Night Bird's Reign (37 page)

His voice quiet and cold, he replied, “I’ve spent my entire life doing my duty to Kymru. I never think of myself.”

“You never think of anyone else,” she sneered. “Do you honestly think you can walk in here and get my consent to use me like you do everyone else?”

“At least you’d be of some use, now, wouldn’t you?” he sneered in his turn.

“Leave me alone, do you hear me? All I want is to be left alone.”

“There’s nothing I would personally like better than that. Do you think I want to pull you kicking and screaming from your hole? Do you think I would drag myself all over Kymru looking for you if I could help it? Do you think I’m here because I long for the pleasure of your company? Don’t make me laugh.”

She jumped up. “You can’t walk into my home and talk to me like that.”

“Oh yes, I can,” he said, rising to his feet. “You’re nothing but a spoiled brat. You ran away. You secluded yourself for all these years when you should have been learning how to be the next Ardewin. You took your daughter away and condemned her to a life in hiding. Who do you think you are that you can do these things and still demand respect from anybody?”

“Get out,” she screamed. “Get out.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m leaving. Just try to remember one thing, if there’s any room left in your mind for anything but self-pity. If we cannot find the sword, Kymru is doomed. There will be blood on your conscience. If you have one, which I doubt.”

“A fine one you are to talk about conscience. Even tucked away in Coed Aderyn, I hear gossip. You never even go to see your brother, to offer him comfort since the death of his son. You treat Dinaswyn as though she were a dilapidated old rag. And you made the mother of your child so miserable that she had to die just to stop the pain.”

All the color drained from his face. “Congratulations,” he said steadily, his voice like the winter wind. “It takes a very talented woman to know just how to twist the knife into the guts of a stranger.” And with that, he turned on his heel and was gone.

L
ATER THAT EVENING
, after Gwen had gone to bed, Rhiannon settled down before the fire to think. All day, after Gwydion had left in a rage, taking Dudod with him, Rhiannon had been silent. She had spoken to Gwen in monosyllables, if at all, answering none of her daughter’s anxious questions.

Rhiannon had changed into her riding leathers and gone hunting into the woods, unable to keep still. She had returned with the carcass of a fat summer deer slung over her shoulders, her knives tucked into her boots.

But no matter how busy she kept herself, Rhiannon could not stop herself from thinking.

Perhaps she had been too hasty. Somehow her conversation with Gwydion had gotten out of hand almost as soon as it had begun. Of course, she had been thrown off-balance by his very presence. It had been a shock. And before she had regained her equilibrium, Gwydion had begun his demands.

He had spoken to her as though she were a child. Then he had criticized her for the way she was raising her daughter—as though he was entitled to give his opinion. Then, crowning indignity, he had insulted her. Not once, but several times.

And yet, hadn’t his statements about Gwen stung all the more because they were true?

But it was the last part of that hideous conversation that had shamed her the most. The part where she had hurt him as greatly as he had hurt her. She had meant to wound, to fight back. But she hadn’t meant to hit quite so hard.

What had happened to her? Was she so soured by the years of feeling wronged by the world that her very soul had shriveled into something petty, something poisonous? Oh, she wasn’t like that. She wasn’t.

If only Rhoram had not turned from her. Even now she could not truly let him go, going over and over in her mind how it had been between them, from the glorious beginning to the humiliating end.

S
HE HAD FIRST
noticed Rhoram when she was just twenty-two years old, at the graduation ceremony at Y Ty Dewin. Effortlessly he had captured her heart during the ceremony. Captured her with his golden hair, his blue eyes, and his obvious admiration.

When Myrrdin had put the Dewin’s torque around her neck that day, had framed her face with gentle hands, and had given her the post of Dewin to the Lady of Brycheiniog, Rhiannon was shocked. She had been so sure that Myrrdin was planning on sending her to the royal court of Arberth. And she had so much wanted to go, now that she had seen Rhoram. But she swallowed her disappointment, telling herself that it was not the first time she had failed to get what she wanted. And it would not be the last.

Later, during the celebration, Myrrdin had sought her out. “Child,” he said gently, “I have just received word from Neuadd Gorsedd. Your father is dying, and begs that you come to him.”

