Chapter Twelve

 

Unable to sleep, Telyn’s mind raced against the expectations ahead of her. Instead of burrowing deeper into the sheets in futility, she rose and padded through the dayroom in bare feet. The door to the balcony stood open to the mild summer night. A light breeze rustled the leaves and tugged at her nightgown when she moved to look outside.

She wasn’t surprised to find Mithrais already there. Clad only in the loose trousers he wore as sleep-clothes, he leaned against the railing that overlooked the trees, his back to the door. She took in the sight of him in the pale light of the moon: broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, and dark hair loose against his back. It was almost long enough now to braid in the queue most of the Wood-born men wore. As her feet touched the wood of the platform, a shiver went through her in answer to the physical attraction she experienced whenever he was within arm’s reach. A nearly involuntary urge to touch his skin and hold him close. She stopped in mid motion just to see if she could.

His head turned toward her, but he didn’t move yet. “I’ve just seen a falling star.”

“Really?” She looked up at the night sky. The stars glittered above her, some winking with hard white fire, others gauzy and almost impossible to focus upon when she looked straight at them. Only when she looked out of the corner of her eye could she see them.

“What do bards say about such things?”

Telyn shrugged as she joined him at the railing. “Old stories say they fall when something greater replaces them. Others say it predicts the death of men in power, or it’s a portent of change.”

“For good or ill?” Unusually tense beside her, his hands were clasped in a tight knot on the rail.

“It depends on whose story it is.”

“Ah.” She heard him draw in a deep breath and expel it slowly.

“You couldn’t sleep either. What is it you’re thinking about?”

“Many things. Mostly how much I miss being on patrol in the Western Wood right now. I’m tired of minding my tongue and my manners.” He straightened, his voice rough when he spoke again. “And it occurred to me that despite my new magic and my skills as a warden, you are still in danger in my own home—your home. I promised you would be safe here.”

“Searlas didn’t hurt me.”

“He tried.” His hands gripped the railing so tightly the pale knuckles were visible even in the dim light. “If anything had happened to you, I don’t know what I might have done. My actions would have been clear in the Wood under Tauron judgment. Here and now, I can’t act to protect you because of damned court etiquette, and this game of secrets Prince Keir and my father are playing. And I know even you are hiding something from me.”

“I’m sorry.” With heartspeakers, he once told her, the truth was always at the surface whether they intended it or not. “It’s something I learned by accident. It isn’t my secret to tell.”

“I know it isn’t.” His hand moved to cover hers where it rested on the rail. “I’m not angry with you. I just feel out of my element, as I did in Rothvori. At least in the Wood, I know my place and whom it is I serve. At least, I did know. Now even that is changing, and I have a secret of my own I must keep from the delegation, my brother, and Marithiel. I wasn’t cut out for all of this intrigue.”

She put her arms around his waist and he leaned into the embrace. His arm held her close against his side, his lips resting against her hair. “Father has already told me I will be Lord of Cerisild should Gilmarion take up his new inheritance.” Mithrais’ voice held a note of uncertainty. “I’m not prepared. I’m a soldier, not a courtier. I never intended to be anything but a Tauron Warden.”

“I think you’re more prepared than you realize. You’re a natural leader—ask anyone in the Tauron. You give them confidence, and Colm says even in magic you are their touchstone, their focus. The Gwaith’orn knew you were the one for that role among the Magians.”

“I only wish I had such confidence in myself.”

Telyn smiled. “We’ve had this conversation before, on opposite sides. Do you remember? When I was faced with the task of fulfilling the covenant, you told me you had faith in my abilities. I tell you now I have faith in yours, should the Fates decide it is your path. In time, you’ll see it, too.”

He turned toward her then, his other hand moving to touch her face. “I know if you will be by my side, I can accomplish anything.”

She had no word for the complex emotions that rose whenever he spoke of their future. Far outpacing the uncertainty and fear was the love that continued to grow between them, and she allowed it to direct her actions now. She pulled him toward her, the smooth skin of his back warm beneath her fingertips. His arms went around her. His breathing quickened as his lips brushed hers with maddening softness, until her own pulse hammered in her chest. Only then did he deepen the kiss. She trembled when his mouth opened against hers, conscious of the thin nightwear barely separating them. As always, he let her direct the encounter and responded in kind until they both gasped with desire.

