The Last Pendragon (The Last Pendragon Saga Book 1)

by Sarah Woodbury

  “That’s not exactly it, Dafydd,” Rhiann said. “Cade himself would rather we treated him normally.”

  “Normally for the heir to the throne of Gwynedd, anyway,” Goronwy said. Rhun and Rhiann nodded, while Dafydd looked from one to the other. Then he started to smile.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “I get it. This is a jest, right? You’re having fun with me, the little brother.”

  The three others gazed steadily at him. It was Rhun who shook his head. “No.”

  Dafydd opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and then opened it again. He sat, slack-jawed, until Goronwy reached across the table to push up his chin. Instantly, Dafydd leaned forward and spoke in a loud whisper. “There is more to this story. You must tell me!” His bright eyes were alight with interest.

  “The goddess Arianrhod lured Lord Cadwaladr into a cave and kissed him. In doing so, she changed him into the being he is now, but leaving him still in this world,” Rhun said. “He is sidhe, yet walks among us.”

  “Why?” Dafydd said. “What does she want from him?” He kept going, answering his own question. “For want something she must. Like with Lord Pwyll when Arawn befriended him, for every encounter with the gods, there is a price to pay.”

  “We don’t know what she wants,” Goronwy said.

  “Well, it could be anything, couldn’t it?” Dafydd rubbed his chin as he mused. “Maybe she just liked him or—”

  “She told him that she’d been waiting for him for a long time,” Rhiann said. “She kissed him and left him and he hasn’t seen her since.”

  “So is he immortal too? Has he truly become a god?” Dafydd said, his mind skipping from one idea to the next.

  “He believes he can die as any other demon—an arrow through his heart or by the loss of his head,” Goronwy said. “Otherwise, if it is true that he has no soul, then yes, he is immortal.”

  “That’s incredible!” Then Dafydd sobered. “Is he going to kill you for telling me?” He shifted in his seat. “Or me?”

  “No,” Rhun said, shortly. And then a devilish twinkle appeared in his eye. “Or rather, I don’t think so.”

  Dafydd’s eyes widened. For the amount of time it took for everyone to take a deep breath, Goronwy, Rhun, and Rhiann studied Dafydd, who’d become uncharacteristically silent, even if his brain was spinning with ideas.

  “It just occurred to me that while Lord Cadwaladr is the first sidhe I have encountered, he’s not the first, uh—,” Dafydd paused, searching for the proper word as Rhiann had earlier, “—soulless creature I have come upon, although I didn’t realize it until just now.”

  Rhun threw up his hands. “Why has everyone encountered one but me? Where did you see him?”

  “At Caer Dathyl,” Dafydd said. “I sat next to him at dinner one day.”

  “If he ate dinner,” Goronwy said, “he wouldn’t be a demon.”

  “Cade can eat,” Rhun said. “He just doesn’t need to, and it tastes like sawdust in his mouth.”

  Goronwy nodded. “Granted,” he said, and then to Dafydd. “Go on.”

  “I didn’t think anything of him at first—not until it occurred to me that he was well-dressed and wore fine armor, and yet was sitting with the servants. He ate very little and brought his own flask. He poured the contents into his cup, which he didn’t share.”

  “None of which makes him a demon,” Goronwy said.

  “How about that he didn’t breathe?” Dafydd said.

  “That would do it,” Rhun said.

  “Did you notice at the time that he didn’t breathe?” Rhiann said.

  “Yes,” Dafydd said. “I did, except I didn’t, if you know what I mean.”

  “No, we don’t,” Goronwy said.

  “Yes, we do.” Rhiann glared at Goronwy, who was just being a difficult older brother. “Often you notice things that you don’t become fully conscious of until something strikes you as similar. Is that right, Dafydd?”

  Dafydd nodded. “It was the way he drank, actually, that got my attention. He tipped up his cup and just ... drank. He swallowed and swallowed and never had to take a breath. And when he was done his eyes were red.”

  That prompted another glance between Rhun and Goronwy. “Cade’s eyes turn a glowing green when he becomes a sidhe,” Rhun said.

  “Madoc’s were red too,” Rhiann said.

