Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (35 page)

Connor rested his full weight on his elbows, ignoring the discomfort from the rough stone of the windowsill. The construction of the new wall continued to take precedence above all else, it seemed. Declan barked his orders over the clangs of hammer on stone, the same assault on his ears which woke him at dawn.

The din of the workers came as the last addition to a restless night. Between the twinges of pain which wracked through him when he tossed and turned, and the anxiety of leaving for Arlais, he resigned himself to lying awake in bed. And only when he had drifted off into a deep sleep did the first strike of the hammer clamor into his ears.

His gaze traveled up from the workers on the ground to the north. Fog from the sea blanketed the ground, but the warmth of the sun cut through the rolling mists. Beyond, just on the horizon, the wind shimmered over the tops of wild grasses, and Connor closed his eyes. He could feel the wind against his face as he imagined himself amidst the plains. His hands outstretched, the feathery flowers of lady’s bedstraw and heather brushed against his fingertips as a warm summer breeze caressed his cheeks.

He opened his eyes and wished he could see the Hwerydh forest. The sooner he was able to see Rhiannon, the sooner he could be rid of this curse and the pain which it caused him. He knew there was no way to be certain if Rhiannon could even rid him of the curse, so he made every effort to quell his excitement. Hope was all that kept him going, however. Had Gawain never mentioned going to Arlais, Connor was unsure what he would have done other than languish in the confines of Cærwyn until death. That was no life to live.

Gawain would be in Arlais, or at least at the edge of the Hwerydh. Connor knew he would travel far faster without him, injured and finding rest all too necessary.

He heard a bloodcurdling shriek, and every muscle in his body tensed. “Rhodri!”

His heart pounded as he raced down the hall toward his brother’s quarters. Skidding on his heels, he braced himself for his knee to give out as he rounded a corner. He saved himself from injury by clinging to the stone wall, using his own momentum to propel forward.

The door to his brother’s quarters stood ajar. As he neared, the scream inside subsided and a low groan took its place.

Connor pushed the door open, smashing it against the wall. The room was dark because thick fur hides covered the windows. Dim light from the corridor allowed him to see his brother crumpled against the wall.

“Rhodri?” Connor stepped into the room when he received no response. “I am going to light the rushes.”

He set them on the table and mantel, and then rushed to his brother’s side. His heart jumped when he flinched at his touch.

“I‌—” Rhodri looked up at him with wet eyes and flushed cheeks.

“It is all right.” Connor helped him to his feet, taking notice of the pink staining around his mouth and chin.

His brother rubbed his eyes before looking at Connor. “Why are you wearing such plain clothes? A Helygen noble should be dressed in his finest.”

“Rhodri, I‌—”

“No matter, I will have a servant fetch fineries for you.”

Connor did not know what to make of his sudden recovery. The tone of his voice regained all its strength, and his eyes were dry. No matter the reason, he did not see fit to argue with him and accepted his offer.

“After all, you shall be duke when I take my throne someday.” Rhodri poured himself a cup of wine from the flagon near the bedside. “Duke Connor Helygen.”

He could not tell if the noise that followed Rhodri’s statement was a harsh laugh or a cough.

“Does it fill you with excitement?” He gulped the wine, eyeing him over the rim of the cup.

“Well‌—”

“It is hard work.” He wiped his mouth. “Do not think it some jaunt through the groves. There’s the tithes, dealing with the ealdormans. Though, I am to be high king now, so you will have some leverage to be sure.”

“No.” Connor looked to the floor. “I suppose it is not a game.”

Rhodri slapped him on the shoulder. “Come, drink with me!”

“A‌—‌are you feeling well?”

“Of course. Why would I feel unwell?”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “Siana.”

As soon as her name escaped Connor’s mouth, Rhodri slammed the flagon back onto the table. His breathing grew louder, heavier, and his grip tightened until his knuckles turned white.

“Rhodri.”

“I will not talk about her.”

“But‌—”

“Where is that bloody servant?” Rhodri snorted and looked at the open door.

“Which servant?”

“The one who should have brought finer clothes for you to wear.”

Connor glanced at the door and back to Rhodri. “You did not summon a servant to fetch my clothes.”

“Ah, yes.”

Connor knew he would not get anywhere with his brother, so he changed the subject. “I meant to speak with you of important matters.”

“Which matters would those be?”

“The curse which I suffer.”

Rhodri looked down to the floor, his face red from the wine or from his mood. “Does it hurt?”

“Every now and again.” Connor rubbed his chest where the arrow had penetrated, gingerly grazing it with his fingers. “But, it no longer weeps.”

“Good.” Rhodri gave him a strained smile. “That means the curse is going away. Yes?”

“I wish it were so simple. Even now, I feel it gnawing away at my body and crippling my spirit.”

Rhodri slammed his fist on the table, almost toppling the rushlight and his goblet. “If I had the power to command the armies of Dweömer, I would rip every last of the Féin from the face of this world for what they have done!”

“I would not wish that of you.” Connor put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “There has been enough bloodshed already. I do not want any of our people’s lives lost on my account. Look to Uncle Alric for guidance in this matter. He does not speak of war, he speaks of peace. It is King Denorheim who hungers for war.”

“Our uncle is a better man than I.”

“You are both good men, Rhodri. You will make an excellent high king someday and all of Dweömer will shout your name in praise.”

“I am your elder brother. I should be the one to protect you, not the other way ‘round.”

“There is something you can do for me.”

“What? Anything I have in my power is yours.”

“Grant me leave to travel to Arlais.”

“You wish to leave Helygen? But you have only just arrived!”

“If I stay…” Connor cleared his throat to hide the emotion in his voice. “If I stay in Helygen, the curse will only grow. In Arlais, I may ask for audience with the High Priestess Rhiannon. If there is some cure out in the world, she will know of it. She herself may possess the power to rid me of this curse.”

