Bound into the Blood

by Myers, Karen

  The quirk of her mouth gave her away, and George laughed. “Better you than me.”

  He surveyed the square space edged by hurdles where the exhibition of the hounds would take place the following day. The bottom third of the grounds below Greenway Court had been transformed into a fair ground, with dozens of booths of goods laid out in neat lanes. Last minute arrivals were still setting up, but most of the temporary structures were carefully covered in colorful fabrics, with their merchandise inside. Idris’s guards patrolled in pairs to ensure security, and Ceridwen had set the wooden seals on each booth into some sort of network rather like an alarm system, as nearly as George could make sense of it—something she could monitor. She was checking that now and adding the latecomers to it.

  George cleared his throat, uncomfortably. “I’m glad I ran into you,” he told her. “I was hoping you could persuade Angharad not to tire herself out by coming tomorrow. I’m going to have to stay with the hounds and help Dyfnallt, and she has this mad notion of getting Bedo to squire her around…”

  He trailed off at after a glance at her face.

  “This is not her first child, huntsman, and she is the best judge, not you,” she said.

  At his look of dismay, she continued, more gently. “It will do her no harm, honestly.”

  He could feel a mulish expression creep over his face. “I can’t protect her while I’m busy elsewhere.”

  Ceridwen regarded him. He admired her motionless poise in the midst of the busy activity that circulated around them and wished he could suppress his own twitchiness half as well.

  “Have we not had this discussion before, huntsman?” she said. “It is not in your hands, the safety of everyone, much as you may wish it were.”

  So much for my sheltering oak tree, he thought, sardonically. He could feel himself becoming more obstinate about it, and some of that must have shown in his expression, for she gave him a half smile and drew him over to the empty ranks of stools set up for tomorrow’s spectators at the hound exhibition and gestured for him to sit down with her.

  “George, this notion of yours for a puppy show was just the seed of a larger demonstration, once Gwyn considered how it might be used. He is king now, and his people expect certain things of him. And outsiders, friends, allies, and others— they need to see how this has changed him, and what they can expect from him, now that he is an equal player with the other powers of the world.”

  She waved her hand at the mostly unattended booths. “Most of these will be showing off the produce and goods of Annwn. There are messages being sent here, and we spent many long sessions planning what they would be. Our fae are here, from several towns, but also the korrigans, and the lutins, too. They are all part of this kingdom.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “And there will be goods from your world, huntsman, not just our own. Next year there will be more.”

  This surprised him—he hadn’t heard anything about it. Nor the notion that this would become an annual event.

  “Even Seething Magma has been gracious enough to come,” she said.

  “Probably couldn’t keep her away,” he said.

  Ceridwen smiled. “No, and why should we. She’s an ambassador, after all, and we will have Llefelys of Gaul in attendance, and the representatives of other kingdoms, all of whom can look us over and get to know us better.”

  “The political meetings will probably go on all day, every day,” George said.

  “And well into the night,” she agreed, “though Gwyn is determined that they will not miss the fair itself, so expect to see bands of blinking councilors wandering about in the sunshine from time to time.”

  “So the puppy show and the hounds will be just another demonstration of the kingdom’s power,” George said.

  “Yes, but also of its unique position, favored of Cernunnos,” Ceridwen said. “And all in a way that is welcoming, with the puppies, rather than a threatening reminder of the justice of the great hunt. Though that is always there, in the background.”

  She paused. “Gwyn will spend the fair ungloved.”

  That made George blink. Gwyn had newly won the traditional patronage of his line, the thunderbolt of Taranis, and it manifested as a tattoo on the back of his right hand. It had passed over his father, Lludd, King of Britain.

  “Two out of three,” he muttered.

  At Ceridwen’s lifted eyebrow, he explained. “Cernunnos, Taranis… isn’t Senua the third that those in Gwyn’s lineage traditionally invoke?”

  She nodded. “And we all want to know what her intent is, visiting us the way she is, housed in that cat. She’s not known for a relationship with animals.”

