The chamber was dark and felt too close.
In the middle, on the great bed he’d shared with his wife, lay Ban. From Elain’s vantage point at the doorway, he appeared shrunken, heaped as he was with blankets. The light from several candles flickered uncertainly, as if too nervous to illuminate his features fully. She took comfort in knowing Palahmed stood just outside. His presence balanced the palpable disapproval of the steward who’d shown them to the chamber. Pressing her fingernails into her palms, she left her safe shadow to approach the bed.
He seemed to be sleeping but like so many times in the past, what Ban appeared to be doing and what was actually the case were two different things. At the sound of her boot soles on the rugs, his eyes opened. When he caught sight of her, they flared, his brows drawing down in a scowl. He opened his mouth—to shout, no doubt—but was racked by a coughing fit first. It clamped his neck and shoulders in a grip she could see. Her own chest felt tight, as if the fit were on her too. They’d been broad, those shoulders. She’d ridden on them, years and years before, and felt like a giant.
She didn’t feel like a giant now.
His coughing subsided into rasping hacks. He cleared his throat, then spit to the side.
Not on her, at the least.
“What do you want?”
She wanted to ask if he hurt. But he did, and would most likely laugh in her face if she asked. When she’d run from home, she’d wished all sorts of pain on him, at least as much as she’d endured.
But seeing him in its clutch now did little to appease the old desire for justice. His was a human body, no different from any other’s except that he’d helped to conceive her.
Had done more than that, she could see now.
“It’s good to see you.”
“Good!” he said. “You’re gone for seven years, burst into my chambers long enough to drive off the best companion I’ve had for an age, leave again, and then turn around to grace my bedsi—” He broke into another round of deep, ragged coughing that bent him double. She stood still, quelling the urge to set a hand to his shoulder. When the coughing spasms released him, Ban sank against his bolster and closed his eyes. “Shit.”
The steward hustled back into the room and scowled at her. “Stand away, you’re agitating him.” He fussed with the bedding until Ban raised an arm.
“Leave off.”
“You should rest, my lord.”
“All I do is rest.”
“Here, drink.” The man handed Ban a cup from the table beside the bed.
Ban grimaced, drank, then coughed again, as if to get the taste out of his mouth. “Leave us.”
The steward looked as if he might argue, but only gave Elain another squint before quitting the chamber.
“I don’t recognize him,” she said.
“Of course you don’t. You’ve been away for a third of your years.”
“What’s in the cup?”
“Some remedy or other.” He waved a hand. “Nothing’s worked. Why have you come?”
She tried to glean any hint in his question that he might be glad to see her, but his weariness was a heavy thing, rendering his voice flat, his words nearly toneless. “I wish to serve your people.”
“So serve them. The laundresses always need hands.”
“I wish to serve as your heir.”
She held her breath as the bedclothes shook in his fists. “Why?”
“Because this land is in my blood.” No, that wasn’t enough. Not near enough the truth, anyway. “Because you’re in my blood.”
His eyes widened a bit at that.
“If Gwen’s taught me anything, it’s that we can’t escape our duty.”
“You can. Simply run away from it.”
It stung but was a glancing blow at best. “I don’t want to run away again. Duty doesn’t exist without our wanting it.”
His gaze grew sharp in assessment. “Did Gwenhwyfar teach you that as well?”
“She’s taught me many things.”
“She’s a smart lass.”
“She’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, and courageous and practical. A mind for strategy. A heart to lead.”
He half sat up. “Perhaps I should give the title to her.”
The challenge behind the words heartened her. He was in there, the man she’d known, and also perhaps the one she hadn’t. “You wouldn’t regret it. Even Auntie likes her.”
“Goose shit. Your aunt likes no one.”
Elain bit back a smile.
He took a careful breath and considered her. “I meant to bind you to Gwenhwyfar myself, back then.”
“I know.”
“She told you?”
“Yes.”
“You were coming on the age to do so, as was she. I spoke to Uthyr about it briefly when he came to Rhys’s that autumn. But then you left.”
“If you had designs on allying two holdings, why didn’t you come after me?”
“I thought I could wait you out.”
“You thought I would slink back? Or did you want me to fight for my birthright?”
“Come here.”
Her feet moved before she could think to stop them. When she reached the bed, he took hold of her wrist. He looked at her intently, his expression hard, and she braced herself for unkind words.