“No,” she said, without a moment’s hesitation. “I will not go.”

“Think carefully. Do not do something you will regret later.”

“I’ll never regret it,” she said fiercely. “Never.”

“Oh, child, do you think I don’t understand? Now is your chance for revenge on him for all the years he has slighted you. But he wishes to make amends with his last breath. Will you let him do this?”

“No.”

“Then so be it. I will remind you of one thing. The Wheel turns, as it always does. What you do today will come back to haunt you. Someday, perhaps, a child of your own will feel that you have wronged them. And perhaps they will take revenge on you as you do today. Think one last time before you do this. Or it may be your turn, one day.”

S
HE HAD LEFT
Y Ty Dewin the next day to go to Brycheiniog, in Prydyn. Marared ur Canhustyr who ruled the cantref was not an easy woman to serve, for she demanded the best from everyone. But she was fair and she even had a spark of humor to go with her sharp intelligence. So a year passed in Brycheiniog, as Rhiannon looked after the health of the folk of Tewdos, the chief city in the cantref where Marared had her home.

Early in her second year there Rhoram’s wife, Christina, died of a fever in Arberth, and she began to dream dreams that she had no business having. For now Rhoram was free to marry again. These were foolish thoughts. She had only seen him once and had never even spoken to him. But she was young and foolish and she began to hope.

Soon after this Marared’s sister, Achren, the Captain of Rhoram’s
teulu,
came to visit. Achren was a striking woman with black hair, dark eyes, and a wicked smile. She and Marared laughed and laughed over Achren’s stories of her amorous adventures. Adventures which did not, thank the gods, include Rhoram. Rhiannon, hungry for any word of Rhoram, listened breathlessly to Achren’s stories of life in Arberth.

She discovered that Rhoram was charming, clever and—hard to bear—unfaithful. But she knew why. It was obvious to her that he simply hadn’t found the right sort of woman. If he did, he would be faithful. She was sure of it.

Then one day a message came to her from Dinaswyn, the Dreamer. Dinaswyn’s orders were to proceed to the court of Arberth, mate with Rhoram of Prydyn, and become pregnant. She was then to return to Y Ty Dewin to await the birth of the child and begin her instruction as Myrrdin’s heir. She had been selected to be the next Ardewin of Kymru.

She could hardly believe her good fortune. A glittering future awaited her. At last she would have something that she longed for. To be Ardewin was an honor indeed.

And to be able to see Rhoram again! To be his lover and to make him happy—until the time came for her to go to Y Ty Dewin, of course. She would bear his child and such a thing would bind them together forever.

So she left Brycheiniog with a high heart and journeyed to Arberth. It was not until she entered the King’s ystafell and looked into his eyes of brilliant blue that she understood that her life might become quite complicated indeed.

I
N THE BEGINNING
they were so happy. She lived in a golden world, warmed by Rhoram’s love. His eyes followed her even in a crowded hall. No other woman existed for him except her.

Rhoram’s children by Queen Christina—a son, Geriant, and a daughter, Sanon—loved Rhiannon and thought of her as their new mother. She spent hours with them teaching them to ride, picking wildflowers, fishing in the sea. Rhoram’s sister, Isalyn, was kind and the two women became friends. She and Achren also became good friends, the Caption teaching her some of the finer points of weaponry, improving her skill with a knife blade until Rhoram joked he didn’t feel safe with the two of them around and armed.

All was very well, until the day she discovered she was pregnant. Somehow she had managed to forget that this was the reason she was with Rhoram in the first place. She had managed to forget that her duty was now to leave her lover, to go to Y Ty Dewin and begin her instruction for the important post of Ardewin.

When she told Rhoram, hesitantly, the news that she was pregnant and explained that she must return to Y Ty Dewin, he begged her to stay. He could not live without her. He loved her so much. Could she wait for just a while? Would she do that for him?

She allowed herself to be persuaded; saying that it was only for a while. But deep down she knew that she could never willingly tear herself away from him.

