Song Magick (35 page)

He laughed stiltedly, but it died in his
throat as Telyn caught sight of something unfamiliar. She pushed
back the sleeve of his jerkin and stared at the freshly tattooed
honor marks around his wrist, identical to her own. Telyn’s lips
parted in disbelief as she glanced sharply at Emrys.

Emrys’ dark eyes were sorrowful, his voice
full of hesitation as he confessed softly, “Taliesin has named me
his heir in your stead.”

* * * *

“I wondered why I haven’t been able to find
you,” Telyn said as she showed her foster father into the day room.
“You’ve been at court for the better part of the last year, haven’t
you?”

“For six months, at least.” Emrys had the
grace to look embarrassed. “I had already promised myself to Lord
Cruigh for the spring rites this year. It was my last commitment
before I return to court permanently. As it coincided nicely with
the delegation’s schedule, I was able to keep the appointment.”

“Riordan said that you wouldn’t tell him why
I wasn’t in Belthil.” Telyn said faintly, unable to keep the hurt
from her voice.

“When I last saw Riordan, it was midsummer,
and I knew nothing but rumors—none of which I could believe,” Emrys
said with sincerity. “I thought it best to keep silent until I knew
the whole truth rather than let those rumors spread. I always knew
that you were innocent of murder.”

He leaned forward and took her hand. “Please
understand that I have been your partisan, Tel. I tried to make
Taliesin see that it may be possible for you to return to your
rightful place one day, but...” Emrys made a disgusted sound. “You
know how he is. He won’t even speak your name.”

“No. I wounded his pride and his reputation,
and he will never forgive me.” Telyn shrugged, swallowing the
bitterness rising in her throat. “I am happy for you, Emrys, truly
I am.” After the initial shock, Telyn had come to realize that
there was no one else whom Taliesin could have named as his heir.
“I can think of no one better suited for the role of Royal
Bard.”

“The title should still be yours,” Emrys
insisted, and Telyn shook her head.

“All things happen for a reason, whether they
are foul or fair.” Telyn smiled faintly. “The Fates have led me to
the Wood, and to Cerisild.”

“Yes, and on that note...” Emrys said with a
raised eyebrow, “Young Mithrais seemed a bit disconcerted to see
you hanging about my neck, until you told him who I was. Were the
spring rites successful for you this year?”

Telyn grinned, the blush rising, and Emrys
crowed, “Ah, yes, I see that I am correct!”

“It’s much more than that,” Telyn protested,
the blush still warm in her cheeks, and Emrys smiled gently.

“Then it is I who am happy for you, my
shadow.” His face became guarded. “He does know?”

“Yes. He and Lord Gwidion know the entire
story of what happened in Belthil that night. However, Marithiel
and Gilmarion do not.” She stopped suddenly and looked at Emrys
fully.

“You went straight to Lord Gwidion, and not
Lady Marithiel,” she realized.

“I carried a personal message for him from
the King,” Emrys admitted. “Don’t ask me the contents, because I
don’t know what they were. I was told that I was to give it to him
regardless of his state of health. In all honesty I expected a
bedridden invalid, and not that vital man in the library. Do they
hold him prisoner there?”

“He holds himself prisoner, but it suited
them.” Telyn sighed. “Lord Gwidion has come to realize, albeit
nearly too late, that he should not have given up so much of his
authority. When will the delegation be here?”

“Midsummer.” Emrys’ face was lined with
concern. “There are circumstances that I cannot tell you about this
delegation,” he said with sudden earnest, “but you may be in grave
danger.”

Emrys opened his mouth, his face working with
concern, but a knock on the door interrupted his words.

“Ah, our meal!” he exclaimed instead with a
meaningful look. “At last, I can fill my belly with something
besides traveling rations.”

Telyn had been his apprentice too long not to
remember the meaning of that look: it meant that the subject was
not closed, but it was time to change to a safer topic. As she
opened the door to admit the servitors, she queried Emrys:

“The wagon looks familiar, but it wasn’t
yours. I recognized Colba in the stable, and came to find you.”

“I had already given up my wagon. I had to
procure one to make the journey to Cruigh’s stronghold,” Emrys
admitted. “I managed to borrow one from an old friend. Do you
remember Bannon Laysinger?”

