Steffan seemed to know everyone in Dimilioc. Or they seemed to know him. As he led Anwen through the fortress, every man they passed glanced at Steffan with a startled expression, then murmured a greeting as they hurried away.
Anwen recalled what Daveth had said of Steffan’s time here, when he had reported to Igraine and asked her to deal with the blind man. No wonder everyone wanted to step around Steffan.
The surgery was still full of wounded soldiers from the skirmish at the King’s camp two nights ago. As Uther had taken over Dimilioc upon the death of their Duke, both King’s men and Cornish soldiers laid in the low beds. Three physicians examined and treated the wounded men.
Anwen saw the bed in the far corner, separated from the others by a thick drape which had been hastily nailed to the ceiling. She tugged on Steffan’s hand. “Over here,” she said, pulling him in that direction.
They moved around the curtain and stopped at the foot of the bed. It was not a bunk, but a full-sized bed with sheets and furs and cushions. In one respect it was the same as the bunks the soldiers laid upon—the occupant was grievously injured.
Merlin opened his eyes a sliver, then completely, when he saw them. He lifted his head, hissed in pain, and let it fall back upon the cushion.
“God’s teeth,” Anwen breathed.
Steffan moved around the side of the bed. “From her tone, I am guessing you do not look well, Merlin.”
Anwen squeezed the end of the bed, her fingers digging in. “The surgeon said you were recovering.”
“I am,” Merlin said. He lifted his hand, which laid on the covers. It was wrapped in thick bandages. “My hand is broken in four places, although that is the worst of it. The rest is bruises and cuts, which will mend.”
“Bruises are the worst,” Steffan said. “You had to pick up a sword, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Merlin said calmly. “The gods ask for full payment when they deliver. This was mine, this time.”
“Does Uther know?” Steffan asked.
“I have no idea,” Merlin said, his tone light. “As soon as I can sit upon a horse, I am going home to Maridunum. I haven’t seen the cave in five years, and it will be the last time for quite a few more.” He frowned, his gaze upon Anwen. “You appear much changed from when I saw you last.” He rolled his head to glance at Steffan. “I supposed that has something to do with you?”
Steffan smiled. “How does she look? Pretty?”
Merlin’s gaze came back to Anwen. She plucked at her dress self-consciously.
“A blue gown, a white undergown and bronze combs in her hair. Yes, she looks pretty.”
Anwen could feel her cheeks heating.
Merlin frowned. “You are both leaving Cornwall…” he said, as if he had just realized a fact which should have been obvious and was feeling stupid because of it.
Steffan’s grip on his staff tightened. “There is no place for us here. Not now. We will remind the wrong people of the wrong things.”
Merlin nodded. “There is a reason I am not returning to the court. It does not pay to give powerful men what they want. They are never grateful, after. Yet we were all creatures of the gods that night—no matter how much you roll your eyes, Steffan. However, there are other places than beside the High King’s chair.”
“Where?” Steffan said.
Merlin frowned. “My Sight has deserted me since that night. I could no more tell you than fly. I can only speak as a man with a little wisdom.” He paused, wincing. Then he said softly, “Uther is not the only High King you can serve.”
Anwen started, surprised. Merlin had told Igraine there would be a child. He had not said the child would be a king.
“This great king of yours, Merlin?” Steffan said, his tone light.
“Yes,” Merlin said flatly. “This great king who shall be.”
Anwen shivered.
“I could use a man of your qualities, Steffan,” Merlin added.
“Me?” Steffan said, his tone one of disbelief.
“Because of you, Cador will serve the next High King as a good and honest servant. He will instill those qualities in his sons, who will in turn…” Merlin paused. “It is of no matter right now,” he added. “I don’t like seeing a good man go to waste, or a good, strong woman, either.”
Anwen dropped her gaze as Merlin’s slid toward her.
“Don’t you think you have both paid enough of a price for your choices?” Merlin asked.
She gasped and looked at him.
So did Steffan. “I thought you said your Sight had failed you?”
“I don’t need the Sight to guess what is in your mind,” Merlin said. “You have been ever mindful of consequences since you lost your Sight. You call it price, I call it the will of the gods…it doesn’t matter what the name is. It is the toll taken for our choices. You have paid for your choices, Steffan. Anwen, too. Now you get a rare chance to choose again and this time you can choose well.”
“Because you say this is the right choice,” Steffan said flatly.
“Because if this King does not meet your expectations, you can make sure the next one does,” Merlin replied calmly.
Steffan drew in a sharp breath. “I thought you would teach him…”
“If Prince Merlin was to set himself up as a tutor anywhere, the entire world will know where to search for the baby prince,” Merlin said. “My role will be far less direct than that and I won’t be teaching the boy his letters, either. That role is for someone else.” His gaze moved to Anwen.
She scratched at the foot of the bed with her nail, her heart thrumming.