And then the messages began. Messages from Myrrdin begging for her return. Messages from Dinaswyn, demanding her compliance. But she stubbornly resisted. She was in love with the King and he with her. They made each other happy and that was right. Others just didn’t understand. They were jealous of the love she had found.

She became pale and listless as her pregnancy advanced. She was terrified Rhoram would turn from her then. But he did not. He treated her more gently than ever. And he told her that, after the child was born, he would make her Queen of Prydyn.

In due course the child was born. They named her Gwenhwyfar and Rhoram was delighted with his tiny daughter.

And then Rhiannon began her long wait. She waited for Rhoram to keep his promise to marry her and make her Queen of Prydyn. But Rhoram, although he was as kind as ever, began to be distant. And Rhiannon began to be afraid.

“Y
OU DON’T LOVE
me anymore, do you?” The question hung in the air for a moment before shattering the fragile peace of silence and pretense that existed between them.

Horrified, Rhiannon wished the words back the moment she uttered them. But it was too late. The words had been said and there was nothing that could change that.

So she waited for his answer. He laid down his pen and slowly turned to her. It broke her heart to see the caution in his eyes.

“Why do you ask that?” he asked carefully.

Too late to turn back, she went steadily on. “It is the truth, though, isn’t it? Never mind why I ask it. I just don’t understand why. What has happened?”

“Rhiannon. Stop. Don’t do this. I do love you. I truly do.”

The words she wanted so desperately to hear rang false, so terribly hollow, a death knell to all her hopes and dreams. And so the tears came. She wept with no sound, but the tears gathered and spilled over her white face, as blood from a gaping wound.

Rhoram, his sorrow and his guilt written so plainly on his weary face, looked everywhere else, looked at anything else in their sleeping chamber, except at her.

“It’s Efa, isn’t it? You’re in love with her,” she whispered. She had meant to accuse, to demand the truth, to shame him. But she knew before she started that she was beaten. And so the question came out as a strangled whisper, although she tried to make her voice steady.

“No. Truly, I am not,” he said earnestly. But the obvious falsehood in his weak denial robbed the words of comfort.

“Do you want me to go?”

At last a reaction, a real one. He jumped as though stung. “Go? No. Oh, no. You mustn’t go.” In this she had finally heard the ring of truth. He was not ready for her to leave him. He didn’t want her to go, but neither did he want her to stay. He didn’t know what he wanted.

He came to her then, held her and kissed away her tears. He told her he loved her and that she mustn’t go. That he could not bear to let her go. Not yet. These last two words he did not say, but she heard them clearly in his halting tones.

So as they made love she silently said farewell to Rhoram and to the peace and comfort she had known with him. That was all over now.

When he was spent and sleeping beside her, she intertwined with him as she had done so many times before, listening to his breathing, feeling the beat of his heart, and savoring the feel of his skin beneath her gentle fingers.

He stirred briefly as she got out of bed, but did not wake. Softly, swiftly, she gathered some clothes, and a few treasures—her Dewin’s torque, an ivory-backed mirror and silver comb that he had given her, a golden bowl, her father’s harp—making an untidy bundle. She got into her riding leathers, picked up her boots, and quietly crept from the room, looking one last time at his beloved face, so defenseless in sleep. So young. She had thought he was a man, but he was just a boy.

She made her way to the nursery where the children slept. She smoothed the blankets over young Geriant, and kissed little Sanon’s forehead. And then she turned to the cradle where her own little daughter slept. Gwenhwyfar was only six months old and already a beauty with her soft down of blond hair and wide, blue eyes. Lighting a candle she held it near so she could see her daughter’s face for one last time.

Her mind was made up now. She would leave Rhoram but not to take up her duties as the future Ardewin of Kymru. No, she was done with that. The world had nothing to offer her anymore. She would hide away, go to a beautiful place that she knew. She would leave the pain behind.

Deep down she knew that beneath her self-pity vengeance lay, frigid and unforgiving. She would make them all sorry. All. Rhoram and his faithlessness. Dinaswyn and her precious plans. Myrrdin who surely despised her for letting her father die alone. She would shut them out. All of them. Now and forever.

Except there was little Gwen sleeping in her cradle. A child who surely needed her mother.