by Holly Taylor
But there were rewards. Such as how he felt right now, standing before the place where Idris, Macsen, and Lleu were buried. He felt a kinship with them he had not expected to feel. If they could do it—and they had—so could he. He thought that reward would be enough and did not think he should ask for more.
Until he heard her voice. And he knew he did want more. Much, much more.
“Tired of dancing?” she asked as she came to stand beside him.
He turned to look down at her and found he could not banter with her. He found that he had to tell her the truth. And risk everything.
“I love you, Gwenhwyfar ur Rhoram var Rhiannon. I have loved you for a long, long time. Is there any hope that one day you will feel the same?”
She did not answer at first, merely studying his face in the moonlight, searching, perhaps, for the truth in his eyes. At last, having seen what she needed to see, she lifted her face for his kiss.
And that was answer enough.
SOME TIME LATER they returned to the Doors of Cadair Idris, their arms around each other. They mounted the white, shining steps and the Doors slowly opened.
“Greetings, High King,” the Doors said quietly as they passed through.
“Greetings, Efa,” Arthur replied to the former Queen of Prydyn.
Epilogue
* * *
Celynnen Mis, 500
Sigerric stood at the prow of the ship, his thin hands firmly gripping the oak railing. The red and white striped sails filled with the freshening wind, sending the ship cutting cleanly through the waves, propelling it swiftly toward home.
Home. Oh, how desperately he longed to return there. He had been away from Corania for a long time, far, far too long. And the things that he had done in Kymru still had the power to shame him. He wondered if he would ever feel differently, but he thought not. The best he could hope for was for the memories to fade at least a little, for the shame to lessen slightly with the passage of time. Not that the shame would ever wholly go away—and not that he would want it to. He could not be the man he was and not feel those emotions. And he didn’t want to be a different man from who he was. He never had. Unlike Havgan, who had been a very different man indeed.
It was strange, he supposed, not to mourn his friend any longer. After all, hadn’t he been mourning Havgan for years beyond counting? But he knew that Havgan was free, at long last. He knew that his friend’s long, strange exile had come to an end. And so he could not mourn that fact that Havgan had, at long last, gone home.
The battle had ended a little over three weeks ago, and he had mostly recovered from his many wounds. Not, of course, from the wounds to his soul. He did not think he would ever recover from those. It had taken ten days for the Coranians to reach the sea. In those ten days they had experienced such terror that some warriors had died from it. For they had been harried by Havgan and the Wild Hunt, driven to the sea and allowed little rest. Remembering the sight of Havgan, cloaked in red and gold, followed by a horned god and a goddess with pitiless amethyst eyes, still had the power to make him shiver.
Of course, when all the men were loaded onto the ships, when the ships had left Kymru, one by one, Sigerric’s ship had been the last to go. He had turned back to the shore for one last look. As Havgan had known he would. For the Golden Man had raised his hand in farewell and had actually smiled.
Yes, they had embarked on their ships and gratefully turned them east, glad to leave the land that had stolen their blood and their courage. In three more days they would be back in the Coranian Empire. And Sigerric did not intend to leave that land ever, ever again.
“He seems to be doing well. Unfortunately.”
Sigerric, having forgotten that Penda was standing next to him, was momentarily startled to hear him speak. Not that he was sorry Penda was there. Penda’s company soothed him, for they had been friends a long, long time. They had endured the little soul-deaths Havgan had meted out to them over the years, endured the sojourn in Kymru, endured the last retreat together, endured Havgan’s farewell.
“It is almost a shame we found that Dewin in his boat,” Sigerric said. “For I don’t trust him in the least.”
“Well, I didn’t want to keep him alive,” Penda pointed out.
“Don’t rub it in, Penda. You know perfectly well why I didn’t want to put Bledri to death.”
“Because you had enough Kymric blood on your hands?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “Even the life of such a one who betrayed his people is one more life than I wanted to take. At least for now.”
“I understand. It’s what Talorcan would have done, if he had been here.”
“He found his true destiny,” Sigerric said. “And we can’t be grudge him that.”
“I don’t,” Penda said. “I envy him.”
Princess Aelfwyn chose that moment to join them. She was wrapped warmly in a white cloak with diamonds sewn at the hem and throat. Her bright, golden hair was braided and fastened tightly to her proud head with diamond pins. Her green eyes were cool and clear as she glanced at him. Penda bowed and left Sigerric alone with his true love.
Not, Sigerric thought bitterly, that she understood that. Or ever would.
They stood silently together for some time. When he could bear it no longer, he turned to look at her. He drank in the sight of her, all the while knowing that no matter how close she came to him, she would always remain a distant, cold light—one that would never warm him, but would always beckon him on with the hollow promise of love.
And he would follow. Now and forever.
“Princess,” he said, gripping the railing even harder to keep from reaching out to her.
“General,” she replied evenly.
“You cannot even use my name?” he asked, his heart aching.
“And you cannot even use mine?”
“I wouldn’t presume.”
“I think you presume a great deal,” she said. And for the first time since he had met her he saw a flash of fire in her eyes.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do,” she said firmly.