Merlin seemed to relent. He relaxed and smiled. “There is time, yet. The child must be born, first, and I am still not entirely certain Uther will abide by his agreement to give the boy to me to arrange his rearing.”
“And what price has Uther paid in all this?” Steffan said, as if the thought had been troubling him while they talked.
Merlin’s smile faded. “There is always a reckoning.”
“He got what he wanted,” Steffan ground out. “People died to give it to him. Now he will marry her and wash the affair clean. He has paid nothing.”
Merlin sighed. “He will,” he said softly. Sadly.
Lorient, Kingdom of Brocéliande. Brittany. January 466 CE. (Ten months later.)
ANWEN LOOKED AT THE SEALED letter and the familiar script on the front with some confusion. “For me, my lady?” she asked the red-headed woman in front of her. “I don’t understand. We did not know we would travel this way. How could Merlin have left a letter for me?”
Queen Ilsa laughed and pushed the letter into Anwen’s hand. “I can see you have not had much experience dealing with people with the Sight.”
“You have?” Anwen asked, as she broke the seal.
“One of the most powerful of Merlin’s kind lives in the forest of Brocéliande,” Ilsa replied. “I have given up being surprised by how much the Lady of the Lake knows about my inner thoughts and what I will do in the future. It is easier that way. Merlin stopped by on his way to the east. He told me you two would be coming and all about you. We have expected you all this winter, especially once we heard the news about the queen.”
“Her child was born?” Anwen asked sharply.
“A boy, at Christmas,” Ilsa said.
“You had better read the letter,” Steffan added. He sat on the other side of the table from Ilsa and Anwen. Arawn, the king, would return in a moment.
Anwen opened the letter and sighed.
“What is it?” Ilsa asked.
“He has written in Latin,” Anwen said.
Steffan laughed.
Anwen scanned the lines of script, translating and composing. “Oh, Steffan…”
He sat up. “What does he say?”
“In five years’ time, Count Ector of Galleva, in the north, will be in need of a tutor for his son, Cai, and his foster son, Arthur. We are to present ourselves to him with Merlin’s recommendation. I am to teach the boys their letters and you are to teach them philosophy and languages—especially Saxon.”
She put the letter down, feeling winded.
Ilsa smiled. “Merlin is like the Lady—things never work out if you don’t simply do what he says.”
Anwen touched her fingers to Steffan’s hand. “It leaves at least four years for us to…goodness, what do we do?”
Ilsa picked up the pitcher of wine. “For a start, you can spend the remainder of the winter here. Then you must meet the Lady, and Elaine and Evaine and Bors and Ban. By then, I am sure you will have a better idea of what you might do for the next few years.”
Steffan rubbed his chin. “If we are to obey Merlin and live in the north, then perhaps we should spend time in the south before we present ourselves to Ector. Iberia is warm, I believe.”
“There’s lots of time to decide,” Anwen said.
“Yes, there is, isn’t there?” he said softly.
LATER, AS THEY LAID TOGETHER in the large bed in the even larger chamber which Ilsa had insisted they use for the duration of their stay in Lorient, Steffan returned again to Merlin’s letter.
“I can understand why a king would need to understand languages, especially Saxon,” he said, his fingers trailing over Anwen’s arm, making her shiver. “Philosophy, though, is a useless subject.”
“How can you say that?” Anwen asked him. “All the eastern masters you studied gave you the answers you so badly wanted, about why you were blinded and what was to become of you after that.”
“They did not,” Steffan said firmly, lifting himself over her. “You, my lady wife, gave me more answers than any Greek orator who ever put ink to parchment.”
Anwen slid her hands up his strong arms. “Now you’re just teasing.”
He shook his head. “Not about that. I cannot. You saved my life, Anwen.”
She cupped his cheek. “I thought you did that.”
He kissed her, his kiss growing languid and warm. Their bodies melded together in the dim room lit only by moonlight in the window high overhead.
Afterward, as their hearts slowed, he continued to stroke her face, not to stir her senses but to remain familiar with the shape of it.
Steffan’s fingers paused. He blinked and his breath caught. “I see you,” he whispered.
Anwen laughed. “The golden light?” she teased.
He touched her face again. His hand trembled. “No, I see you,” he breathed. His eyes glittered in the moonlight, as tears gathered.
Anwen looked up at him, her heart hurting. “Truly?” she whispered. She looked at his eyes and realized with a swiftly building delight he was looking at her.
“How long will it last?” she breathed, as tears gathered in her own eyes.
“It doesn’t matter how long,” he said, his voice hoarse. He brushed her hair from her forehead. “I’ve seen you now and I know you are exactly as I have always imagined you to be.”
She brought her hands to her face, covering it. “Not pretty,” she whispered.
Steffan took her hands away. “What I see is the woman who loves me. The woman I love. The woman who is mine, who never would have been if not for a Saxon war hammer.” He touched his fingers to her lips. “I see you,” he whispered.
“The only man who ever has,” she replied.