  “No idea,” he told her. “She seems to be focused on Angharad, but she doesn’t talk to me. Or anyone, far as I can tell. But she listens, I believe, and I think she must have some sort of plan.” He had told her, a while ago, about Corniad’s attack and the sheltering rose that he attributed to Senua.

  “Maybe Mag can tell you more. They seem to talk, though Mag doesn’t discuss it with me. And I think maybe she spoke to my father, though I haven’t asked him.” Nor am I likely to, he thought.

  It worried him that Mag was still more formal with him since his new partnership with Cernunnos, clearly uncomfortable with the change. He missed the easy relationship they’d had before.

  “Yes, alright, I see your point—the fair is for demonstrating Annwn and its power, and the power of its patrons. But what does this have to do with Angharad?”

  “It’s not just power,” she said, “but also hope, growth, trade, prosperity… All those good things that can flow out of Annwn and alliances with it.”

  “So?”

  Ceridwen snorted in exasperation. “I keep forgetting your human origins, huntsman. Remember, our births are rare. Angharad’s very form, in its own way, is a mute testimony about the health and fortune of this kingdom. She will part the crowds wherever she chooses to walk tomorrow. The story of the mural in Lludd’s court has grown with each retelling, and all the visitors will want to see her.”

  “And she knows this, doesn’t she,” he said, half to himself, and nodded.

  He bent his head and took a deep breath, letting it out with a sigh. “Alright. I don’t like it, but I understand.”

  He stood up and looked hard at Ceridwen. “But she goes nowhere alone.”

  And I’ll spend most of my time tomorrow searching the crowds for her, he thought, arrow pendant in hand.

  CHAPTER 34

  “I still think you should be doing this, George, not me.” Dyfnallt gestured deferentially from his seat before the desk in the huntsman’s office.

  “Nothing’s changed,” George said. “If I exhibited the hounds, they’d say I controlled them, and that’s not what we want. Besides,” he grinned, “you’ve earned it.”

  At that Dyfnallt let a little smile wash over his thin face. “They’ve settled in nicely,” he allowed. “Even Cernunnos’s whelps are at least trying to behave well.”

  “For now, anyway,” George warned. He didn’t think Leo or Gweilgi were in any danger of being lost in the crowd. Still, sixteen whelps was quite a number to digest, an increase to the pack of more than a quarter in a single year.

  “The people and the excitement are going to stir them all up, of course,” Dyfnallt said, “but I’ve got both the kennel-men as well as Brynach and Benitoe and Rhian as whippers-in, and a few volunteers from the lutins. We’ll put the puppies on leads, and keep the rest in a free pack.”

  “And I’ll be there as backup,” George said. “I’m still debating a parade of hounds on foot—it’ll depend on what the crowd is like.”

  “Lord Edern came by a while ago to look at puppies in kennels, and he brought Tudur with him.”

  “Really? What did you think of Llefelys’s huntsman?” George asked.

  “Well, I’d heard about him and Rhian warned me. Said he did things differently in his own place. But he seemed a fair man when I saw him. He’ll do.”
r />   Dyfnallt stood up to leave, but before he reached the door it opened, after a brief knock by Ives. He was accompanied by Benitoe and, unexpectedly, Maëlys. They nodded to Dyfnallt as he left and the two men pulled up chairs suited to their size. They looked to be bursting with news, and George quirked an eyebrow at them, but they shook their heads and refused the invitation. He glared in frustration and they laughed.

  Meanwhile, Maëlys stayed on her feet and walked around the room with interest, examining the book cases and their records, and all the clutter of the huntsman’s office.

  “Did you think I’d let my puppies go uncheered in tomorrow’s competition, huntsman?” she told him, amused at his obvious surprise. “When I know they’re the best? That’s not how we do things in my clan.”

  “You’re very welcome, mistress Maëlys, and thank you for taking care of three of the whelps. We’re very grateful.” George rose from his seat and made a little bow to her. “But who’s running the inn?” he asked, as he sat back down.

