Night Birds' Reign(96)
“Oh, gods,” Angharad whispered so only Gwydion could hear. “You’ve done it now.” And young Elen, surprisingly, smothered a smile behind her hand.
The man stepped out from behind the chair and stood in front of Gwydion. He wore a robe of sea green trimmed in silver, which proclaimed him to be Dewin. “I am Llwyd Cil-coed, brother of Alun Cilcoed, the Lord of Arystli.”
“Ah, yes,” Gwydion said. “I recall you, now, for one of the graduation ceremonies I attended at Y Ty Dewin. You were but a journeyman, then.”
“Now I am the Dewin to Rheidden Arwy, the Gwarda of commote Caerinion.”
“Oh,” Gwydion said politely. “Why aren’t you there then?”
Again, there was another choked sound from Angharad. But the Queen had not moved. Her face remained impassive and remote. “Gwydion ap Awst,” Olwen spoke again. “I have asked you a question. Why are you here?”
“Have I come at a bad time?” he asked innocently.
Olwen rose slowly, like a snake uncoiling. Tall and proud she stood before him, pining him with her gaze. “You are not welcome here in my country. Did you not know this?”
“I did not,” he lied promptly. “For what reason?”
“My husband is dead,” she said flatly. “You saw his death in your dreams but you did nothing.”
“There was nothing I could do, Olwen,” he said mildly. “I do not choose my dreams. And the dreams I have are unchangeable.”
“You lie!”
“Someone has lied to you,” he said calmly, his eyes flickering to Llwyd Cilcoed, “if they told you I could have prevented his death. I could not.”
“And I say you lie,” she hissed. “I say you killed him. Out of spite.”
“Out of spite for what?”
“He was my husband.”
“Olwen,” he said wearily, for he tired of this game, “if I had wanted that job, I would have taken it some time ago. But I didn’t, did I?”
The Queen flushed in rage. “You are to leave my country, now.”
In truth, he knew it would be best to leave Dinmael. But Gwydion did not like being told what to do. “I am the Dreamer,” he said calmly but implacably. “And the festival of Calan Olau, which honors Mabon of the Sun, is tomorrow. I claim my right as Dreamer to lead the festival.”
Olwen opened her mouth to refuse permission. But she obviously thought better of it, for under the law, Gwydion did have the right. Finally, between gritted teeth, she said, “You will stay and lead the festival. Then you are to go. Is that understood?”
Gwydion bowed. “Very well.”
“Angharad,” Olwen continued, “you will see to it that the Dreamer stays out of my sight until the festival. Then you will see to it that he leaves immediately afterward.”
“I will, my Queen,” Angharad bowed.
“Go now,” Olwen ordered Gwydion. She turned away and took her place on her chair. “Why are you still here?” she asked Gwydion as she seated herself.
Gwydion opened his mouth for a reply that would have done him no credit, but Angharad caught his arm and dragged him from the room, slamming the door behind her.
“You idiot,” she fumed, as they crossed the courtyard. “Go to the guest house. The steward has assigned a special room for you, at my request. There will be a guard outside your door. Stay there until I come.” She signaled to a warrior, who joined them. “This is Emrys ap Naw. He is my lieutenant. And your guard.” She turned to the young man, who was looking at Angharad with worship in his eyes, worship that she apparently did not see. “Take him to his room. And make sure he stays there.”
THE ROOM WAS small and the furnishings were plain. There were no windows.
A narrow bed with a plain, brown woolen blanket stood in the far, left corner of the room. A large, oak wardrobe was wedged into the corner next to the door. The floor was bare.
Although Gwydion could use his psychokinesis and other gifts to leave this room whenever he truly wished, he stayed here. He wanted to hear what Angharad would have to say to him. So he waited as patiently as he could.
A scraping sound coming from the wardrobe alerted him that he would soon have company. He had noticed the secret catch in the back of the wardrobe hours ago. The door of the wardrobe opened and Angharad entered, followed by a man and a woman.
The man was of medium height with brown hair, lightly powered gray at the temples. He had a genial smile and blue eyes. He was dressed in blue and white and wore the Bard’s torque.
The woman had long, dark brown hair that hung loosely about her shoulders. She wore the formal robe of the Dewin, sea green trimmed with silver, and her Dewin’s torque. Her light brown eyes were wary as she regarded him.