“The sword of the High Kings? To give, presumably, to the next High King of Kymru.”
“Yes.”
“So you want to hypnotize me to retrieve a memory. Then you want me to leave my home and my daughter and go with you on a quest for the sword. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Yes. So you see, I did understand you. Thank you for using little words so that I could do so.”
“I’m just trying to explain,” he said patiently, perhaps a little too patiently.
“You’re treating me like a child, Dreamer,” she said sharply. “But I am not.”
The skepticism in his face was unmistakable. As soon as he had done that, he knew he had made a mistake. Her face continued to harden. Gwydion had not thought that possible.
In a dangerously calm tone, she went on, “And what, may I ask, do you suggest I do with my daughter while I go off with you?”
“How should I know? Why don’t you take her to Y Ty Dewin? It’s where she belongs, after all. She needs training. Training she can’t get living in a cave. She’s psychokinetic as well as clairvoyant. She—”
“And what right do you have to tell me what to do?”
“You asked me,” he replied, his voice rising.
“It was a rhetorical question, idiot.”
Idiot. This was enough. “Oh, that’s typical. Just like a woman. Doesn’t surprise me at all. Blame the man for what you started. Of course.”
“Oh, I like that. Just like a man. Come in here demanding things from me. Saying I must do this, I must do that. Men always want something. And they never want to give anything in return.”
“I’ll be giving something in return, all right,” he shot back. “I’ll be enduring your childish temper tantrums.”
“Oh no you won’t. Because I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Of course you’re not. What ever made me believe that you would think of anything other than yourself?”
“You’re a fine one to talk. Since when does the Dreamer care about anyone else?”
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.
LATER 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.