  “Who’s Madoc?” Goronwy and Dafydd asked together.

  Rhiann sighed, not wanting to relive it all again but knowing she was going to have to satisfy their curiosity. So she told them.

  Chapter Eight

  Cade

  Cade licked his lips and swallowed hard. The fort vibrated with life, flooding his senses to the point where he was having a hard time damping it down. He’d sent Taliesin away—as he always sent everyone away—not so much afraid that he couldn’t control himself, but because he didn’t want Taliesin to see him struggle. In addition, wizard or not, like the others Taliesin needed to sleep.

  That first awful evening after Arianrhod had changed him, Cade had regained consciousness in the cave. He’d been alone, but with a heat burning in him that grew to a fire that threatened to consume him. Barely conscious of his actions, he’d chased and caught a rabbit with his bare hands, stunning himself with the speed of his movements. When he discovered that as he touched it, it died, he’d thrown it away in panic. Worse, the creature’s death had eased the pain within him.

  He’d staggered back down the mountain through the snow, able to see easily and untouched by the cold in the air around him. He’d led Cadfan instead of riding him, and it was only the small sense of himself that remained within him that prevented him from killing his horse too. He’d returned to Bryn y Castell, finding his way without difficulty, until he’d reached the still-open gates to the fort. The guards had been about to close them on the night when Cade had attempted to walk through them.

  Instead, he had come to a halt, butting up against an unseen barrier. As was the case with the gods themselves, he couldn’t enter a human home uninvited. Arianrhod had known that; it was why she had waited for him in a cave, rather than trap him in his own room. The guard had looked at Cade curiously, not understanding why he hadn’t walked inside. Then the guard had broken the spell by welcoming Cade inside the gates with a word and a gesture.

  The guard had been relieved to see him, since Cade had been gone so long, but Cade’s inability to enter his own home uninvited shocked him, perhaps even more than what had happened with the rabbit. Cade had stumbled into the courtyard and released Cadfan to a stable boy who’d run to take him. Then the fire had overcome him again, stoked by the press of humanity in the fort.

  He strode into the hall, blind to everything but the need within him. Many men remained at the tables, having finished the evening meal, but what had caught Cade’s attention was a servant, just entering the kitchen at the rear of the hall. He went after her. As he grabbed her, the power coursed through him. At the same instant, that part of him that remembered that he was Cade, a human being, recoiled. What are you doing? he’d shouted to himself. Are you so much an animal that you would kill an innocent girl?

  When Cade clenched his fingers around her arms, the girl had screamed. With a force of will he hadn’t ever before needed, Cade regained some measure of control. He pushed the girl away. She fell, and Cade collapsed to his knees.

  Cynyr and Rhun had found him then. The girl was unconscious but alive—and Cade was dead. That first evening, not truly realizing what was wrong with him but horrified beyond measure and thinking they’d a viper in their midst, they’d thrown Cade into a cell at the back of the stables. Unfortunately for a murderer they’d been keeping there, Cade’s control of his power remained tenuous. The man had been destined for the gallows. Cade had killed him instead.

  Cynyr and Rhun had been afraid of Cade, but no more than he’d been afraid of himself. He’d huddled in the corner with the dead body, sobbing, full of loathing at what he’d become. He’d begged his
family to kill him. Instead, they’d shown mercy. That second evening of Cade’s new life, Rhun brought him a chicken destined for the stewpot. Cade had wrung its life-force from it. Afterwards, Cynyr had unlocked his prison door and hunkered down in front of Cade.

  “Are you going to kill me?” Cynyr had said.

  Cade had shaken his head, nearly frantic with pain and horror. “No, no, no.”

  “Then you must learn how to live with this,” Cynyr had said. “You must never find yourself so consumed by need that you become what you cannot be.”

  So Cade had done as his foster father had asked. Over time, he’d learned to judge the extent of his weakness and to isolate himself until the worst of the longing passed. He no longer needed to kill animals to control his power—they’d only ever been a temporary and ineffective half-measure anyway. Instead, he’d learned control.

  Not that he hadn’t learned how to kill men, quickly and efficiently, and how to use the strength the killing gave him. Taliesin had mocked the priests when he’d pointed out that if all people were fundamentally evil, there was no difference between them and Cade. But Cade knew that Taliesin was wrong.

