“Keep going, brother. Not too far now,” Uthyr’s voice said.
“We’ll never get him back without having him throw up in the middle of the road. I just know it,” Amatheon said. They tugged at him and he continued walking.
Gwydion was surprised to discover that he was talking rapidly. He couldn’t seem to stop himself. “And then I saw Cerridwen and Cerrunnos. I gave them the eagle. But that was wrong because the eagle trusted me. But it was wrong not to give him up. So what do you do? What do you do when all the choices are wrong?”
When they made him no answer, he stopped again, digging in his heels. He grabbed Uthyr’s tunic by the shoulders and drew his brother to him until their faces were inches apart. “What do you do?” Gwydion shouted into Uthyr’s face. “What do you do when there is no right thing to do?”
A pained expression crossed Uthyr’s face as Gwydion’s breath hit him full force. “Take it easy, Gwydion. You’re drunk. Just come with us, all right?”
“Drunk?” Gwydion replied in astonishment. “I’m drunk? Impossible. I never get drunk. You know,” he continued in a confidential manner, “I tried to get drunk all afternoon, but it never happened. Did you know that?”
“I heard,” Uthyr said shortly. “Come along, little brother.”
“Where are you taking me? And what do I do when I get there? I’ve got to know the right thing to do. Then I’ve got to do it. Got to do the right thing. If you do that, then everything will be all right. But you always have to do the right thing. Can’t let anything stop you from that, you know.”
“Yes, Gwydion, I know, I know,” Amatheon said soothingly. “Everything will be all right. Just come with us.”
“Someone’s coming,” Uthyr said, “from Caer Gwynt.” They heard the sound of running feet rushing down the road toward them. Duach burst into the torchlight. As he saw Uthyr, he grinned. “The Queen,” he panted. “The Queen’s in labor. She’s on her way now to the grove. She’s right behind me.”
Uthyr stood stock-still, staring at Duach, a panicked look on his face. “In labor. The baby? Now?”
“Ygraine is right behind me. She’s asking for you. And for Amatheon and Cynan, too. She needs the Dewin, she said.”
Uthyr dropped Gwydion’s arm and took off up the road at a dead run. And stopped almost immediately to avoid running into his wife.
“I told you she was right behind me,” Duach said plaintively.
Uthyr slowly reached out to his wife. Ygraine stood still, Uthyr’s tense expression at odds with the calm, detached look on her face. Even though her body was swollen and misshapen, she was still beautiful. She was fair-skinned, with rich auburn tresses that cascaded down her back, woven lightly now with a red ribbon. She wore a loose, white robe, fastened in the front with pearls. Her look was haughty, as always. Her eyes were dark, glittering coolly in the torchlight. Midnight eyes, Gwydion had always thought. She seemed to feel no pain at the moment. She probably doesn’t allow pain, thought Gwydion. It would be undignified, almost human.
Her dark eyes rested on Uthyr for a moment as he took her hand. She smiled at him—the only time she ever smiled was when she looked upon her husband. He touched her smooth face with a gentle hand. “All is well with you, cariad?” he asked.
“It is well with me,” she answered, her voice cool. She glanced at Gwydion, supported now by Amatheon and Duach. “How interesting to see you, Gwydion. Perhaps you would care to go back to Caer Gwynt and sleep it off.” It was not a question.
Suddenly, shockingly, Gwydion was stone cold sober, as if a pail of freezing water had been dashed in his face. Ygraine always seemed to have that effect on him. Slowly he drew himself up, standing unaided. “Thank you, Ygraine. But I think I’ll stay awake for this.”
“As you wish,” she said, indifferently. She turned to Amatheon. “Brother of my husband,” she said formally. “You will attend?”
“Of course. I would be honored.” He left Gwydion’s side and moved toward Ygraine, making her a deep bow as he took her arm.
She nodded toward Gwydion. “Much as I would love to stay and chat with you, Dreamer, I must go to the grove. I hope you can make it back to the fortress unaided.”
Gwydion was not deceived. She hoped that he would break his neck, that’s what she hoped. She calmly moved on down the road, supported on one side by Uthyr and on the other by Amatheon. Gwydion waited until she was out of earshot. “That woman hates me,” Gwydion said absently. “They both do.”