Gwydion turned to Ellirri. “Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”
“I think,” Ellirri said quietly, “that Kilwch was a good husband—kind, and loving. Olwen undervalued him every day of their marriage, and I think she’s regretted that since the day he died. And so, she has to blame someone. And that someone is you.”
“She’ll have to stand in line then,” Gwydion said lightly. “There are a lot of people ahead of her who blame me for their problems.” Although he smiled when he said it, Ellirri laid her hand on his arm in silent sympathy. Her kindness caught him off guard and, for a moment, his throat tightened. He cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll just have to deal with her the best I can. I need to go there.”
“Good luck,” Urien said cheerfully. “You’ll need it.”
THE GREAT HALL that night was warm with light and cheerful laughter. The fire glowed in the huge fireplace, turning the banner above it of a horse, outlined in opals and gold, into a shape of living flame.
The King’s table on the dais was a large one in order to accommodate his family and the chief officers of his court. Gwydion sat now at Uthyr’s right and on Gwydion’s right sat Sabrina ur Dadweir, Urien’s Druid. She was a raven-haired, blue-eyed beauty. If she had shown the slightest interest in him, Gwydion would have gladly reciprocated—for the night, anyway. But she did not. They chatted amicably together, but that was all.
Young Owein sat next to Sabrina. Owein was quiet, but though he rarely spoke he listened attentively to everyone. Bledri sat on Owein’s right and the boy’s occasional glances at the King’s Dewin spoke volumes of dislike.
Just now Bledri was regaling young Enid with an amusing story. Enid hung breathlessly on his every word with a young girl’s infatuation shining in her blue eyes.
Breaking off in the middle of his story to Enid, Bledri leaned forward across the table and turned toward Gwydion. The gray eyes in his handsome face were alight with mischief. “Tell me, Gwydion ap Awst, do you know the story of Cadwallon and Caradoc?”
“I do,” Gwydion replied mildly, wondering what Bledri was up to. Cadwallon and Caradoc had been twins, the sons of the first King of Rheged. The younger twin’s jealousy of his older brother had almost ruined the kingdom.
“An old and far too familiar tale, don’t you think?” Bledri said smiling, but his eyes cut to Owein on his left. “Two brothers, and the younger madly jealous of the older. Jealous enough of his older brother to want to kill him and take his place as King.” Bledri shook his head in mock dismay. “Such a shame. What happens to brotherly love in such a situation, eh? Oh, but I am forgetting. Perhaps Owein could tell us about that.”
Owein stiffened, his eyes shooting daggers at the smiling Bledri. Sabrina, too, had stiffened at Bledri’s taunt, and even Enid’s smile faded.
“What do you mean by that?” Owein said sharply.
“Why, nothing to be upset about,” Bledri said smoothly.
“Your elder brother is heir, and we all know you love your brother. But such a situation can be difficult. I thought that perhaps you could tell us how you yourself avoid feelings of rancor. For we know you do, don’t we?”
Owein flushed and his hand darted to his dagger. Suddenly, Sabrina said artlessly, “Oh. That reminds me of something that I heard the other day. It seems that there was this wise woman who had a cat . . .” She launched into a long and rambling tale about a mischievous feline who had drunk an untended potion made by his mistress, rendering the cat invisible. By the time she was done the tension had eased, although Bledri still had a sardonic smile on his handsome face.
“Owein,” Urien called out from farther down the table.
“Yes, Da?” Owein answered his voice calm, though his face was still flushed.
“Better start packing, boy,” Urien said cheerfully.
“Where am I going?”
Ellirri leaned forward and announced, “Elphin and Owein—Trystan will be taking you to Arberth to visit King Rhoram’s court.”
Across the table Esyllt, the King’s Bard, frowned. “Madam,” she said in her low, musical tones, “I think I should go, too.” Trystan’s eyes brightened, and March, Esyllt’s husband, looked up quickly. He said nothing, but protest was visible in every line of his stocky, heavy frame.
“I think not, Esyllt,” Ellirri replied. Although the comment was made gently, it was obvious that the matter was not open to further discussion.
But Esyllt tried again, anyway. “But madam, I think that—”
“I’m sure you do, my dear,” Ellirri interjected smoothly.