“Of course I do! He gave me my first lesson
on the pipes,” Telyn remembered with pleasure. “Has he given up
wandering?”

“Oh, no, merely an extended engagement,”
Emrys said distractedly, eyeing with great anticipation the meal
being set on the table. “That obscenely rich grain farmer, Belenus,
has finally found husbands for his spoiled twin daughters. The
double wedding celebration is next week, and the gods help those
foolish young men. Bannon is there to perform for the arriving
guests and at the feast afterwards.”

“Really?” Telyn caught her breath. Belenus
was the same landowner with whom Marithiel had sought to ally
Gilmarion; it seemed her plans and her apparently desperate attempt
to blackmail Mithrais had now been foiled twice over...but
something nagged at Telyn’s mind about this. Surely the marriage
negotiations between Gilmarion and Belenus had ended some time ago
if his daughters were to be married within the week. Why would
Marithiel believe the negotiations were still ongoing?

As the last dish was set out, Emrys thanked
the servitors profusely and drew his chair up to the table. “I beg
your pardon, Tel, but I went without supper last evening as I
traveled, so I plan to make excellent use of this repast and avoid
the same tonight.”

“You’re leaving already?” Telyn asked
curiously, moving her own chair to the table.

“Well, since Lord Gwidion already has a bard
in residence, I am hardly needed here.” He waggled his eyebrows,
and Telyn couldn’t help but smile.

Emrys filled the trencher before him with
meat and vegetables. Telyn served herself as well, and they ate in
appreciative silence until the servitors had filled their wine cups
and withdrawn from the room. Emrys finally began in a careful
tone,

“Tel, this is not something that I would
share with anyone else, but you must know. Lord Vuldur has
continued to decline in reason and in health since you were exiled.
When I said that he has little left to lose, I meant it. The court
physicians are convinced that he will not live to see the next
winter.”

Telyn’s hand stopped halfway to her mouth,
the bite of food she had begun to take forgotten as Emrys
continued, “They say that it is some kind of growth inside his
head. I’m no healer and I won’t pretend to understand what the
physicians have told the King, but it is a thing that is killing
him, and quickly.”

Telyn set the bread down on the edge of her
plate. “I don’t know what to say to that,” she confessed. Part of
her was relieved, another horrified at the fact that she felt
relieved.

“He’s changed a great deal in the last year.
Were it not for his unpredictable fits of rage, one could say he
was almost becoming a model courtier,” Emrys said with a touch of
sarcasm. “The cold hand of death can do that to a man, I would
wager, but too little, too late in his case. Vuldur has petitioned
the King to visit Cerisild, and bid farewell to Princess
Marithiel.”

“Ah...” Telyn breathed in a quick breath of
shock. “You mean, he’s coming here? The King granted his
petition?”

“Prince Keir and Lord Teagan are coming with
him, a long-overdue state visit. There’s something else afoot, but
I’m not privy to the information.” He shoveled in another bite of
food. “I know that the King commanded Vuldur not to seek
retribution against you, but that may slip his mind now that he’s
dying. The rumor I’ve heard of bounty hunters out for your hands
might just turn out to be true.”

Telyn sighed and admitted, “They already
have, Emrys.”

The bard choked on his dinner, coughing
violently, and Telyn waited for him to breathe again before she
began to tell him the tale.

* * * *

Gwidion sat back in his chair, releasing
Mithrais’ hand and allowing the rapport between them to end. “I
never dreamed that the covenant would be fulfilled in my lifetime,”
he breathed, his eyes still focused distantly on the images
Mithrais had shared with him, “and now, I find myself torn between
hope and fear.”

The older man’s face was gaunt and tired, and
it appeared that he had not taken the opportunity to sleep the
previous night. Finding his father’s words disturbing, Mithrais
waited uneasily for him to continue. Gwidion shook himself back
into the present, and looked directly into Mithrais’ eyes.

“What I have found in the histories
concerning Genefar is less than comforting,” Gwidion said grimly.
He reached for the tattered scroll that lay on his desk. “I’m
relieved to have the opportunity to speak with you first, for I
fear that I couldn’t decide what I should say to Telyn. This
information contains some things that may be helpful, but the bulk
of it is discouraging, and at the end, merely frightening.”

