Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles)

by Ruth Nestvold

  Cador winced, glancing away. "There are many potential kings in my extended kinship group. You, for example."

  Myrddin set down his glass of wine. "Come, Cador. You know that is no solution. Arthur is twenty years older than you."

  "What is this all about?" Yseult asked.

  Modrun sighed. "Please, Yseult, we are getting to that."

  Cador saw Yseult tense up — she had sensed something, and she didn't like it.

  "Good," Arthur said, rising. "Let us get to the point. I think we can all agree that the loss of three sub-kings within the space of a few months could seriously destabilize Dumnonia."

  Yseult and Cador both nodded.

  "On the other hand, if you examine the major kingdoms of Britain, it is obvious that too many petty kings can have an equally destabilizing effect on a region. Kingdoms with a strong ruler such as Venedotia, Demetia, and Powys are much less unsettled than regions like Buellt and Elmet."

  "What does that have to do with the present situation in Dumnonia, with us?" Cador asked.

  Arthur exchanged a quick look with Modrun and Myrddin before facing them. "We have a proposal to make. The two of you could consolidate your power, create a ruling family in Dumnonia like that of Vortigern's descendents in Powys. If you were to marry, it would be logical for Cador to make Kustennin his heir. We would have the beginnings of a powerful dynasty in the south."

  Cador felt as if a capricious giant had taken him by the chest and squeezed, just to see how long he could survive without breathing. He had dreamed of marrying Yseult, but not like this. He was reminded of what Medraut had said about his uncle: that Arthur saw marriage as little more than an alliance, a political proposition. Perhaps that had once been different — from the stories Cador had heard, Arthur was devastated after the death of his first wife — but right now he was proving his nephew's words true.

  Cador glanced over at Yseult, hoping that in the shock of Arthur's suggestion he had not dropped his mental guard and allowed her to see into his mind. She was blinking in surprise, her hands tight on the armrests of her chair. Slowly her head swung around and her gaze locked with his.

  The silence in the hall stretched out. Finally Yseult took pity on them all and broke it. "As you know, I never intended to marry again."

  She was still gazing at Cador; he felt as if the words were directed exclusively at him.

  "Yes, and I respect that," Arthur said. Yseult turned back to face the Dux Bellorum. "I have no authority to command you to do as we suggest. All I ask now is that you not reject the idea out of hand. The two of you have been good friends for some time, I know. It was to Dyn Draithou you went for sanctuary when you fled Marcus, was it not?"

  Yseult nodded.

  "Friendship is a much better basis for marriage than many people have," Modrun threw in. "And it would strengthen your power base, strengthen Dumnonia as a whole. With only one remaining sub-king, the alliance would make Dumnonia not only the largest but also one of the most powerful kingdoms in Britain."

  Cador smiled to himself. Power was the wrong carrot to use on him. But what about Yseult? The prospect of Kustennin eventually becoming the most powerful ruler in Britain might well sway her. For years, she had remained with Marcus so as not to endanger Kustennin's heritage and brand him a bastard. Power was important to Yseult, more important than it was to Cador.

  "Would you have any objections to such a match, Cador?" Arthur asked.

  Only that it is what I have dreamt of since I started dreaming of such things. Only that if Yseult were my wife, she might no longer be my friend. Only that she has a lover who is also my friend. Only that having a dream so close within my reach scares me more than an army of Saxons on the other side of a valley.

  "No," he said. "The thought has crossed my mind that Kustennin would be the best choice as my heir — if it were possible. But I have no interest in pressuring Yseult into a marriage she does not want."

  "Think on it," Arthur said, rolling up the map. "And now I suspect the two of you may want to discuss the idea alone. Myrddin, Modrun?"

  The Queen of Gower turned to Yseult, practically ignoring Cador. He wasn't offended — he knew that a special knowledge connected the two queens. "I cannot claim that my instinct is always right in these matters," Modrun said. "But I suspect the two of you could be happy together."

  "Perhaps even happier than most," Myrddin said with a smile.

