Night Birds' Reign(50)

Yet she, too, played a part in the wrong. She knew that he did not love her. And he did not think she had ever loved him. He often wondered why it was then that she would not just let him go.

Arianrod had returned to Caer Dathyl just a few days ago. So far, Gwydion had been able to avoid her—no mean feat in a fortress this size. But this would not last. She was sure to try to force a confrontation. And this time his mind was made up.

He twisted his thoughts away from Arianrod. For now he had to think of a way to get a message to Uthyr. And he had to be careful. Ah. Of course. Dinaswyn was the key. He Wind-Spoke to her. “Dinaswyn?”

“Coming,” she replied quickly. A shade too quickly, he thought. She must have been hoping for such a summons.

He heard light footsteps on the stairs, and then Dinaswyn opened his study door. The passing years had contented themselves with bleaching the color from her face and hair, for while her skin was unlined, her hair now shone silver in the firelight. Her gray eyes, cool and watchful, surveyed him calmly. She was wearing a long, white robe, and her feet were bare.

“Found what you were looking for?” Dinaswyn inquired in a cool tone, gesturing to the book-laden table.

“No,” he said, just as coolly. “Did you expect me to?”

“As I don’t know what you are looking for, I hardly know what to expect.”

Yes, he thought, trust Dinaswyn to pry. “I’m not sure myself, really,” he lied. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

Her gray eyes hardened. “I see.” Gwydion thought she probably did indeed.

“Dinaswyn, I wondered if you might do me a favor.”

“Tell me how I may serve you, my dearest nephew.”

Gwydion sighed inwardly. All conversations with her were like this. “Will you take a letter to Uthyr at Tegeingl for me?” he said mildly.

“That’s it? A letter?” she asked in surprise. “Why?”

“Because I miss him,” Gwydion said shortly.

“Gwydion, you never do things for sentiment’s sake.”

“Will you take it or not?” he asked impatiently.

“I will,” she replied crisply. “When?”

“You leave tomorrow.”

“The weather is a little difficult for traveling, Gwydion. You do know that it’s winter, don’t you?” she asked with some asperity.

Gwydion grinned. “I’ll back you against a blizzard any day.”

For the first time in a long time Dinaswyn laughed. Gwydion was surprised at how pleased he was to hear that sound. “I suggest, my dear aunt that you think of a good excuse to be in Tegeingl just now,” he went on.

She frowned thoughtfully. “The Calan Morynion celebration is coming up in a few weeks time. As the most important woman there, I would lead the festival. Everyone at Tegeingl would say that I had really come to push myself to the forefront of the celebration, assuming it was the pride of a crotchety old woman shunted into the background before her time that brings me there.”

“I like it,” Gwydion said decisively.

“You should. It has the merit of being true,” she said with a bitter smile.

“There’s more to you than that.”

She cocked her head at him. “Too smart for your own good, or for mine. Do me one favor in return.”

“What?” he asked warily.

“When the time comes, when the test is truly upon us, don’t forget me. Use me. Promise.” Her gray eyes blazed and her voice held an urgency that he had never heard from her before. “Help me to make my life mean something. And my death.”

“I promise that I will give you a task,” Gwydion replied steadily. “But I will not let it lead to your death.”

“That’s my business, Gwydion,” she replied cool as ever. It was enough to make Gwydion think he had imagined the fire he had seen in his aunt’s eyes just a moment ago. “Write your letter then, nephew,” she continued. “I leave tomorrow.”

She turned and made to leave the room. But she stopped at the doorway, her hand on the door handle. Without turning around she said, “Good night, Gwydion. I wish you interesting dreams.”


GWYDION FORCED HIMSELF to relax and sip his wine. He glanced at the stairs that led up to his sleeping chamber. Soon he must go up those stairs to sleep, possibly to dream.

But for now his task must be to keep his promise to his brother. As the first step, he must write a letter to Uthyr that only his brother would understand. Finding ink and parchment buried under a mound of books, he sat at the table and began to write.

My dearest brother:

How long it has been since I have last seen you. The years seem to fly by too swiftly, leaving a cold trail of unfulfilled promises behind.