s so simple you can do it yourself.”
She reached for the ewer of water on the nearby table and poured a little of the water into the small bowl.
“It’s keyed to your son. To Gawain,” she said.
From the same pocket, she took out a small bag, drawing out a pinch of the finely ground herbs to sprinkle them over the water.
Morgan watched them together, the small, seemingly delicate Fairy, her golden hair streaming over her shoulders in a rippling fall and his tall spare King, his darker close-cropped head bent toward her golden one.
A touch of hope lightened Oryan’s eyes, eased the weight on his shoulders.
Grief had weighed heavily on him, the parting from Gawain even more so.
Morgan couldn’t help but be glad that some little bit of that weight and worry would be lifted.
“Think of him,” Kyri said, cupping Oryan’s hands around the bowl as the herbs sifted through the water. She cast a small breath of magic, no more than Oryan would use to light a candle. “Concentrate, focus…and look into the water.”
Oryan had known of such things but he’d never used one.
An image appeared in the cup, watery but clear, of Gawain sitting by the window.
Oryan looked from the image in the cup to the real boy across the room.
For a moment he was nearly overcome as he cupped the small bowl in his hands and looked at the image of his son within it.
Perhaps he couldn’t be there but he could at least watch.
In a way, Kyri had given him his son back. He struggled for control, taking one long breath.
“Thank you,” he said, simply.
She nodded, gravely for once, her lovely, long-lashed sea-foam eyes soft, understanding.
The last objection had now been overcome.
A part of Oryan went calm, still and certain. However much he wanted to avoid it, he was out of time. If he waited much longer Haerold’s men would be here and all would be lost. Including Gawain. Haerold didn’t dare allow the boy to live for fear someone would raise him up to take back Oryan’s throne. Or that he would keep the boy himself and raise him in his own image.
Oryan closed his eyes against that thought.
That was a greater horror, that his brother with his innate cruelty might raise his son.
Now that he had this, though, there was no more reason, or excuse, to delay.
There was this plan of Morgan’s, too. However much he didn’t like it, it was the only way, they needed the information. This might be the only way to get it. It meant the loss Morgan, too, if only for a time, but there was no help for it. He could wait no longer. Resolve strengthened in him.
“It’s time,” he said. “Prepare to leave.”
They both nodded.
Morgan followed Kyri out the door, hastening his steps to catch her wrist, touching it lightly.
“Kyriay, thank you for that,” he said.
Oryan had been his King, but over time he’d also become Morgan’s friend and more, almost a brother. Small as the gesture might seem, it mattered. Especially in these dark days.
Save for that night on the parapet though, this was the first time he’d been so close to her.
Until these last few days she’d always been a curiosity seen at a distance, a beautiful but distant vision, always with a slight air of mischief about her as was common to her folk. A smile had always curved her lips, the strength and determination she’d shown these last days hidden.
It was odd to realize how small she was beside him, nearly a head shorter than he, for she always seemed taller, even though he’d seen it himself when she stood before Oryan, her lovely face tilted up to his.
What Morgan did know was that this close he couldn’t miss that her eyes were incredibly lovely, even in the shadowed hall. They were the color of the ocean when the sun pierced a wave, a clear and brilliant aqua, fringed with long lashes a shade darker than her tumble of curling, gilded hair.
It struck him again how lovely she was, with her delicate, fine-boned features.
He suddenly found himself trying to resist the strong urge to tuck the tight curls of her hair behind her ear to feel the softness of her hair, the tendrils wrap around his finger and the silken texture of her skin. He wanted to slide his fingers through that hair. He was sharply aware of her slender body, the ripe curves of her beneath the thin shift. With all the affairs of the kingdom to keep him busy, it had be
en a long time since he’d even thought about a woman, but he was suddenly, intensely, aware of this one, Fairy though she might be.
Kyri smiled a little in answer to his words, aware of currents that ran beneath them. She loved his voice, so deep and sonorous that she could almost feel it in her bones.