“You go by your mother’s name?”
When all she could do was nod, he did too.
“You have her eyes. Always have.”
His hand was still on her wrist, cool in the heat of the chamber. “Palahmed says you sent him to train me.”
He lifted his chin. “I did.”
She’d expected him to deny it, or at least rail that Palahmed had given him away. “So did he. Train me. Sword and dagger.”
“Can you defend yourself?”
“I don’t know. How am I doing?”
One corner of his mouth quirked. “You honor your mother with your name.”
She’d meant to. It felt enormous for him to see it. She sat on the edge of the bed. “I left because I thought you couldn’t stand the thought of my living who I am. That you were saying you wouldn’t support me. But that wasn’t it, was it?”
He shook his head. “I knew. Ella did too. She told me before she died that you would reach a point when you needed to live your truth. I’m sorry to say I hoped you wouldn’t. I thought everything would be simpler if you didn’t. Simpler, but not easier, not for you; I see that.” His hand slid down to grasp hers. “I worried how our people would react. They follow warriors. Always have done.”
“I don’t know that I could be a warrior.”
“You already are.”
Tears pricked her eyes, and she looked away as the old fear of showing any weakness surfaced.
“Look at me, child.”
“I’m not a child,” she whispered, sounding precisely like one. Rolling her eyes at herself, she turned back to him. A tear spilled over her lashes.
He wiped it away with a thumb. “Your Gwenhwyfar’s only reinforced the truth that you don’t need steel armor to be a force.”
“She’s not my Gwenhwyfar.” How many more times would she have to say that aloud. It stabbed every time.
“Isn’t she?”
A shuffle sounded near the doorway, and Elain turned to find Gwen just inside it. And she wasn’t alone.
Ban gave Elain’s fingers one hard squeeze, then let go.
Elain stood. “Lord Uthyr.” He wouldn’t strangle her in her father’s chambers, would he?
“Daughter-by-law,” Uthyr said evenly.
Relieved she was still standing, she turned to Gwen. “Hello.”
“Elain,” Gwen said in a voice very like her father’s. Side by side, there was no doubt they’d been made of the same indomitable elements. They were probably here to take their leave, but Gwen wouldn’t go without bidding farewell to Ban. She understood duty in all things, including friendship. “Lord Ban.”
“My dear.”
Gwen came forward and took up his hand in both of hers, and Elain ached to feel her touch. Ached to hold her, to speak soft words between them, to watch Gwen change over the next several months as the babe grew inside her. Ached to know that child.
“Please don’t go,” she whispered. “I’ll do anything.”
Gwen’s dark eyes flashed to hers, searching.
Lord Uthyr strode forward. He stopped at the bedside to scowl down at Ban. “Fish-licker.”
Ban glared at him. “Goat-fucker.”
Elain squared up to defend her father, but then Uthyr broke into a grin. “You look well.”
“Fuck off,” Ban grumbled. “I look like death.”
“Not yet, you don’t,” Uthyr said. “But I’ll make this brief, in case. My daughter wants a wife.”
“My daughter wants a wife.”
Elain turned to him in surprise. The flinty look he was aiming at Uthyr was proud and protective, and it warmed her to the bone.
“How convenient,” said Uthyr, “ignoring for the moment that they’re both already married.” At Ban’s breathy chuckle, Uthyr turned his great shoulders toward Elain. “If you were free to pledge to my daughter, what would you offer?”
She could feel everyone looking at her but couldn’t turn away from Uthyr’s gaze. “I love Gwenhwyfar.”
“And?”
“I would serve her unto death.”
“Of that I have no doubt. She’d likely drive you to it prematurely.”
“Ta!” Gwen exclaimed.
“Hush, daughter, we’re listening to the offer.”
Gwen fought back a smile.
The offer. What Elain had felt paltry, riddled as it was by her doubts. “I don’t know for certain that my father’s people will accept me.”
Uthyr’s expression was immovable. “I’d say you have a task ahead of you.”
“If I can’t…if I fail… Gwen’s future wouldn’t be secure.”
“Then don’t fail.”
She stared at Uthyr, at his unperturbed calm. No wonder he inspired certainty in his people. Still, when his large hand rose to settle at the back of her neck, she tensed.
He leaned in slightly. “None of our futures is secure, lass. Knowing that and facing them still… That requires courage. Do you have it?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And enough to spare when others lose theirs?”
