Night Birds' Reign(86)
“Eleven years ago,” Rhoram said quietly, “I lost the woman I loved. The woman I still love. But I didn’t know it, not until it was too late. I made a horrible mistake. A mistake I can’t fix. And I let that mistake tear me to pieces. And that was the worst part. People make mistakes, you see, and live with them the best they know how. But my best wasn’t very good. Achren made me see that tonight. And so,” Rhoram went on, his voice firm, “from now on I shall do better.”
Gwydion hardened cynic that he was, believed that Rhoram would, indeed, do better. He had a fleeting thought that he hadn’t done any better than Rhoram had in living with the past. That thought flashed through his mind, and then was gone. “Can you talk about her?” he asked.
“All you want. But truly, I don’t know anything.”
“Tell me, Rhoram, what if you saw her again? What if she came back to you? What would you do?”
Rhoram was silent for a long time. Finally he said, “She won’t come back to me, Gwydion. She’ll never trust me enough to give her heart to me a second time. Believe this, for I know her. Once trust is broken, it’s gone for good.”
“Rhoram,” Gwydion said abruptly. “I need something.”
“It is yours, Dreamer, if I can make it so.”
“I need you to send Achren to Caer Dathyl. She must be there by Suldydd, Cynyddu Wythnos, in Ysgawen Mis.”
“Because?” Rhoram asked, his brows raised.
“I’d rather not say.”
Rhoram looked at Gwydion for a long moment. “Very well,” he said. “Come,” he went on lightly. “Let’s go back inside. I feel a need to play.”
“Play?”
“The harp. I’m very good at that.”
“What about Efa?” Gwydion said suddenly.
“What about her? We’ll go on together, as always. She has what she wants. She’s the Queen.”
“And you?”
“Ah, well. I’m the King. And there are some beautiful ladies in my court, don’t you think? I get by.” Rhoram grinned and stood up, reaching down a hand to help Gwydion to his feet. He stood there for a moment, looking at Gwydion. Then he said quietly, “If you find her, tell her I miss her and hope to see her again. And tell her I’d like to see my daughter, very much.”
Gwydion nodded. “Anything else?”
Rhoram shook his head. “I think not. It’s better that way.”
As they mounted the steps, Gwydion said quietly, “It’s good to see you again, Rhoram.”
When they reentered the hall the crowd was silent, listening intently to Sanon as she stood before the hearth, singing in a clear, sweet voice. Rhoram made his way through the crowd, picking up a harp that was sitting on one of the tables. He sat on the hearth, and played the tune to Sanon’s song. Sanon smiled at her father and kept singing.
What evil genius, Gwydion wondered, had prompted her to sing that song? She was singing of Cuchulainn, one of the kings of lost Lyonesse and of his doomed love affair. Cuchulainn had fallen under the enchantment of Fand, one of the Danans, the magic folk of that realm. Cuchulainn’s wife, Emer, had found out about the affair, catching the lovers together. Sanon was now singing Emer’s words to Cuchulainn.
What is red is beautiful,
What is new is bright,
What’s tall is fair,
What’s familiar is stale.
The unknown is honored,
The known is neglected.
We lived in harmony once,
And could do so again,
If only I still pleased you.
Gwydion eyed Rhoram as he calmly played the harp, shocked that the King had not even winced at the words. For one moment, Sanon almost faltered, but Rhoram’s smile encouraged her to go on. Gwydion made his way to where he saw Dafydd standing against the wall. “Where’s Efa?” Gwydion asked softly.
“She left as soon as Sanon started singing.”
“She’s still alive, then.”
“Right. If Efa had taken a swing at Achren, as she had wanted to, she wouldn’t be,” Dafydd grinned.
“Where is Achren?”
Dafydd jerked his head over to the dais. “Over there.”
“Thanks.” As Gwydion made his way toward Achren, Sanon was finishing up her song. King Cuchulainn had decided to stay with his wife, and Fand, the enchantress, was leaving.
It is I who will go on a journey,
Though I like our adventure best.
Alas for one who gives love to another
If it be not cherished;
It is better for a person to be cast aside
Unless he is loved as he loves.
Gwydion sat down on the empty chair next to Achren. She turned her head slightly to look at him out of the corner of her eye, but said nothing.