Silver Silence

by Joy Nash

  But there was vast danger in the deep magic as well. With each pulse of the attack he wielded, Rhys felt a piece of his soul sink into a bottomless abyss. This was the void Rhys’s grandfather had feared more than anything in his long life.

  Rhys did not care. He would be willing to brave the bowels of the earth to defend Breena. He would sell his soul if necessary. What he would not do was allow her to be destroyed with him.

  Afagduu’s hideous power surged. Searing heat consumed Rhys’s senses. Breena’s magic held steady, as did Rhys’s own. They repelled the assault, but they did not weaken the attack. Rhys was all too aware that they could not hold Afagduu at bay forever.

  Rhys could not afford to hesitate. He sank his mind into his deepest power. Into the darkest aspects of his essence. All his loneliness, all his despair, all his shameful passion. All the ugliness of his soul. He wove all the darkness into a spell that was deeper than any he’d ever known. And then he bound his own life essence to the magic, and fashioned a curse that even a god could not escape.

  He was well aware it would be the last spell he ever cast.

  So be it.

  He tore himself from Breena’s magic an instant before he launched his blight upon Afagduu. Dimly, he heard Breena scream as the magic exploded. He saw a flash of light; felt his soul fly apart.

  And then, nothing.

  Chapter Twenty

  Breena realized what Rhys intended a scant instant before he acted. She threw all her magic into an attempt to stop him.

  She was too late. Bright light flashed in the tower room, illuminating smoke and magic. The outline of Rhys’s body appeared, briefly, caught in a halo of pure blue light.

  Afagduu howled as the spell hit. He staggered backward under the force of Rhys’s power. The very stones of the tower trembled. Breena could do nothing but cling to Igraine, and pray, as Rhys’s body crumpled slowly to the ground. He lay facedown next to the sprawled form that Rhys had said was Uther, and did not move. She cast her senses, seeking Rhys’s magic. It was gone.

  A sob clogged her throat. He was gone.

  Afagduu raised his hideous face. A sneer was upon his lips as he looked down at Rhys’s corpse. “Fool. Did you think you could defeat a god? Your sacrifice was for naught.”

  “I would not agree.” The words were spoken in a rich, masculine voice. “For this human bard’s magic brought me.”

  Breena blinked as a man came forward from the shadows by the doorway. The dark mist of Afagduu’s magic scattered before him. Breena gaped at the newcomer. He wore the simple garb of a minstrel, and carried a harp not unlike Rhys’s own. He was tall and fair, with noble features and the bearing of a king. His face, and especially his brow, seemed to shine from within.

  Afagduu spun around. The expression that flitted across his face as he looked upon the newcomer was one of intense hatred, searing anger, and abject shock.

  “Taliesin. Take yourself away from here. You are not wanted.”

  Taliesin? The bard of the gods? Breena began to tremble.

  The man with the shining brow stepped forward. “I have been searching for you, brother.”

  Afagduu’s ugly face twisted. “Do not call me that. We are not brothers.”

  “I assure you, I have even less love of the notion than you,” Taliesin replied. “However, that does not change the truth. Come now. It is time to leave this human realm.”

  Afagduu gathered his magic like a building storm. “I have no intention of leaving.” He looked toward Igraine and Breena. “Not when I am a breath away from snuffing the last of the Lady’s Light from the world.”

  “You want earth to be as dark and ugly as your face and your soul. You will not succeed. Light must balance dark. That is the law upon which life itself depends.”

  “Go back to Annwyn,” Afagduu spat. “Go back and hide behind our mother’s skirts. What do you care about these pitiful humans? They are bred for misery. I only grant them their fate.”

  Taliesin’s expression was grave. “You know I cannot allow that.”

  He lifted his harp and plucked a single sweet note. The last of Afagduu’s magic vanished in a burst of light. Afagduu stood with fists clenched, his face contorted in a rictus of hate.

  Taliesin turned to Breena and Igraine, and bowed. “My ladies.”

  “M-my lord,” Breena stuttered.

