Night Birds' Reign(53)

Over her high cheekbones, her almond-shaped amber eyes glinted at him beneath dark eyebrows. Light glimmered off her night robe of ivory-colored velvet, open low in the front to reveal that she wore nothing underneath. A necklace of beaded amber encircled her slim neck and long, golden earrings hung from her delicate ears. Her lily-scented perfume wafted toward him.

“Gwydion,” she said in her honeyed tone, and her wide, full mouth smiled lazily. “Still awake? You work too hard, cariad.”

He wondered if he should just go ahead, submit to temptation, and take her now without any further talk. Get it done, so he could get rid of her and move on to more important things.

He mused about what she had really wanted from him in the beginning, many years ago. He understood that she had wanted him for a lover because he was the Dreamer, one of the most powerful men in Kymru. Arianrod craved power for the security she thought it would bring, craved it to replace all that she had lost as a child when her parents had sailed away for Corania, never to return.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said flatly when he did not answer her.

“I have, yes.”

“Why?”

“Arianrod, we have more important things to talk about.”

“Such as?”

“Such as a dream I had.”

“Ah, and you need me for something. Of course, why else would you be here? After all, using people is what you do best.”

Oh, she always knew just where to put the knife. And never hesitated to use it. And knew just when to twist it. Just like his mother.

He ignored the jibe, as he had learned to do long ago. “I dreamed of Bran. He planted a clue, a subconscious memory into his descendants. You are one of the two women who might hold that clue.”

“And the other?”

“Is Rhiannon ur Hefeydd.”

“Rhiannon! That fool,” Arianrod said contemptuously. “You won’t find that she holds anything important. Go ahead, then, Gwydion, search for the memory.”

She crossed the room and settled herself on the chair before the dressing table.

He came to stand before her and gently placed his hands on either side of her head. “Close your eyes,” he said quietly and she did so. “You are on a plain covered with wildflowers. Overhead the sky is clear, the golden sun spills down. A stream of clear, cool water runs across the plain, forming a pool at your feet.”

As he spoke soothingly, Arianrod’s head began to droop and her breathing slowed. He continued. “Before you is a rowan tree, with open branches that reach to the sky. It is covered with knots of tiny white flowers. Clusters of red berries glow within the branches. You approach the tree, for this is the tree of the House of Llyr, your House. You stretch out your hand to touch the bark and find that your hand sinks into the tree itself. You step forward, entering the hollow trunk. You descend down, down into the earth until you reach the roots of the tree.

“And there you see a well, filled with cool water. You stretch out your hand and cup the water in your palm. You drink. And as you drink, what do you see?”

He waited, but Arianrod said nothing. Her breathing was slow and even. He lifted her hand and let it go. It stayed in the air, as it should. He sighed. Arianrod did not hold the memory he sought, for it was obvious that she saw nothing, that she had no message for him. He brought her back slowly, having her climb the trunk of the tree and back to the plain.

“Wake up,” he commanded, his hands still cradling her head.

Arianrod started awake, her eyelids fluttering. “Well?” she asked expectantly. “What did I say?”

“Nothing,” he said shortly. “You do not hold the memory.”

Her eyes glinted. “I see,” she said. “So, you must find Rhiannon ur Hefeydd. Well, that will be interesting. Maybe you can get her to fall in love with you. Then you can use her any way you want.”

“I didn’t ask to have to find her,” Gwydion said, stung.

“But you must, surely, look forward to using her,” she taunted. “Since you are done with me.”

“Arianrod—”

“Come now, Gwydion. You and I, we understand each other. Don’t we?”

“I understand you. I’m not at all sure you can return the compliment.”

“Oh, but I can. I know what you are. And what you want.”

“No you don’t.”

“I believe that I do. What’s the matter, Gwydion,” she went on with a smile. “Afraid I’ll stab you in your bath?”

At this his clenched his hands into fists, to keep himself from striking her. No one talked about that. No one reminded him of what happened all those years ago. Swiftly he leapt toward her and grabbed her wrist. His face was drained of all color, twisted with pain. His gray eyes blazed. “Never speak of him to me again. Do you understand?” He shook her. “Do you understand?”