“It’s a small enough thing to do,” she said, her own voice soft. “Oryan might be King, but he’s still a man, he still feels and in a short time he’s lost wife, crown and gone into exile. Though I have no consort of my own, I am queen in the way of my people and so I understand a little the sacrifices he must make for his people. Today he will lose his son. Shortly, he will lose you, too, his good right arm…”
In truth Kyri didn’t like that plan at all, even though she understood the need and agreed with the reasons, it was a dangerous risk to take with someone the Kingdom and King could hardly spare.
There was no one else, though, in any and either case.
Morgan thought he had a chance of pulling it off and he planned to have his own people near at hand if he didn’t.
Still, it was a risk.
Though Morgan didn’t know it – for she hadn’t told him knowing he would forbid it, as if he could but she wouldn’t defy him outright – Kyri intended to provide her own insurance.
Oryan had too few friends at hand, no other Generals, either, and none the like of Morgan. They needed him if this restoration was to have any chance to succeed.
With a sigh, Morgan acknowledged the truth of her words.
It would be hard for Oryan, going into exile alone, certainly until he could gather more trusted people around him once again.
Even if everything went well, Morgan would see his old friend rarely, if at all, for some time. Kyri and her people had agreed to act as messengers and go betweens. Names had power among the Fair, as the old tales had said, he had only to think them and whichever was closest would come as soon as they could. There would be only a few folk that Morgan, too, dared trust.
Before him was one of them. So seemingly delicate and yet he knew her strength, both of arm and of spirit. She was the one person who would stand as both friend and ally to Oryan and to him. Looking into her calm gaze, he still saw the lightness, the hint of amusement that was at the heart of Fairy, but at her core was a steadiness he knew he could rely on.
And an attraction he couldn’t deny.
Something moved in him. His hand tightened on her wrist.
He’d forgotten he still held it.
Beneath his fingers her pulse beat, quickened.
Kyri looked up at Morgan, into eyes as blue as the sky she loved. He’d always intrigued her, this man Oryan trusted so well, but he’d been a distant figure, as he was usually in the field on the days she visited Oryan’s court. These last days had been the most she’d ever spent in his company and this moment the closest physically. She was suddenly and sharply aware of the pure physical presence of the man and how very handsome a man he was, with his strong straight features and those piercing blue eyes. There was strength in him, in the hand that grasped her wrist, as she’d seen that night on the parapet.
Suddenly her breath came short.
For a moment they were frozen, staring into each other’s eyes, and then a door slammed as feet scurried in a nearby room.
Morgan nodded, suddenly remembering his duty and let her go.
Her pulse still pounding, Kyri watched him walk away.
Chapter Five
It was a long way from what Gawain had known and that would help. The land here was flat, open – the great Plains of Kyri’s youth tamed. Wheat and oats replaced the tall, wild grasses of her childhood, very unlike the seaside cliffs and harbor he’d known. She knelt before him, her heart wrenching to look at him even as she brushed the thin, fine hair back from his forehead. It took only a little magic to lighten that hair. He didn’t even notice.
He was so young. So trusting.
Kyri smiled as his eyes met hers so straightly. This next wasn’t something she did easily or carelessly – tampering with another’s mind. It was best, it was needful, and it would keep the boy safe, she agreed with all that, but she could never like it.
“Gawain…”
Those silver eyes, so like his mother’s, focused on hers… He would be tall like Gwen as well, already standing nearly as tall as Kyri’s shoulder.
Her heart broke even as she reached inside his mind… to keep him safe… He was so trusting.
Carefully she tucked away the memories of his mother and his father. She replaced them with the thought of a father who’d loved him but had died amidst the chaos and horror of the battle at the castle. Liliane was his mother and she loved him fiercely, protectively.
Oryan watched, his breath caught a little fearfully, but there was no sign on Gawain’s face of disturbance, it simply went a little dreamy and then his son’s eyes fluttered a little. They slipped closed.
Cradling the boy in her arms, Kyri lifted him, brushed a gentle kiss over his forehead. She turned to Liliane. “When he wakes, he’ll have forgotten. He’ll know only you.”
Plain, kind, her expression calm, Liliane looked in return.