  A knock came at the door, and Cade pushed away from the wall. “Come in.”

  The door creaked open, revealing Rhiann, silhouetted in the doorway by the daylight behind her, the promised rainclouds having moved to the north. She was so vibrant, Cade could feel her life-force rolling over him and wanted it—wanted her. The darkness rose within him, and he clenched his hands into fists to push the power back down. Closing his eyes, he backed away, deeper into the darkened corner of the room that he couldn’t help but make less dark. His appearance had scared her when he’d killed the Saxon archer. His countenance would frighten her now. And maybe I need it to.

  “Cade?” Rhiann hesitated on the threshold, peering through the gloom for him.

  “I’m here, Rhiann.” Cade opened his eyes, hoping that he’d tamed himself enough that they no longer glowed.

  “Oh.” Her eyes fastened on his and widened.

  “Leave, Rhiann.”

  “I don’t mind being with you. It isn’t that I don’t care what you are, but that I would know it all, if you will share it.”

  “I mind,” he said.

  She didn’t move. “We told Dafydd. He wants to stay and serve you.”

  Cade stayed in his corner. Rhiann wasn’t leaving and her refusal forced him to change tactics. He trained his full attention on her, releasing just a bit of the power within him in order to glare at her across the space that separated them. Even he could see the light that caused his outline to subtlety shimmer.

  Rhiann still didn’t take the hint. “Cade.” Her face was very pale, and her hand was to her throat, but she still didn’t run from him as he’d expected and hoped. No, not hoped.

  A growl formed in his throat. “You need to leave me, Rhiann.”

  “Why?” she said. “Help me to understand.”

  I spin around so quickly she doesn’t even have time to flinch before I have her up against the far wall of the guardroom. “This is why.” My mouth comes down on hers, and I tighten my arms around her. She doesn’t struggle or cry, just holds still as I pull her closer, wanting to scare her away from me, but yet not wanting to. As I deepen the kiss, I realize I’ve failed utterly. She relaxes into me and snakes her arms around my neck.

  Heaven help me, I’m lost.

  I finally release her and ease back, searching her face for a response beyond what she’s already given me. She is a little wide-eyed, her lips puffy, unaccustomed to the attention I’ve given them. She reaches up and rubs the side of my jaw with her hand.

  “Did you think that would drive me away?”

  “It was my intent,” I admit.

  “It’s not going to work.”

  Cade pressed one palm to the wall and rubbed his forehead with the other, shaking off the vision and shocked that he’d allowed it to come to the forefront of his mind. The self-control required to both kiss her and keep her alive was beyond him. He knew that. “Rhiann. I can’t ... I’m not ...” Helpless and near tears, Cade was at a loss for how to continue. He pressed his forehead to the wall, feeling the coolness of the stone, and closed his eyes. “Just go.”

  Cade’s anger hadn’t moved her, but his obvious grief—grief that he wouldn’t share with her—caused her to turn away. In a rush, Rhiann reached behind her, threw open the door, and fled. Her footsteps pounded away across the courtyard to the keep. It was what he wanted, except it wasn’t, and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to return to the shadows in peace.

  For a time after Rhiann left, Cade tortured himself with visions of her in another man’s arms—a knight such as Goronwy, or heaven help him, young Dafydd. More frustrated than ever, he paced around the small space, growing more and more angry until his eyes began to glow again and bursts of light flashed from his fingertips. That brought him up short. Taliesin had reminded him that he had a job to do. What was important was the unity of Wales. What was important was the defeat of the Saxons and the demons arising from the Underworld. What was not important was his own, personal happiness.

  Still restless, Cade walked out of the guardroom and stood underneath the gatehouse, watching more clouds come in from the southwest. They were late, but as this was Wales, they always came eventually. Below him, the crag of Garreg-lwyd rose hundreds of feet above the fort. Farther south lay Hyrddod and Rhobell Fawr. And then south of Llyn Tegin, the mountains continued: Hen Gerrig, Aran Fawddwy, Bryn Amlwg. Tonight, they would ride around them to the east before they met the Saxons. Fortunately, the Romans were pragmatists and knew as well as anyone that when faced with a mountain, it was better to go around it than over it. There was no quicker way to get across Wales than to follow the roads they’d built. Cade and his men had a long ride ahead of them tonight, and probably the night after that.