  With that, the Dux Bellorum and his advisors departed, leaving Cador and Yseult to their silence and their thoughts. His gaze caught on one of the ceremonial swords decorating the walls of the hall, a mosaic of bright stones in its hilt. As stunning and useless as Arthur's suggestion. Yseult would never agree to marry him, he knew.

  "I hardly know what to say," he murmured when the silence had gone on long enough.

  She sighed. "If it's any comfort, neither do I."

  Rising, Cador held out his hand. "Shall we walk?"

  She rose, and he pulled her hand through the crook of his elbow. Together, they left the large wooden hall and wandered out of the ramparts through the eastern entrance. To the south, the Camel river was visible, and to the east its tributary the Camlann. Trees in shades of orange, red, yellow, brown, and even purple lined the wooded river valleys, mistily lit by the late summer sun. The air still smelled wet from the last rain, wet and full of fertile decay.

  They stopped and gazed towards the valley together. "What should we do?" Cador asked. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to voice the lie that he had no interest in the proposed marriage.

  She looked at him. She was a tall woman, and they were almost eye to eye. "I don't know. Arthur's proposal has merit, but as you know, I never thought to marry again." She gave his forearm a brief squeeze. "Besides, I would not want to cheat you — I have never stopped loving Drystan."

  Cador shrugged. "Nor have I. I know it is not the same, but Drystan was easy to love."

  "Yes, he was." Yseult bowed her head and pressed the thumb and forefinger of her free hand to her eyes. "Ah, Cador. It has been so many years, but he is still there, in my mind, in my heart, in my life. I hear his voice, feel his touch, catch his scent in memory. I talk to him as if he were still alive, tell him of my trials with Kustennin, ask his advice in the running of Isca and Lansyen, want to know his opinion on the rebuilding of Dyn Tagell. Would you really want such a wife?"

  Yes, if you would have me. Hopefully he had guarded those thoughts from her as well.

  He should tell her right now that he had no interest in a marriage with her. What chance did he have against Drystan's ghost? Or the very large presence of the living Gawain — whom she had not yet mentioned?

  The words refused to cross his lips.

  "Perhaps we should think on it," he said instead. "This is not something we can decide in the space of an afternoon walk. As you said, Arthur's suggestion has merit, and it is true that we have been friends almost as long as we have known each other. But it is not as if we were choosing apples at market."

  She nodded, the hint of a thoughtful frown creasing her high forehead. "Of course."

  Cador drew in a quick breath at the sight. Yseult was in her mid-thirties now, and the faint wrinkles around her eyes and on her forehead were not to be overlooked, even when she didn't frown. When Cador first met her, he was no more than a youth and she barely a young woman, her skin without blemish or line, married to a man three times her age. Then, her beauty had been flawless, the pain and strength in her light, bright eyes enough to break any man's heart. Now there were new scars on her jaw and cheek from her near miss with death at the battle for Dyn Tagell, in addition to the crow's feet around her eyes, but she had earned those lines and scars, every one. No, she was no longer flawless, but the little flaws made her beauty more interesting somehow — to Cador at least.

  He stopped and faced her. The late summer sun touched her white-blond hair with gold and bronze, and beyond, the trees lining the Camlann River were bright with the oranges and yellows
of fall. His heart squeezed tight at the beauty of the moment, despite its pain. "There is one thing I would still ask you."

  "Yes?"

  "What of Gawain?"

  She drew in a deep breath. "Ah yes, Gawain. That is a problem." She stepped back and turned away, and Cador's faint hopes grew even fainter.

  He had to ask. "Do you love him?"

  Yseult was silent for mere moments, but Cador could feel his palms break out in a sweat; it was a good thing she had moved away from him.

  She looked up from the fascinating sight of the mud at her feet. "Love? I don't know if I can ever love a man again. Gawain pleases me, but I never considered the idea of marrying him. I am considering the idea of marrying you."

  She could hardly have done or said anything that would have left him as dry-mouthed and stupid unless she had flung herself into his arms and declared she was his.