Rhodri seemed to think for a moment as he turned away. “No.”

“What?”

“I will not grant you leave from Helygen.”

“But‌—”

“I said I am the one who needs to protect you,” his throat cracked as he spoke, his eyes grew wet. “How can I do that if you are not within these walls?”

“Rhodri.” He took a deep breath before he spoke, trying to choose his words wisely. “Siana’s death happened only a few days ago.”

He clenched his jaw. “We cannot even hold her funeral.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did Ceridwen never tell you? No, why would she?”

“Tell me what?” Connor felt a cold stone in his very core.

“When they…‌when it happened. They had my arms behind my back. I could not get to her.”

“No one blames you for‌—”

“I watched them do it. They took their turns on top of her.”

Connor felt his stomach turn, but he kept his gaze fixed on Rhodri.

“When they finished, I saw one of them pull something from his waist‌—‌a curved knife. There was a glint from the lantern’s light.” Rhodri’s voice quaked. “Then‌—”

He let out a sound Connor could barely stand, almost animalistic in nature, before slumping forward and putting his hands on the bed to steady himself.

Connor only stood there, his brother’s back toward him. What words could he possibly manage to think of to help ease the pain wracking through him?

He squeezed his shoulder. “Rhodri, I cannot understand your pain. Though I loved her too‌—”

The words had scarcely left his mouth before Rhodri punched him in the face. The massive force behind his fist spun Connor around twice and slammed him against the wall.

“No one loved her more than me!”

Connor could barely understand his words, and never had he seen his brother’s eyes so dark. His mouth throbbed in pain. He tasted iron, the unmistakable flavor of blood.

“Connor, I‌—” Rhodri stepped toward him, instantly remorseful.

“Back!” Gripping the edge of the table, he struggled to stand, praying the wound on his chest had not reopened. He used the wall to push himself up.

“Connor.” Rhodri took another step toward him.

“Back!” He repeated, feeling a combination of blood and spit fling out over his teeth and lips.

He struggled to collect his thoughts. Feeling around his chest, he guessed his wound had not been torn open. He felt the sharp snag of a tooth and, twirling his tongue around it, he realized there was no saving it.

With as much force as he could muster, he craned his head back and spat the tooth, followed by a thick mixture of blood and pink spit, in Rhodri’s face.

He then lunged, knocking him to the floor. But just as he raised his fist into the air, Connor stopped. Brother or not, Rhodri was the Duke of Helygen. To lay a hand on him would be a matter of petty treason.

Still heaving for air, Connor used his elbow against Rhodri’s rib cage to push himself to his feet. He didn’t look back as he walked out of the room.

Rhodri did not even bother to say a word.

It only took him a few minutes to pack his satchel, and he soon stormed through the entry doors into the street.

His uncle, Declan, stood atop the scaffolding at the nearest wall, bellowing his orders over the sounds of hammers.

“Declan!” Connor shouted up to him.

“Aye, Connor lad?” Declan whistled loudly to the men, signaling to stop their clamor. “What is it?”

“Declan Morehl, Steward of Helygen.” Connor cleared his throat. “I say to you before many witnesses that I, Connor of Helygen, son of Duke Cadfael and Lady Seren hereby relinquish my title of heir presumptive to the province of Helygen and all perquisites allotted. I give to you this title.”

Obviously shocked, Declan looked to the bedraggled Duke of Helygen in the doorway for an explanation. Rhodri merely shrugged.

“May you serve the people of Helygen in a way I cannot,” Connor added. “Please accept.”

Declan nodded. “I, Declan of Isle Morehl, accept your title and all perquisites allotted. But know you shall always remain welcome and carry safe passage through Helygen as well as all current and future territories.”

“I thank you.” Connor took a deep breath before he turned to Rhodri. “I am truly a commoner now.”

“I do not pretend to understand why you have done this.”

“I hold no love for my title. I never have. You know that.”

“You speak as though you do not intend to return from Arlais.”

Connor was relieved his brother’s intuition still managed to serve him. “When I arrive at Arlais, I plan to take vows.”

“What?”

“You are much like our father, Rhodri.” He motioned toward Víðófnir, seated near the stable. “You possess the strength needed to lead our people. I have never had such strength, nor desired the power associated with it.”

“You are so much stronger than you know.”

“And I believe you really mean that.” He bowed his head in acknowledgment as he mounted Víðófnir.

“I will see you again, will I not?”

Connor did not know if they would see one another again, but knew he must lie to Rhodri to give him comfort. “We are brothers, after all. My lack of a title does not change that.”

“I will look forward to our next meeting then.” Rhodri extended his hand.

Connor hesitated for a moment, but remembered all the eyes on them. He grasped his brother’s wrist as his grip tightened around his own, in the practiced gesture of warriors, long ago evolved into a sign of peace between nobility.

“Off with you, then.” Rhodri stepped back.

“To the north, Víðófnir.” Connor leaned forward, grasping the reins, white-knuckled.

Víðófnir raced down the path toward the city’s gates, and Connor loosened his grip when he saw so few people outside because of the early morning hours. He did not relish the thought of dodging people in the crowds that would soon pack the streets as they bartered in the market.

As he left the outer limits of the city, Connor saw a man far in the distance. Out of instinct, he prepared to dart out of the horse’s reach. Then, he saw the eagle of Cærwyn emblazoned on his shield.

As the man approached, he waved to him, and Connor halted Víðófnir.

“You, lad!” The man called out.

“Yes?” Connor saw he was a young man about his age.

“Tell me, that is Castle Helygen, is it not?”

“It is.” Connor glanced back at the city. “Have you never traveled here before?”

“I have not. I thank you.” The man sped off toward the castle.