  The bard smiled. “No lord. I am simply a minstrel.” His gaze fell on Rhys’s body. “Like this man, who gave his life to save you. In so doing, he turned dark magic to Light.”

  Tears filled Breena’s eyes. “I never wanted him to sacrifice himself.”

  “He did not wish it, either. And yet, when it became clear that it was necessary, he did not hesitate.” He smiled. “He is a great man. Many stories will be told of him, for many years. What tragedy, were his legend to die when he has only begun to live.”

  Taliesin bent his head over his harp. His long fingers caressed the strings, creating a melody so beautiful Breena thought her heart would break.

  A slit of light appeared in the air. As the bard played, it widened into a shining doorway. Taliesin looked at Afagduu.

  “It is time, brother, to return.”

  “I’ll go nowhere with you.”

  “You will.”

  The bard plucked a string. A high, pure note sounded. White light flashed through the room. Breena stumbled backward, blinded. A sound like a rushing wind blotted out the otherworldly music of Taliesin’s harp. All sound, all movement, ceased.

  After a long moment, Breena dared to uncover her eyes. The full moon, now shining white in the night sky, was the only illumination in the tower room. Taliesin was gone.

  Afagduu was gone as well.

  On the floor, Uther stirred. Igraine flew to his side, and the high king enfolded his long lost love in his arms.

  When their lips met in a kiss, Breena turned slowly away. Rhys’s body had not moved. It never would. She had felt his life essence leave his body as he’d cast his spell upon Afagduu. He had traded his life for hers. A great grief welled up on the far side of a thick, numb wall. Breena did not want that wall to crack; she did not want to feel the despair that waited on the other side. But she knew she would have no choice.

  Woodenly, she moved to Rhys’s side and knelt. She laid a hand on his head and stroked his fair hair. “I…I love you, Rhys.” Her voice broke on the words. “I will always love you.”

  A soft groan answered her declaration. Breena’s hand froze in midstroke. “Rhys?”

  It was not possible. He was dead! Then he groaned a second time, and his head stirred imperceptibly before once again going still.

  “Rhys?” Tears streaming down her face, Breena grasped his shoulders and shook him. When he did not move again, she heaved him over onto his back.

  His eyes fluttered open, and a long breath escaped between his teeth. He brought one hand up to touch his temple, and winced. “Breena.”

  She flung herself upon him. “Rhys! You’re alive.” She kissed his cheeks, his forehead, his chin. “But how—?”

  He shoved himself into a sitting position, his arm going around her waist. He held her to him, tightly, as she sobbed into his chest. “The bard with the shining brow,” he said. “Taliesin. He sang my soul back to me.”

  “You…you saw him?”

  “Yes. In the Lost Lands. He told me…” He hesitated. “He told me my time in the land of men was not finished.”

  Breena sobbed all the harder. “Oh, gods, Rhys. You were dead! I could not bear it.”

  He smoothed his hand down her back. “Do not think on it. I am not dead now. Thank the gods that Uther and Igraine are alive as well.”

  Breena blinked at the man with Igraine. When he had first burst into the room, he had worn the visage of Gerlois. Now she noticed, as she had not before, that his features, and his body, had changed. Rhys claimed the warrior was Uther. But he looked like…

  “Marcus?”

  “Nay,” Rhys said as the warrior w
ho looked so much like Breena’s brother drew Igraine to her feet. Rhys rose as well, and offered Breena his hand. “Not Marcus. Uther Pendragon. High King of Britain.”

  At that moment, the door to the solar burst open. A dozen knights crowded into the room, swords drawn.

  “Sire!” The lead man shouted. “We could not gain entrance through that foul magic! What has happened—”

  “All is well, Vaughn,” Uther said. The king’s arm was anchored firmly around Igraine’s shoulders. The duchess’s face was alight with joy.

  The soldier stopped in his tracks. “My lady,” he said, bowing to Igraine. He turned to Uther. “Your Highness. The enchantment on your features. It is gone.”

  “I have no more need of it,” Uther declared. He indicated Dafyd’s body with a sweep of his hand. “Remove this corpse, and burn it. Take the men and secure the castle in my name.”