“I think so.”
He waited, his gaze drilling into hers.
“Yes, my lord.”
His hand gave a squeeze, and he stepped back. Crossed his massive arms over his chest. “Ask me properly, then.”
“But…I’m married to your son.”
Uthyr waved a hand. “Complications.”
How different this was to the first time she’d met with the man. Caron had been present then, and she’d been glad for that; even sitting on a stool by her aunt’s hearth, the warlord had been intimidating. But also surprisingly candid, explaining the match he wanted for Bedwyr and why.
He seemed much lighter of heart today, while she felt the weight of this. Perhaps it only seemed so because she now understood what was at stake—and loved everyone who stood to lose, should this negotiation sour. It was a risk to ask it, but she had to do so. It felt damned good to have her father at her back.
“Are you willing to recognize publicly the bond Bedwyr’s made with Arthur?”
Uthyr’s gaze narrowed, just a pinch, in surprise. “They’ve formalized a bond?”
“Perhaps I should’ve left Bedwyr to tell you, but under the circumstances…”
The warlord’s dark eyes assessed her. “You’ve some nerve.”
“My lord?”
“Demanding I recognize them to the world.”
“I… I didn’t demand it.”
“Didn’t you?” Uthyr leaned closer. “And with the weight of my daughter’s happiness in the balance?”
It took everything she had to keep her shoulders squared, to not let her eyes flee his.
“This,” he said, the word hissing through clenched teeth. He pointed at her with one great, blunt finger…and then his mouth curled on a satisfied smile. “This is the courage I asked about. And, over and above that, a loyalty to both my children that I won’t soon forget.” He nodded. “When the time comes that they need or want me to do so, I’ll recognize their bond.”
Gwen gasped. “Thank you, Ta.”
He slid a wry glance to her, but it was a soft one for Uthyr. When he met Elain’s eyes again, he lifted his chin. “Go on, then. Strike while I’m in a weakened state.”
Elain’s words warbled in her ears as if she were speaking under water, but she must have done the thing correctly for Gwen shouted, cutting through the muffled sound, and threw her arms around Elain.
“I suppose my blessing is unimportant?” Uthyr grumbled.
Ban lifted his hands in mock outrage. “I didn’t even get a proposal from your whelp.”
Gwen broke away and took hold of Ban’s hand. “May I take over your household and run it to my liking?”
“You may not,” Ban growled. “It’d be apple cakes morning and night.”
“What if I throw in an eel pie every week?”
“I’m dying. Make it two.”
“Done.”
“Yes, all right, take everything I own.”
Gwen kissed his cheek, then turned to advance on Elain.
She was indeed a formidable force, but Elain stood her ground and was rewarded with a kiss the likes of which she’d thought she’d not get again.
She drew back just enough to rest her forehead against Gwen’s. “I’m sorry I offered you less than you deserved.”
Gwen shook her head. “Just because I demanded it doesn’t mean I deserved it. A woman has to earn courage like yours. I only wish you’d believed you could confide in me. You can, always.”
“As long as you ask for help when you need it.”
“I’ll try.”
She smoothed Gwen’s pale hair from her brow, stroked a thumb across her cheek. Movement at the doorway dragged her attention away, and the steward entered the chamber again, his body tight with irritation, his glare taking in everyone in the room. He made for the bed and her father. Uthyr took an amused half-step back at the man’s self-important carriage, and then Palahmed was in the doorway.
He was watching the steward with less amusement, his eyes narrowed slightly, and warning zipped up Elain’s spine. The steward wiped his hands on his tunic and reached for the remedy cup. Pushing Gwen to the side, Elain drew her dagger and let it fly.
The cup hit the floor first, its contents splashing Uthyr’s boots, and then the steward thumped down. He clawed at his throat, but dislodging her dagger only sent his blood gushing faster. Gagging and choking, he scrabbled at the pool of it for long seconds before subsiding.
She looked up to find everyone gaping at her, eyes wide as moons. Everyone but Palahmed. He was smiling.
“What…?” her father said.
“He’s been poisoning you.”
He frowned, one hand rising to rub his throat. “Poison doesn’t make a man cough.”
“But it’ll weaken you enough that other things will.”
Uthyr shook his head. “You’re a lucky man, fish-licker.”
Her father looked at her, a flurry of expressions crossing his features. They settled on something like pride. “That I am.”