“Truly, I—”
“You presume, General,” she interrupted, “that I am unchanged. You presume that I carry nothing in my heart, now that my goal of being rid of my husband is accomplished. You presume that I have nothing left to give. To anyone.”
“I presume only that you have nothing you would give to me,” he said, stung. “For you know I love you. You have known for years and years, and it has meant nothing to you.”
“They call me Star of Heaven,” she said quietly. “And they presume—as do you—that I am cold and bright and distant. And they are right. But they presume that I always will be. And they are wrong. As are you.”
She turned to go, and he grabbed her arm and pulled her back to face him. There were tears on her white face, and an agony in her green eyes he had never thought to see.
“Aelfwyn,” he whispered. “Oh, my heart’s love.”
But before she could answer the air was sliced with a scream of agony.
“Arianrod,” Aelfwyn said bitterly. “My husband’s whore. It is her time, then.”
“Then you must go to help her.”
Aelfwyn laughed shortly. “Help her? I will help her into the next world, if that is what you mean. And the child, too.”
“You don’t mean that.”
But she did not answer him. She pulled away from his grasp and went swiftly below decks, to the source of the scream.
ARIANROD LAY STILL, too spent to move. The low ceiling of the cabin hovered over her. She felt smothered but was too weak to help herself. A strong hand laid a cold cloth on her forehead and she blinked sweat out of her eyes to see who it was.
Bledri looked down at her steadily, his gray eyes uncaring. Yet he had done the best he could for her. If it hadn’t been for him, she probably would have died.
“Why did you keep me alive?” she whispered. “Why?”
&
nbsp; He smiled, his face twisted. “My Dewin training, I suppose. Mostly, perhaps, because I could sense how much you wanted to die.”
“And so made sure that I lived.”
“Aelfwyn was very disappointed.”
“Where did she take the baby?” she asked.
“I believe she said something about drowning it,” he said, his gray eyes dancing with glee, his mouth twisted with a cruel smile.
She supposed Bledri thought she would react to that. That she would start screaming. That she would—at the very least—care.
But she didn’t.
Once she had desperately wanted the child she had carried under her heart for so long. But that was before. Before she had learned that her brother was the father of her baby. Before her brother had died. Before her parents had returned—not to her, but to him.
They had left her, alone. Again. Living in this world which held nothing for her.
She turned her face to the wall and waited for Bledri to leave. He did at last, closing the door behind him. She lay there for a time, gathering her strength. She knew what she had to do now. And no one would stop her.
She considered taking a moment to see the child, to swear a destiny for him. But she did not think that would matter. She already knew that the child’s destiny would be dark enough. For he was the fruit of the mating of a brother Dreamer and a sister Dewin, and such a thing had long ago been forbidden—and with good reason. She had known the moment the child left her body that it had taken her life with it. That boy would take whatever lives he wanted, and laugh while he did it. Her Mordred. Her son. She would leave him as a gift to Aelfwyn.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, ignoring the blood that trickled down her legs, further staining her shift, she rose from her bed, staggering to the closed door. She had been afraid it would be locked, and was surprised to find that it was not.
She opened the door softly, cautiously putting her head outside into the narrow corridor. But no one was there. As swiftly as she could, she made her way down the corridor to the stairs leading up to the deck. The ship swayed steadily, but not violently. She moved carefully, managing to stay on her feet, gritting her teeth against the pain as she climbed, not caring that she was leaving a trail of blood behind her.
For once in her life, her luck held. For as she came up on deck there was no one to notice her. They were all gathered at the prow, pointing at what looked to be a school of dolphins. Perhaps Nantsovelta herself had sent them to allow Arianrod to do what she so desperately needed to do.
And at that moment she did indeed feel that Nantsovelta, Lady of the Waters, Queen of the Moon, was with her. She felt a comforting presence, and for once she did not feel alone. Nantsovelta, the goddess most revered by the Dewin, was standing with her, helping her to make her way to the railing, ensuring that no one raised the alarm.
She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the tangy scent of the salty water. Droplets nestled in her tawny hair like diamonds as she grasped the nearest taut rope. Steadying herself with the rope, she pulled herself up until she was standing on the railing. She looked down into the sea, and felt no fear.
The prayer to Nantsovelta came to her lips and she whispered, “O vessel bearing the light, O great brightness Outshining the sun, draw me ashore, under your Protection, from the short-lived ship of the world.”
JUST BEFORE SHE jumped, she heard the sound of a hunting horn. And she saw them. They had come for her at last. She saw her brother, flashing golden in the sun. She caught a glimpse of her father’s amber eyes, of her mother’s tawny hair, of the welcoming smile all three had for her.
And then she jumped. And the sea welcomed her, filling her lungs, taking her in. Her body sank like a stone. But her spirit rose up and up, straining to join them.
They had waited for her. As she had always dreamed they would. She would never be alone again.
AELFWYN STARED DOWN at the child in her arms. At Arianrod’s child. At Havgan’s child. At the child of the two she hated more than anyone in the world. Sigerric was mad to think she would not take this chance to rid herself of this last reminder, this vestige of all she despised most.