  “At once, sire.” Two of the soldiers lifted Dafyd’s body. Vaughn led the entire contingent back down the tower stair.

  “His resemblance to Marcus is remarkable, is it not?” Rhys said when the knights were gone. Uther and Igraine entwined their bodies in an embrace, oblivious to Rhys and Breena’s presence. “And not by chance. Uther Pendragon is Marcus’s and Gwen’s many-times great grandson.”

  “How do you know that?” Breena asked, stunned.

  “Myrddin. He claims Igraine is your kin as well, and I have every reason to believe that is true. She is descended from Owein and Clara. Her marriage to Uther will unite the last remaining ancestral lines of the Lady’s magic.”

  “So that was Myrddin’s goal, all along.”

  “Aye.”

  “Why did he not tell me?” Breena asked.

  “He thought it better that you know as little as possible of this time,” Rhys said. “He was afraid what the knowledge would mean for Cyric’s prophecy of Light.”

  Breena raised her brows. “Are you saying that you now believe Myrddin is a Druid of Avalon? That he serves the Light?”

  Rhys grimaced. “Aye. I have come to believe that is true.”

  A look of wonder stole over Breena’s face. “And not only that, I think. Rhys, if Uther is Marcus’s descendant, and Igraine is Owein’s, then Myrddin himself…Why, he can only be yours.”

  Rhys jerked back as if struck. “You think Myrddin is my descendant? Breena, that’s…absurd.”

  “On the contrary. It’s entirely likely! It explains so much. His magic, his drive. Why, he even looks like you.”

  Rhys’s expression was comical. “You think I look like an old man?”

  Breena laughed. “At nearly thirty, you are, of course, just this side of decrepit, but no, you do not look it. Yet I can well imagine you looking much like Myrddin someday. He has your height, and your eyes. His hair may be white now, but it might easily have been fair when he was younger.”

  “I do not see it. The man cannot possibly be my descendant! No progeny of mine could be so reckless with deep magic.”

  “Rhys, that makes no sense. You did not raise the man, after all. He was born long after your death, and has dealt with magic far greater than what we know.”

  Rhys made a chopping motion with his hand. “It’s still impossible. Breena, I have no children.”

  “How can you be sure?” She tried to keep her voice neutral, and failed. “You’ve bedded many women. Odds are that at least one of them has conceived.”

  “Nay. It has not happened. Believe me, I made very sure of it.”

  Comprehension dawned. “You used magic? To prevent conception? Did you…did you do that with me?”

  He did not look at her. “Of course. It would have been a disaster if our joining resulted in a child. Then you could never be free of me.”

  She gasped. “You mean you could never be free of me! You do not want the responsibility of a child!”

  “Breena.” He ran a hand down his face. “I have been nothing in my life if not responsible.” He pronounced the virtue as if it were the worst vice. “That is why I have never allowed any woman to conceive my child.”

  “But you will,” Breena insisted. “Someday. Because Myrddin is your descendant. I am sure of it.”

  “The randy idiot,” Rhys exclaimed a short time later. He sent a dark glance in the direction of the stair. The instant Uther’s men had withdrewn, the king had scooped Igraine into his arms and carried her up the stairs to her bedchamber.

  “Could he not have at least waited until the castle was secure to bed her?” he complained.

  Breena laughed. “Apparently not.”

  A reluctant smile touched Rhys’s lips. “I very much fear three centuries have wiped all good sense from the Aquila line.”

  “Do not judge Uther too harshly,” Breena said. “He is, after all, a man in love.”

  Rhys met Breena’s gaze. A mischievous sparkle lit her blue eyes. Her hair had long since escaped its braid. Freckles danced across her nose. She was so beautiful, it made his chest hurt.

  “Uther is a fortunate man, then.”

  She reached up and cradled the side of his face in her palm. “I am fortunate as well. For I love you.”

  He caught her hand. His kiss brushed the back of her knuckles. “I am sure I do not know what I ever did to deserve that.”

