Night Birds' Reign(117)

“Not in his Tower then?” she asked.

“Nemed Cerdinen, Rhiannon ur Hefeydd, is where he goes when his tasks weigh most heavily upon him, when his cares press heavily, when things are going ill for him.”

“I see. And was that your habit, too, when you were Dreamer?”

“It was. Both Gwydion and I have spent much time in that grove, thanks to you.”

“Ah. Still angry after all this time?”

“You were a fool, Rhiannon. You could have been Ardewin but you threw it away. You defied your fate.”

“No, I defied you. Fate, it seems, has caught up to me at last.” She wasn’t going to be pushed around by Dinaswyn. If she took a humble line now, she’d never hear the end of it. So she lashed out on a sore spot with deadly accuracy. “And really, Dinaswyn,” she went on, “you shouldn’t hang on to your anger like that. It’s bad for your health. And I’m sure Gwydion wouldn’t want anything to happen to you—he relies on you so.”

Dinaswyn stiffened. “More than he knows,” she said quietly.

Rhiannon carefully searched Dinaswyn’s cold face, and saw now what few people had ever bothered to see. She saw the ghost of a woman who had, perhaps, once loved and laughed; a woman who had, somehow, sustained a wound from which she had never recovered. Unaccountably, Rhiannon was seized with pity. Impulsively, she put a warm hand on Dinaswyn’s arm in silent sympathy.

She had expected Dinaswyn to snatch her arm away. But Dinaswyn did not. Swiftly, she covered Rhiannon’s hand with her own cold one. “Go to him,” she said urgently. “He needs your help badly. He is tired and discouraged and angry with himself for failing with you. And, Rhiannon, please remember that what he has become isn’t entirely his fault. Be patient.”

“I can’t promise that I will always succeed in that. But I promise to try.”

Dinaswyn did not smile, that was not her way, but her cold, gray eyes warmed slightly. She nodded toward the bright rowan trees. “Go.”

Rhiannon entered the tiny grove. In the middle of the circle of trees, on a carpet of green moss, Gwydion ap Awst sat brooding, his back to her. He wore a simple tunic and trousers of black and his knees were drawn up beneath his chin. His hands were clasped around them and his head was bent. He sighed as she came up behind him. Without turning around he said, in a weary tone, “Dinaswyn, I asked not to be disturbed.”

“She neglected to mention that,” Rhiannon said.

Swiftly, his head came up. For a moment he did not move, then he stood and turned around to face her. “Rhiannon ur Hefeydd. You came after all,” he said slowly.

“Well,” she said lightly, “I was in the area and I couldn’t resist dropping by.”

His gray eyes brightened and his mouth quirked slightly. “Were you now?”

“I was.”

“Well, now that you’re here, perhaps we could talk together like two civilized human beings.”

“Well,” she said dubiously, “we could try.”

“Why don’t you sit down?” He gestured for her to sit, and they sat on the green moss, facing each other.

“Why did you change your mind?” he asked, his silvery eyes keen.

“Someone tried to kill me.”

His hands clenched into fists, but he did not move otherwise. “Tell me,” he said quietly.

She told him of the attack, and of how she had hidden the body. “I didn’t want Gwen to find out,” she finished.

“Did you tell anyone? Rhoram, perhaps?”

“No. If I had told Rhoram he never would have let me leave Arberth.”

“Hard enough for you to leave as it was, I imagine,” Gwydion murmured.

She searched his face, looking for signs that he was mocking her, but he seemed to be quite serious. “It was,” she said shortly.

“Then I am even more indebted to you for coming. There was an attempt on my life also.”

“Where? When?”

“In Ederynion. At Mabon’s festival.”

“Before you came to find me.”

“Yes. The man was killed. He took poison rather than give up the name of his master.”

“And my would-be murderer told me nothing of who—only why,” Rhiannon mused.

“The Captains of the four kingdoms will join us here in Caer Dathyl by tomorrow. They have their own roles to play, according to the poem given to me by the High Kings. But I, for one, will be very grateful for their expert protection. There is none better.”

The afternoon sun poured through the rowan branches, pooling between them as they sat facing each other.

Gwydion’s sharp gaze softened a little. “Rhiannon, I am glad you have come.”