Liliane smiled at the look in the Fairy’s eyes. She knew it well. Say what you’d like of Fair, this one did give a care.
“My folk,” she said honestly, taking the boy in her arms carefully, “don’t have much truck with yours, with Fairy. You do what you have to. I’ll protect the boy.”
Kyri had no doubt of Liliane’s resolution.
Taking a breath, she nodded. Her fingers sifted through Liliane’s hair and she smiled as she met the woman’s plain brown eyes.
It wasn’t an uncommon attitude – that of Liliane’s folk. Few in the Kingdom saw Fairy much save where their lands bordered each on the other. It hadn’t been so long ago that her people had raeded here – to use the Fairy word – the young ones making mischief. Or that men had raided her own, doing more than making mischief. Their definition of raid had been much different.
She turned her thoughts away from that. It had been long ago, thanks to Oryan.
“Ready?” she asked.
Letting her breath out in a sigh, Liliane smiled. “A new life? Who could object to that?”
Especially now. Times would be hard. They all knew it. All Liliane heard of Haerold said he was a hard man. For her the battles would be over. It pained her to leave Morgan and her friends in the Marshals, but she had this duty and knew how important it was. She was a simple woman but not stupid, and she knew what they’d entrusted her with – the hope of the Kingdom.
For the boy first, for the Kingdom second, for Morgan her Captain and Oryan her King, she would keep him safe. Hope would follow.
Smiling reassuringly, Kyri reached into Liliane’s thoughts and, building on Liliane’s dreams of a life someday with a husband she loved, of a child of her own, she created memories of a brief stint with the Marshals, of marriage and loss. Those planted memories would fade over time, so she would remember who it was she guarded.
With luck, Haerold’s wizards wouldn’t probe so deep, so soon. Not yet.
“No one,” Kyri confirmed, her lips curving as she covered over Liliane’s years with Morgan but not her skill with sword and bow. Liliane would need to teach them to Gawain.
Memories altered, Liliane and Gawain rode off happily, the rickety wagon taking them away from death and destruction.
And so Gawain was sent on his way.
Oryan waited. His eyes met Kyri’s. He hadn’t missed the small moment of kindness toward his son and he was grateful for it.
“He’s safe, Oryan,” Kyri said, looking at him as she vaulted onto her horse. “As safe as you, Morgan and I can make him.”
A sigh whispered from the King.
It was better this way, Oryan knew. If he fell, at least his son would live. There would still be hope.
“I know. Kyri, thank you,” he said and looked away for a moment, “for saving my son.”
The tears he dared not shed prickled behind his eyelids.
Gawain hadn’t even known who it was he should wave goodbye to, or why.
It was done.
Now the war began.
For a time the small band was silent as they rode. The sun followed them, east to west, before they turned somewhat north, eyes alert, retracing their path, Kyri’s scouts flying high above. The small group melted into the trees or below the horizon at the first hint of approaching riders.
“It’s time,” Morgan announced finally, reluctantly.
They’d moved north again, but further east. It was an unexpected move they hoped, and a necessary one if Oryan was to attempt to reach Dorset quickly. Not for Morgan, who returned now to Caernarvon.
If he lost Morgan, his strong right arm…
Kyri watched, her eyes steady on his.
She ruled her small people alone, and for far longer than he…how could he do any less?
A small smile touched her mouth…understanding was mirrored in her aqua eyes.
Oryan had known it, awaited this moment. A gusty sigh escaped him, mixed of anger, acceptance and grief.
“Good luck, old friend.”
Morgan sat back on his horse to look upon this man he’d served so long.
Tall, Oryan had a long, strong face and broad shoulders. Morgan had always known Oryan was tough; they’d fought the reavers to the north together when Oryan had been Prince. Nor had the early years of his reign been easy; their neighbor to the west had thought to take advantage of a young King new to his throne. It had taken a few pitched battles to prove him wrong. Those days had honed that strength and these last days had shown it. Blow after shattering blow and yet Oryan had continued on, he hadn’t wavered nor bowed even in the face of his grief.
Song of the Fairy Queen Page 4