  In that moment, he realized that he wanted this to happen, wanted her to decide in favor of this politically expedient marriage, wanted to share bed and board with her, his hopes and worries, his days and his nights — despite the fact that she still loved Drystan.

  Perhaps someday she would come to love him a little too. Or perhaps not. Either way, they would be together.

  And perhaps someday being together would be more curse than blessing. Perhaps — no, very likely — he was a fool, but now he knew that he would do everything in his power to convince her of the wisdom of Arthur's suggestion.

  Without pressure, of course. That would be the behavior most likely to send Yseult running.

  Cador smiled deliberately and inclined his head to one side. "Why, Yseult, I never realized you harbored such feelings for me!" He took her hand and raised it to his lips. "Consider away, and I will do the same."

  Yseult chuckled, and Cador closed his eyes in delight at the sound. She laughed so rarely.

  "Cador, Cador. I do believe you are playing at being amorous." She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you for taking a little of the drama out of all this."

  He shrugged. "I'm not sure if my powers are quite that strong. But perhaps it is best if we continue to consider Arthur's proposal alone for a time, each for ourselves?"

  "Yes, let's."

  He pressed her hand and dropped it, hoping he knew her as well as he thought. "I will return to the hill-fort alone and leave you to your thoughts. We will speak of our potential alliance again later," he said with a slight smile.

  She nodded.

  "Goodbye."

  "Goodbye."

  Cador brushed his knuckles along her cheekbone and turned away, avoiding the scar along her jaw and the dangers it held. Away — not throwing himself at her feet, telling her how he really felt, how he couldn't believe she was considering marrying him. That might well push her out of his reach.

  Perhaps if he walked away now, she would come back to him later — for good.

  * * * *

  Yseult watched Cador walk back to the ramparts of Celliwig, wondering what had happened to the ordered life she'd created for herself.

  She pulled her woolen cape tight around her shoulders and wrapped her shawl — Cador's gift — once more around her neck. Of course, she'd always known that an enemy attack could tear apart the smooth fabric of her life at any time, as the raids by the Pictish pirates had done this summer. But as far as her personal life was concerned, she'd thought it all arranged. In the years after Marcus died, she had been courted by a score of British kings and princes until it finally became clear to even the most stubborn that when she said she would not marry again, she meant it.

  Of course, she knew that marriage did not have to be like hers with Marcus, but Yseult did not like to make the same mistake twice if it could be avoided. So why was she considering marriage now? Again, after all these years?

  Instead of following Cador back to the hill-fort, she picked her way down the trail to the river. Yes, why? Because it was Cador?

  Yseult could no longer remember when she'd first met him. He'd been little more than a boy, Arthur's standard-bearer at the time — Kustennin's role now in Arthur's forces. Cador was only four years her junior, but there was a much greater difference between fourteen and eighteen than between two people in their thirties.

  The woods next to the tributary of the Camel smelled of wet leaves, dirt, and loam. It was a bit of an exaggeration to call it a river, especially this time of year — it was more like a brook, gurgling pleasantly on its route south.

  She found a wide, sawed-off stump next to the bank and sat down, her cloak bundled up beneath her. Cador had been in and out of her life all the years she had been in Britain, as boy, as youth, as man. But always serious and pleasant and reliable and unassuming. When she was kidnapped by Gamal, he had been one of the warriors under Drystan who helped rescue her. When she'd spied on her husband Marcus for Arthur, Marcus's foster son Cador had been her contact — a young man whom not even Marcus, who tended to judge everyone's motives by his own, was suspicious of. When Marcus turned traitor, it had been Drystan's cousin Cador to whom she had fled for sanctuary. Cador had been with the party of Arthur's warriors who had taken revenge on Marcus.

  Always he had been there, at every important turning point; on the sidelines perhaps, but a rock of security and dependability in the middle of all the passion and tragedy that had once been her life.

  The painful drama bards now sang about.