  “Luhedoc, of course,” she said. “He can handle it for a few days, and I’ve really come to look at the fair. I’m wanting to find some new ideas, for trade and the like.”

  “My nephew here,” she waved at Benitoe, “has been filling my ears with tales about his trip, and my husband is enamored of those new horses.”

  “But who’s looking after the inn’s horses and ponies out at the farm, if Luhedoc’s in charge at the inn?” he asked.

  “Your father,” she told him, her hands on her hips as if daring him to object.

  The ears moved back on his scalp, and he exclaimed, “What, by himself? You trust him?”

  “Well, and there are others at the farm, and that Eluned has her eye on him.” She stood there sturdily and faced George across his desk, eyes on a level with him seated. “We can’t keep him under guard like a prisoner,” she said, “not if we ever want him to grow into his own.”

  George swallowed. “How is he?”

  “Quiet, that one. Doesn’t say much. He’s wonderful with the horses.” She pursed her lips. “Luhedoc talks about him as if he were a wild beast, temporarily tame, and didn’t want to leave him there with the other handlers.”

  “And you don’t agree?” George asked.

  “Oh, he’s a wild animal indeed,” she said. “And he’s dangerous. I’m no fool.”

  She tilted her head and looked at him, like a determined sparrow. “But he’s not going to heal in chains, and healing is what he needs. Peace and quiet, work to do, and a wee bit of trust, like any other creature.”

  George was speechless for a moment. “I hope you never have cause to regret it,” he told her sincerely.

  “What’s life without risk?” she said, “You can’t always be making the safe choice.”

  He rose and walked around the desk to bring her a chair of her own, and she plumped into it as if she’d only been waiting for the gesture. On a whim, he unlocked the cupboard on the wall behind her and took out the oliphant, the ancient carved ivory horn used for the great hunt, and placed it in her lap for her to admire.

  “Thought you might like to see this, since I don’t know when you’ll be back this way.”

  “Thank you, huntsman. It’s very fine,” she said, running her hands over its smooth surface.

  Benitoe had watched his aunt take charge of the meeting with a small smile on his face, and Ives was grinning outright.

  What would Senua make of her, George wondered, as he sat back down behind the desk.

  “Have you seen Angharad yet?” he asked her.

  “I was planning on visiting her right after this,” she said.

  “Good. There’s a cat I think you should meet.” He laughed at her puzzlement and refused to explain.

  “So, gentlemen,” he said, turning with determination to Ives and Benitoe at last. “Any news from the Kuzul?”

  “That’s why we dropped in,” Ives said. He crossed his hands across his stomach and leaned back.

  George took in his satisfied look. “They’ve agreed,” he ventured.

  “All of it,” Benitoe said, unable to contain himself. “The caravans and horses, the goods and entertainment, the traveling agricultural rounds. Even the balloons, though I don’t think they but half believed me when I described them. We still have to finalize routes and goals, and it’ll take months to get everything properly outfitted, but they’re going to sponsor it.”

  Ives chimed in. “It’s just for Annwn, to start with,” he said. “But if that’s a success, I know they’ll go on to Britain and Gaul, and who knows where else.”

  “You can’t realize what this means to the younger ones, huntsman,” Maëlys said. “They’re eager to break out of the old ways, some of them, to explore. It’ll be a whole new way to live. Whole families will go.”

  She put the oliphant up on George’s desk so she could use her hands to paint the picture. “Already the farms around Luhedoc’s have been taken up by members of several clans, and a small village is forming there around the crossroads. You’ve seen it, but you won’t recognize it in a few months.”

  Gibtown, George thought to himself, like the winter quarters circus towns in Florida, where the performers keep their families and prepare for each new season. It’s going to be like Gibtown.

  “Is it all local lutins, coming in?”

  “Some, but they’re from everywhere. It’s like a clan reunion.” She looked at him. “You know, we don’t really have mixed clan settlements like this, anywhere I can think of. But this Karnag spot was all ready for us, abandoned by the folk in Edgewood, so we just… took it over. It’s becoming a regular warren already.”