It became more difficult each time their barriers went down. She could feel how much he wanted her through the bond they shared, an emotional and physical hunger that still frightened her. It wasn’t the fear of taking Mithrais to be her lover that kept her from surrendering. It was the knowledge that the twin of his hunger lived inside her, and she would do anything to satisfy it. Even give up her life as a wandering bard, if he asked.

 

* * * *

 

Emrys gave a dazzling performance in the great hall at midday meal—though it had nothing to do with music.

As he took his place at the table with Mithrais and Telyn, he winked clandestinely at his former apprentice. He’d etched deep circles under his eyes with candle soot. He waved away the servants offering him refreshments with a queasy smile and swallowed as if nauseated. He dabbed his forehead with a kerchief.

Lord Vuldur and Searlas were conspicuously absent. Telyn was relieved they were not there, although curious why they had failed to appear. From her place at the head table between Gwidion and Prince Keir, Marithiel watched the elder bard with growing concern and a little disgust. She finally asked, “Lord Harpmaster, are you ill?”

“It’s just a bit of stomach upset, your highness.” Emrys made a dismissive motion. “I’m fine.”

When the servitor bowed before him and uncovered a plate of food, Emrys leapt from his seat with a hand clapped over his mouth. He ran for one of the high, arched windows to make marvelously realistic retching sounds while he leaned over the sill. Telyn covered her own mouth as if affected by this display, but in reality, she hid a grin. Beside her, Mithrais shifted and cleared his throat. She was unable to look at him for fear she would laugh.

Prince Keir sat forward. “Lord Harpmaster, are you all right?”

“In truth, my lord Prince, I do not feel well at all.” His voice was muffled as he hung over the stone casement.

“Is there illness among the servants?” Gwidion turned to Diarmid, who stood behind him to oversee the meal.

“Not at this time, my lord.”

“Could he have eaten something spoiled?” Prince Keir looked concerned, and Diarmid stiffened.

“I assure you, my lord, everything we have is of highest quality,” he responded with mild affront.

“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” Emrys turned away from the window to swipe his mouth with the kerchief then stilled, mortified when apparent intestinal rumblings sounded in the quiet of the hall. He winced and put a hand to his stomach. “Forgive me. Perhaps I should retire to the inn where some of our retinue rent rooms, my lord Prince. If I do have something catching, I don’t want to spread it about the household.”

“I think it may be best.”

“Shall we send a healer to you, Lord Harpmaster?” From his own place, Gilmarion craned his neck in concern to see the other man.

“I shall be fine. I will go at once.” Another rumble emitted from somewhere under the tails of his jerkin from the bladder Telyn knew very well he hid in his vest, and she bit her palm. Beside her, Mithrais took a quick swig of ale to hide his own amusement. All efforts to control themselves were almost lost when Emrys could not resist a squeeze on the bladder with each of the three steps he climbed to the entryway. It was an old joke but an effective one.

“Is Lord Vuldur ill as well?” Gwidion made this inquiry of Marithiel, who shook her head, but Keir spoke.

“He is very tired and begs your leave for not joining us. His illness is not contagious but debilitating.”

“He is dying.” Marithiel stated, bleak and sharp as a winter wind.

“Then it is even more unfortunate he is unable to share in our company.” Gwidion watched his wife for a moment while she picked at her food with downcast eyes. “One of us should bring him cheer and a bit of this fine meal. If he is too ill to attend, it would only be right to entertain him in his own quarters.”

Marithiel looked up at him. From her place at the table below, Telyn noted the hesitation, and the princess’ mouth curved up in wary hope.

“Truly?” This said in a low voice so unlike Marithiel’s normal tone, Telyn could barely hear it.

“Yes. I can entertain our guests here. You’ve seen to every detail, and I cannot possibly go wrong.” Gwidion moved to touch her hand where it rested on the table, appeared to think better of it, and moved his away. “Go on.”

Marithiel needed no other urging. She hurried to obey and beckoned imperially to a few of the servitors to follow her with food-laden trays.

Mithrais eyes were dark as he watched his mother’s exit. Telyn slipped her hand into his; their thoughts meshed at once.

He has too much compassion for her. Even knowing now what she has done, what she planned to do, he still cares. Mithrais looked to his father, who observed Marithiel with an enigmatic expression.

That is Gwidion’s greatest strength: his heart. She was grateful for it.

Let’s hope it isn’t his greatest weakness where she is concerned.