The sound of hunting horns drifted to her ears. Then she heard a splash and the cries of the men on deck.
She smiled, for she knew what had happened. She had heard Arianrod leave her cabin and had known where the woman was going. At last, Arianrod was now dead. Soon, this child would join its mother in the depths of the sea.
She looked down into the tiny face, framed with a thatch of tawny hair. The boy’s eyes opened. They were amber, amber as Havgan’s had been. Amber as Arianrod’s had been. She was conscious of a dim surprise, for newborn baby’s eyes are always blue at first. Always.
The amber eyes glittered in the smoky light with a yellowish tinge that made her flesh crawl, at the same time engendering a fierce protectiveness. No one would harm this child. No one. Not while she had breath in her body. This boy would be hers. She would raise him to rule the Empire.
She said the child’s name as she had heard Arianrod do. “Mordred.”
And though she said it with reverence, with joy, the name still tasted of ashes in her mouth. Somewhere deep down inside a part of her screamed with horror, even as she held the child to her heart.
“Mordred,” she said again. “My son.”
Glossary
Addiendydd: sixth day of the week
aderyn: birds
aethnen: aspen tree; sacred to Ederynion
alarch: swan; the symbol of the royal house of Ederynion
alban: light; any one of the four solar festivals
Alban Awyr: festival honoring Taran; Spring Equinox
Alban Haf: festival honoring Modron; Summer Solstice
Alban Nerth: festival honoring Agrona and Camulos; Autumnal Equinox
Alban Nos: festival honoring Sirona and Grannos; the Winter Solstice
ap: son of
ar: high
Archdruid: leader of the Druids, must be a descendent of Llyr
Arderydd: high eagle; symbol of the High Kings
Ardewin: leader of the Dewin, must be a descendent of Llyr
arymes: prophecy
Awenyddion: dreamer (see Dreamer)
awyr: air
bach: boy
Bard: a telepath; they are musicians, poets, and arbiters of the law in matters of inheritance, marriage, and divorce; Bards can Far-Sense and Wind-Speak; they revere the god Taran, King of the Winds
bedwen: birch tree; sacred to the Bards
Bedwen Mis: birch month; roughly corresponds to March
blaid: wolf; the symbol of the royal house of Prydyn
bran: raven; the symbol of the Dreamers
Brenin: high or noble one; the High King; acts as an amplifier for the Y Dawnus
buarth: circle
cad: battle
cadair: chair (of state)
caer: fortress
calan: first day; any one of the four fire festivals
Calan Gaef: festival honoring Annwyn and Aertan
Calan Llachar: festival honoring Cerridwen and Cerrunnos
Calan Morynion: festival honoring Nantsovelta
Calan Olau: festival honoring Mabon
cantref: a large division of land for administrative purposes; two to three commotes make up a cantref; a cantref is ruled by a Lord or Lady
canu: song
cariad: beloved
celynnen: holly
Celynnen Mis: holly month; roughly corresponds to late May/early June
cenedl: clan
cerdinen: rowan tree; sacred to the Dreamers
Cerdinen Mis: rowan month; roughly corresponds to July
Cerdorrian: sons of Cerridwen; the hidden organization of warriors and Y Dawnus working to drive the Coranians out of Kymru
cleddyf: sword
collen: hazel tree; sacred to Prydyn
Collen Mis: hazel month; roughly corresponds to October
co
mmote: a small division of land for administrative purposes; two or three commotes make up a cantref; a commote is ruled by a Gwarda
coed: forest, wood
cynyddu: increase; the time when the moon is waxing
da: father
dan: fire
derwen: oak tree; sacred to the Druids
Derwen Mis: oak month; roughly corresponds to December
Dewin: a clairvoyant; they are physicians; they can Life-Read and Wind-Ride; they revere the goddess Nantsovelta, Lady of the Moon
disglair: bright; the time when the moon is full
draig: dragon; the symbol of the Dewin
draenenwen: hawthorn tree; sacred to Rheged
Draenenwen Mis: hawthorn month; roughly corresponds to late June/early July
Dreamer: a descendent of Llyr who has precognitive abilities; the Dreamer can Dream-Speak and Time-Walk; the Dreamer also has the other three gifts—telepathy, clairvoyance, and psychokinesis; there is only one Dreamer in a generation; they revere the god Mabon, King of Fire
Dream-Speaking: precognitive dreams; one of the Dreamer’s gifts
Druid: a psychokinetic; they are astronomers, scientists, and lead all festivals; they can Shape-Move, Fire-Weave, and, in partnership with the High King, Storm-Bring; they revere the goddess Modron, the Great Mother of All
drwys: doors
dwfr: water
dwyvach-breichled: goddess-bracelet; bracelet made of oak used by Druids
eiddew: ivy
Eiddew Mis: ivy month; roughly corresponds to April
enaid-dal: soul-catcher; lead collars that prevent Y Dawnus from using their gifts
eos: nightingale; the symbol of the Bards
erias: fire
erydd: eagle
Far-Sensing: the telepathic ability to communicate with animals
ffynidwydden: fir tree; sacred to the High Kings