Susanna said nothing for a moment, looking up into Gwydion’s white, set face. “It’s a price you won’t have to pay. You know Uthyr,” she said gently.
“Don’t pity me,” he said, between clenched teeth. “I don’t want it.”
A sound at the top of the stairs made them turn. Uthyr, gently holding a sobbing Arthur, made his way down the stairs. He held the child carefully, as though he was holding his own heart between his hands. Uthyr tried to smile when he saw his brother; but the smile was stillborn on his white, strained face. His eyes were dry, but they had the look of a man dangling from a gallows tree waiting desperately for the moment when his body would cease struggling and hang lifeless, twisting in the wind, his agony over.
Gwydion knew that if he looked at his brother’s eyes again, all his carefully won detachment, all his dedication to duty, all his walls would crumble into dust. And the future of Kymru would crumble with it. So he forced himself to look only at Arthur.
Uthyr gently deposited the sobbing child into Gwydion’s arms. He brushed his son’s hair lightly with the palm of his huge hand. “This is your Uncle Gwydion, Arthur. I know you remember him. Don’t be afraid. He’ll take good care of you. I’ll—I’ll come to see you as soon as I can. I promise.” But the promise was empty, and Arthur knew it. Gwydion could feel the child’s terror and pain as the boy shivered.
Gwydion looked down at Arthur, saying gently, “I will bring your father to visit, one day.”
Arthur, who knew a true promise when he heard one, lifted his head, stopped sobbing, and stared solemnly up at his uncle. “I promise,” Gwydion said again. Arthur twisted in Gwydion’s arms, turning to look to his father. Uthyr was looking back at Arthur with a glint of hope in his face, hardly daring to believe Gwydion’s words. “I’ll see to it, Uthyr. I promise,” Gwydion repeated.
Uthyr nodded, and reached out a trembling hand to cradle his son’s wet cheek. “You be a good boy,” he whispered unsteadily. Again, he tried to smile, but the smile never reached his tormented eyes.
Gwydion turned to go with the boy in his arms. As Susanna opened the door, he heard footsteps rushing down the stairs and then Ygraine was there, thrusting herself between Gwydion and the door. She wore a plain, shapeless gown of gray linen. Her hair was in disarray, and her feet were bare. Her movements were jerky and her eyes were bright, as though she burned with fever.
“Wait,” she said hurriedly. “I just thought of something. Alban Nerth! The Alban Nerth celebration is in six days.” She rushed onward, the words racing out of her mouth. “Why don’t we wait until then? You could help us celebrate. Yes, that’s what we shall do. You help us celebrate. And then—then you can take him.”
Arthur began to cry again. He reached out his small arms to his mother. “Mam,” he sobbed. “Mam.”
With a moan like a dying woman, Ygraine tore Arthur from Gwydion’s arms, holding on to the boy tightly. “No, no, I won’t let you take him!” she screamed.
But Uthyr, his face white and desperate, leapt to hold Ygraine as Susanna tore Arthur from the Queen’s arms. Ygraine screamed, twisting in Uthyr’s grasp, raking his drawn face with her nails, sobbing for her son.
“Come on!” Susanna cried. She ran with Arthur in her arms into the courtyard and Gwydion was right behind her. Duach, seeing their haste, swiftly opened the gate of Uthyr’s fortress.
As Gwydion mounted his horse, she tossed the boy up to him. Setting Arthur firmly in front on the horse’s back, he Mind-Shouted at Elise to go. The horse took off from the courtyard at a dead run. The city streets streamed behind them as they made for the west gate. Cai and Greid, hearing Elise’s muffled gallop leapt to open the gate and Elise shot through.
The horse did not stop running until they were far into the forest. As Elise slowed to a walk, Gwydion thought at first that Arthur was still weeping. But the harsh, dry, heartbroken sobs were not coming from his nephew’s throat.
They were coming from his own.
Gwaithdydd, Disglair Wythnos—early evening
AT DUSK THE following day they came to a clearing in the forest, and Elise simply stopped walking. Gwydion blinked in surprise. Arthur, who had been sitting quietly on the saddle in front of Gwydion, craned his neck to look back at his uncle.
“Oh yes, so it is. Thank you,” Gwydion said as he dismounted. He lifted Arthur from Elise’s back and set the boy on his feet.
Arthur, who had not said a word since crying out for his mother the day before, finally spoke. “Who are you talking to?”