“What have you found?” Mithrais asked slowly,
a sense of dread beginning to take shape.

“The seed-speaker is the one who holds the
knowledge necessary to accomplish the fulfillment of the covenant.
Genefar was not hailed as the seed-voice, which may bode better
things for Telyn, but she was able to wield magic, and made an
attempt that failed, utterly and tragically. She was nearly killed
by the backlash of power, and six of the wardens died.”

Mithrais was unable to believe what he had
just heard, his eyes wide as he shook his head in denial.

“This has to be different,” he insisted.
“Telyn has been hailed by the Gwaith’orn themselves—the nine
wardens chosen by them. The Gwaith’orn used her magic...”

“Who is the seed-speaker?” Gwidion countered
softly, and Mithrais, dismayed, was unable to answer. Gwidion
pressed his lips together, running a finger over them in
thought.

“I am concerned that the Gwaith’orn are
rushing Telyn into this out of self-preservation,” he said. “I do
not deny that the circumstances are different. She may very well be
the one who can accomplish the return of magic to the Silde,
but...” Gwidion looked helplessly at Mithrais. “If it meant the
loss of you and Telyn, I could not bear to pay that cost.”

The raw defeat in Gwidion’s voice was so
unlike his father that Mithrais knew there was something more. He
moved to kneel beside the chair, placing his hand atop
Gwidion’s.

“What else is wrong, Father?” he asked.

“Vuldur’s arrival at this time is an
unpleasant surprise for Telyn. When he arrives, we will have to
decide how we might best protect her from him. But details of the
delegation’s business were given to me this morning, so that I may
be prepared.” Gwidion withdrew his hand from Mithrais’ protective
gesture, rubbing his own eyes in weariness.

“You have always been aware of the rumors
concerning Gilmarion’s birth,” he said quietly, and Mithrais nodded
in mute accord. “They are correct, insomuch as it is impossible
that I am his father. This I knew before Marithiel and I wed, but I
have ever regarded him as my son in name and affection. I have
always been honest with Gilmarion, and until recently, he with
me.

“Vuldur has named Gilmarion heir to the East,
after his son Vaddon’s death. Apparently, Gilmarion was notified of
this at the winter solstice but did not share this information with
me-—nor, does it appear, has he shared it with Marithiel.”

Stunned, Mithrais sat back as Gwidion
continued, “It also appears that Gilmarion has recently offered
himself as a potential suitor to Queen Boudicea, as the heir to the
East. The King is very displeased, and wishes to know his
intentions.”

“Telyn said something about that in
Rothvori,” Mithrais remembered suddenly. “No one knew who the
Sildan suitor to Queen Boudicea was, and she thought it only a
rumor.”

“It is no rumor. King Amorion is not entirely
certain that it is Gilmarion himself who has made these overtures,
but whoever made them has offered the return of the harbor to the
South Kingdom. Should Boudicea accept, Amorion would lose the trade
tariffs, and they are a large part of the kingdom’s finances.”

“I never thought him capable of such deceit.”
Mithrais could not bring himself to believe it of Gilmarion, even
now.

“But what I have learned of Marithiel...”
Gwidion’s voice broke. His face grew stony, his eyes reflecting a
hurt beyond expression. “I will not burden you with that knowledge,
Mithrais. It is mine to pass judgment upon privately.”

He looked up with a harsh sigh, his
countenance changing as he straightened in his chair, and met
Mithrais’ eyes with a gaze that was compelling.

“There is something you must consider, my
son. Gilmarion may wish to take up the title of Lord of the East.
It suits the King well that a member of his own family take the
title, and Amorion confirmed him as Vuldur’s successor before the
other concerns came to light.”

Mithrais knew what his father was about to
say, and the words brought a chill rather than any feeling of
triumph or joy.

“If that occurs, Mithrais, you, not
Gilmarion, will be Lord of Cerisild after me.”

Chapter
Twenty-Three

Telyn left Emrys outside the solar in the
company of Diarmid, where the visiting bard was to make a brief
formal announcement of the delegation’s arrival to the Lady of
Cerisild. Emrys planned to leave immediately thereafter, and as he
gave his former apprentice a parting embrace, Emrys reminded Telyn
that he would return with the delegation.