  “Oh, Rhys.” Her eyes softened. “Don’t you know? You didn’t have to do anything. You just had to be.”

  A hot rush of emotion closed his throat. “You are too good. Too trusting. Too loyal. I know I should not claim you, but—”

  “But you have no choice.” Breena rose on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Because I have chosen you. And I am telling you, Rhys, your days of dodging me, of denying our love, are over.”

  “Bree—”

  She stopped his protest with a kiss. “Do not tell me how difficult our life will be. I know there will be hard circumstances to face. But we will face them. Together.”

  He searched her gaze and found no doubt, no hesitation. Only love, steady and true, purely offered. He let out a long sigh. Tension drained from his shoulders. For once, he was glad to have no choices. It made the surrender to his own hopes and dreams so much easier.

  “I love you.” His throat burned with emotion. “I have always loved you.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “But I am a difficult man, Bree.”

  He felt her amusement. “No one knows that better than I, Rhys, I assure you! You are proud, and stubborn. You will not talk about your feelings, and you have great trouble admitting you are wrong.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “I will just have to deal with your shortcomings, I suppose.”

  His laugh was genuine. “I will try not to be so objectionable in the future.”

  “Oh, do not trouble yourself. I find I do not mind those traits, really.” Her hands left his shoulders to smooth a path down his chest and stomach. Her fingers tangled in the ties of his breeches. Before he quite knew what had happened, he felt her small, hot hand encircling his shaft. “As long as you do not disappoint me in other ways.”

  He went instantly hard in her palm. She stroked firmly from the base of his rod to the tip. At the same time, she planted kisses along his jaw. When her tongue slid into his ear, he thought his knees would fail him.

  “Bree,” he rasped. “Gods.”

  “Take off your clothes, Rhys. And lie down on the chaise.”

  He gaped. “What did you say?”

  Her eyes flashed with laughter. “You heard me.”

  He stared blankly for a long moment. No woman had ever ordered him to do such a thing. “Breena. Uther and Igraine are just above stairs. Uther’s knights are stomping about the castle. We cannot just—”

  “If Uther and Igraine can, I see no reason why we cannot.” She moved to the door and dropped the latch. “There. Now no one will disturb us.”

  She sent him her most enticing smile as she moved around the room, lighting lamps. When she’d finished, she turned to face him.

  “Now please, Rhys. Undress. I want to see y
ou completely bare.”

  Laughter shook his chest as he obeyed. Naked, he sprawled on the chaise, watching her from under hooded eyes. For the first time in his life, he was content to enjoy his passivity.

  She stayed out of reach as she slowly removed her own blouse and skirt. His amusement faded as her tunic dropped, revealing creamy breasts, a gently rounded stomach, and a triangle of red curls. The garment puddled at her feet.

  She stepped out of it and came to him. Kneeling on the floor by his side, she slid her hands over his chest and kissed him deeply. She tasted of honey, and smelled like roses. But when he moved to take her in his arms, she pulled away.

  “No, Rhys. You made love to me before. Now, I want to make love to you. I think…I think perhaps that no one has ever done that for you before.”

  He closed his eyes against the sudden emotion twisting his heart. “I think perhaps you are right,” he whispered.

  “Lie still. Let me love you.”

  Her lips pressed against his chest. His stomach clenched when they wandered lower. And lower still. She took his shaft in her hand. He tangled his fingers in her hair.

  “Breena—”

  She sent a quick glance his way. Her eyes were dancing. “Quiet.”

  But when her lips opened and slid over the head of his cock, he could not suppress a groan. His hand tightened in her hair. He wanted to drag her off him; he could not do it. The pleasure clogged his brain. His muscles would not obey. He could only lie captive to the bliss.

  When her lips and tongue and teeth left him, too soon, his hips arched, wanting them back. He forced himself to loosen his grip on her hair. She shifted, coming fully atop him.

  It took but a small surge of his hips to bury himself inside her. She gasped as she seated herself fully. Her spine arched; her hair cascaded down her back. He looked up at her, his heart filled with awe. Gods, she was beautiful. And she was his. He would not fight that truth any longer. He could not.