But it wasn’t Ygraine’s hatred that made Gwydion stay away from Tegeingl. It was Uthyr himself that stopped Gwydion. For when he looked in his brother’s eyes the complete absence of reproach broke Gwydion’s heart. It shamed him that his brother gave him so much, and he had given Uthyr nothing at all, except pain.
Nor could he see Myrrdin although his uncle was only one day’s ride away. For Gwydion did not even dare to ride through Dinas Emrys, did not even dare to Wind-Speak to Myrrdin. He occasionally felt he was being watched. What the watcher—or watchers—hoped to gain was not clear. He could not be sure that they had completely believed the story of Arthur’s death. And, if not, he did not dare risk drawing their gaze to the one place he most wanted them to avoid.
He rarely saw his younger brother now, for Amatheon was still with Hetwin Silver-Brow in Rheged. Occasionally Amatheon would get leaves from his duties to visit Caer Dathyl. But those times were few and far between.
On six occasions in the past eight years, the Archdruid, Cathbad had visited Gwydion and made the tedious journey to Caer Dathyl. Gwydion was grateful for the visits and always sincerely welcomed Cathbad. When Gwydion was a boy, Cathbad had been the Druid at the court of Gwynedd and he had always been kind to Gwydion when they had met at Caer Gwynt. Cathbad was good company—wise and serene, as well as always ready with a good story or two to wile away the hours.
Though Gwydion did not truly believe Cathbad had ulterior motives for his visits his innate caution always came to the fore. He was very careful never to mention his nightmares, never to breathe a word of the true state of affairs, never to so much as hint that a High King had been born to Kymru.
He was less sure about Anieron’s motive. The Master Bard was always appallingly well informed and he, too, would occasionally come to Caer Dathyl. Although Anieron had never even bothered to hint that he had questions, Gwydion sometimes worried that Anieron did not ask him anything because the Master Bard already knew everything there was to know.
He frowned, staring into the fire. The flames reminded him of the red-gold hair of his daughter, Cariadas. He missed her so much. She had been tested four years ago and he had seen what he had expected—that Cariadas would be the next Dreamer of Kymru. She was nine years old now, and studying clairvoyance at Y Ty Dewin. She would remain there for the next two years and after that she would be sent to the Bards to learn telepathy, then to the Druids to learn psychokinesis. Then she would return to Caer Dathyl and learn precognition from Gwydion himself.
Maybe her dreams would be better than his had been. He hoped they would be, for her sake.
But now he must find a way to keep his promise and allow Uthyr to see his son again. Although he knew he was still being watched, he had thought of a way he could elude these potential spies, and still keep his promise.
He frowned, thinking of how best to get a message to Uthyr. He dared not relay a telepathic message, however innocuous, for it would have to filter through to Susanna, Uthyr’s Bard. Though Susanna had been one of the people that had helped him to spirit Arthur away, he did not completely trust her. First, she was a Bard and he did not trust Anieron. Second, she was a woman. And there was no telling what a woman might do. Women were so unreasonable. He should know—he lived with Dinaswyn and Arianrod, two of the most unreasonable women in Kymru.
His aunt, Dinaswyn, had never gotten over being supplanted. It wasn’t his fault that he had become Dreamer so early in his life, leaving her feeling displaced and useless. He had done all he could to lessen the sting but she was not the Dreamer any more, and he could not pretend that she was. He had no idea why the Shining Ones had chosen to send the dreams to him, but he was hardly in a position to argue with them. It was just like a woman, he thought sourly, to blame something on a man that wasn’t his fault.
Arianrod, his cousin and sometime lover, was a far worse problem. She still lived at Caer Dathyl at Dinaswyn’s insistence, although often she would travel to other courts, seeking new men, seeking diversion, seeking things that she was not perhaps even aware she was looking for. But she always returned to Caer Dathyl, and to Gwydion’s bed.
And that was the problem.
He always told himself that when she returned he would end it. But when he saw her again he always succumbed to the temptation to take refuge from his pain and loneliness, in her glorious body. He knew that it was wrong, because he did not love her. He could not, he thought, truly love any woman. For to do so he would have to trust them first and that was impossible. He knew that he was using Arianrod, and the knowledge made him wince inwardly, ashamed.