  “With Rhys’s approval, of course,” Benitoe added.

  He patted his vest pockets for paper. “I have a list here somewhere…” He pulled a scrap out and handed it to George.

  “Horses. We’re going to need more showy horses like the first ones.” He looked up at George. “The Kuzul liked the Vanners—I think that was half the battle, the notion that we’d be the only ones with that breed, at least for a while. Anyway, this is a list of what we need.”

  He paused. “Are you still interested in investing more, as you said, or have you changed your mind?”

  “I wouldn’t miss the chance,” George said. “We’ll sort it out after tomorrow, after the show.”

  His plans were interrupted by Seething Magma.

  *I am coming for you.*

  “Oops, gotta go. Mag needs me to start this roundabout way she’s building. This’ll take a few hours.” Mosby was saddled and waiting for him.

  “I’ll see you all later,” he called as he headed out the door.

  Gwyn looked around his council chamber, early in the afternoon. “Those of you coming with me to greet our guests, I hope you have your horses ready and waiting. We haven’t much time—I expect a messenger from George to join him when Seething Magma begins to build her way from Gaul, and that could come at any moment.”

  His senior court members nodded. It had been long since they were all assembled in their finery, and his eye was pleased with the result. His brother Edern, of course, would accompany him, and the youngsters, Rhian and Rhys, to represent the family. Ceridwen and Idris were suitably dignified and grave. Only Ifor Moel would stay behind to handle any last minute problems with the preparations.

  Idris reported, “We have guards and servants assigned for Llefelys and Coronwen, to supplement whomever they’re bringing, and accommodations for all of their staff. At their request, we’ve found most of them rooms within the manor house, though we had to displace some of our own to do it. Not without a bit of grumbling.”

  Ifor added, “I believe everything is under control for the planned events.”

  At Gwyn’s cocked eyebrow, he elaborated, “So far, at any rate. There are usually a few… adventures in something this elaborate, but with any luck they’ll never notice.”

  Rhys was the picture of a young prince in his formal robes. Gwyn thought he’
d acquired some seasoning from his experience rebuilding Edgewood and had assigned him escort duties for all the senior members of Llefelys’s court, one by one. He would benefit from the exposure, and they would start to form relationships with him which would ease their alliance over time.

  “Rhian,” he said, and suppressed a sigh. “You look lovely, my dear.” And indeed she did, when she remembered not to bite her lip.

  She stopped fidgeting and came to attention. “Remember, you will have a new place at the family table, as befits my hostess, the daughter of the house.”

  She nodded nervously.

  “I’m sure you’ll do your best,” he said, in his most reassuring voice. “You can do no better than to model yourself after Coronwen, and I’ve arranged for the two of you to be much together. After all, you will soon be family to each other.”

  Coronwen, as Eurig and Tegwen’s daughter, was a much older cousin to Brynach, and Rhian’s smile flickered over her face at the thought of her betrothal. He was pleased to see her gladdened. Better for her to enjoy her new responsibilities, if she could.

  “I assume you will partner with Morien,” he said to Ceridwen. Traveling scholars mostly consulted with each other, taking advantage of the rare visits of colleagues.

  Ceridwen nodded placidly. “We have been corresponding, and there will be much to occupy us.” She held up her hand to forestall his next remark. “But I promise we will make ourselves available as required for all the formal events.”

  A chuckle ran around the table. The tendency of scholars to become reclusive if not prodded was well known, and Ceridwen was no exception.

  A knock sounded on the door and a servant spoke to one of Idris’s men who opened to him. “It’s time, my lord. The huntsman’s messenger has arrived.”

  Rhian smoothed her split-skirt gown over her legs while waiting for the groom to bring her horse, comforted by the feel of the knives strapped to her thighs beneath it. She would be riding with her family to greet the King of Gaul, her foster-father’s uncle. That’s not what made her nervous—after all, she knew the court in Gaul, had spent a month in their company a few months ago. It was meeting her foster-father’s expectations that had her in turmoil.