  She drew one end of the embroidered linen shawl into her lap, stroking it absently. No, she had not wanted to marry again — but the reason was as much to avoid the past as anything else, the constant strain of being pulled back and forth between Drystan and his father. She'd ended her relationship with Drystan often enough — only to be drawn back into it by some force she didn't understand, that she couldn't control. She had loved Drystan with a passion she would never experience again, a need so strong at times it was like a sickness.

  Yseult would never feel that for Cador. But perhaps that might even be an advantage? Especially given the irrational panic she felt at the thought of marriage. Cador would not be a lover, as Drystan had been, he would be a partner. He would not regard her as a prize or a possession, as Marcus had; he would treat her as a friend, with respect and affection.

  She kicked at some damp leaves with one foot. Perhaps, if Cador could live with less than grand passion ... she found herself smiling at the thought of building a life with him, an honest, reliable — and quietly handsome — man. Despite her age, she might even still be able to give him the child he longed for. He had always been so good with the young ones; it wasn't fair that he'd lost two wives in childbed.

  Too much in this life wasn't fair.

  Yseult rose and shook out her cloak. Perhaps she truly could marry Cador and form a Dumnonian dynasty with him — why hadn't it occurred to them before? And all because Arthur was thinking strategically, in terms of consolidating power. She would have to speak with Kustennin first, though.

  And if she decided to marry Cador, she had to confront Gawain.

  She closed her eyes briefly and then opened them again on the damp, autumn afternoon. Arthur's proposal might have advantages, but it also meant she would have to end her relationship with Gawain. The last thing she wanted to do was play the role of a woman between two men again.

  She pulled the shawl over her hair and took the path back up the hill to Celliwig.

  * * * *

  The sun was skirting the horizon when Kustennin returned from hunting with Arthur's sons Loholt and Anir, a brace of rabbits between them. It was later than they'd intended, but supper surely would not be served without them; Ginevra could be relied upon to hold up meals for her son.

  He was surprised to see his mother coming out of the gate of the hill-fort to meet them. It wasn't like her to watch out for him or be overly worried, not like Ginevra with Loholt.

  "I see it was a successful expedition," she said, admiring the rabbits strung on the pole. Rather than worried or angry or any of the many othe
r reactions he might have expected, she was distracted — and unsure of herself, an emotion he did not often feel from her, his proud, decisive mother.

  "Enough for supper tomorrow," Loholt claimed.

  "Depending on how many leave in the morning," Anir said with a laugh.

  Yseult smiled, then touched him on the elbow. "Would you mind if I take you away from your friends for a spell, Kustennin?"

  He shrugged and handed his end of the pole to Loholt.

  "What is it?" he said, turning to follow her towards the hall where the women guests were quartered.

  "Are you hungry?" she asked instead of answering.

  Kustennin nodded.

  Before they entered the hall, Yseult stopped a passing servant. "Please bring us bread and cheese and watered wine, thank you."

  "So we're skipping supper?" Kustennin asked, trying to joke her out of her strange mood.

  She shook her head. "I need to speak with you alone."

  They sat down at a table pushed up against one wall. Kustennin tore off a piece of bread the servant had brought while his mother cut them both thick slabs of cheese.

  "Cador and I had an interview with Arthur today," she said.

  He took the cheese she offered. "What did you discuss?"

  "Arthur suggested that the two of us marry."

  Kustennin lowered the bread that was halfway to his mouth and stared at her. He was well aware that his mother never intended to marry again — nearly everyone in Britain knew that. But if she was telling him this, that meant she was actually considering it.

  "And you want to know what I think?" he asked.

  She nodded.

  He finally took a bite and chewed, wondering how to answer. "I don't know what to think."

  "But you would approve of Cador?" To Kustennin's confusion, there was a hint of apprehension in his mother's voice.

  "Of course. Cador is the closest to a father I've ever known. But I thought you had no interest in marriage."

  She sighed. "I didn't. But the arguments Arthur, Myrddin, and Modrun brought forward were very convincing."

  "Such as?"

  "With so many sub-kings dead, an alliance between our two houses would strengthen Dumnonia as a whole. And Cador could declare you heir of Dortrig."