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.
SHE 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.”
SHE 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.