  Because of his vantage point on southwestern slope, Cade was able to watch the rain cross the valley, the clouds flying before the wind, before it hit Bryn y Castell. The sky was dark enough to protect him now, but he wanted to wait for the rain before he crossed the courtyard to the hall. The feast couldn’t begin until he did, and he chided himself for not standing beside Rhun earlier. And yet, he was dreading this evening and stayed still.

  The feast would not be one of victory, nor celebration, but to mark the ascension of Rhun to his father’s place. Cade had watched Rhun’s vassals arriving at Bryn y Castell all day. Soon they would pledge their allegiance to him as his father’s son. In truth, it hurt Cade that Rhun had accepted his condolences at his father’s death, but hadn’t acknowledged that Cynyr had been Cade’s father too, even if they didn’t share a blood tie. Cade missed Cynyr, missed his bellowing call as he entered his own hall. Now there was only Rhun, bowed by the burden of his new responsibilities, both to his father, and without a doubt, to Cade.

  Within the hour, rain began to pit-patter on the stones in front of the gate, and then on the gatehouse itself. Cade stepped forward, out of the fort, until he stood clear of the roof. He closed his eyes and tipped his face upwards, feeling the staccato of rain on his face and reveling in his ability to stand in the daylight without fear. Cade opened his eyes. Black clouds covered the sky from one end of the valley to the other. It was going to be a wet and miserable night of riding. And hopefully, a wet and miserable day tomorrow.

  Cade strode into the great hall, head high, feeling restored. And then he saw the look on Rhun’s face, and his step faltered. He’d gotten lost in his thoughts of the rain and the waning of the day and forgotten—only just for a moment but it was enough—that Cynyr was dead. The weight of the loss sagged Cade’s shoulders again. Chastened, he made his way around the edge of the room to where Rhun sat near the fire, watching his people assemble.

  Cade came to a halt at Rhun’s side, putting out a hand to rest it on his shoulder, and then pulling it back before he touched him. “I’m sorry. If I could take it all back, I would. If I hadn
’t been chasing a foolish dream, Father would still be alive.”

  Rhun leaned forward to stare deeper into the flames, his chin in his hands. “My father’s death was not your fault, Cade. I would have gone to Anglesey too, had you let me, and that hurts more than anything. Perhaps I could have saved him; saved all of them.”

  Cade walked to the mantle and leaned against it, his forehead pressing against the back of his hand. “Cynyr came to Anglesey for me. Even if I’d had my full strength, we could not have won out. Cadfael’s men outnumbered us four to one. I should not have reached for the throne of Gwynedd.”

  At that, Rhun’s face took on the look of a storm. He surged to his feet, bringing his nose to within inches of Cade’s. “You damn well better not give up, Cade! This is not just about you anymore.”

  Cade stood his ground. “Do I have a choice, Rhun? Look at me! I am a danger to myself and everyone around me. The crown of the High King is as easily yours as mine. You are descended from great kings as much as I.”

  Rhun was shaking his head back and forth like an angry bull. “No, Cade. I will not hear your excuses. It is you who are Arthur’s heir; you of whom the prophecies speak; you and no other. Don’t you dare walk away from this.”

  Cade was taken aback at Rhun’s vehemence, for he so rarely lost his temper. Accepting that appeasement was the only answer in this moment, despite his doubts, Cade nodded. “Taliesin said as much to me yesterday. With your support, I will see that the dragon standard is raised above every castle in Gwynedd.”

  The room had filled as they talked. It was late afternoon by now, and the smell of roasting pig wafted through the hall. Taliesin appeared beside Rhun and put a hand on his shoulder. “It is time. If we are to leave as the sun sets, we must begin the ceremony.”

  Rhun walked to the edge of the dais that held the high table. Turning to face the entrance to the hall, he held up his hands for silence. Instantly, the men, women, and children, who’d come from the surrounding countryside on such short notice to see him, quieted.