Chapter Thirty-Three

 

“Is he dying?” Amorion asked Lord Belenus’ healer.

Telyn, her arms clasped tight around her knees, huddled in a chair beside the bed. They’d arrived late in the afternoon; the harsh light of sunset now cast angular lines of fire on the floor. The King, Prince Keir, and Deirdre ranged about the large chamber where Mithrais lay, each wearing a somber expression. Behind Telyn, Emrys stood with a comforting hand on her shoulder. Across the room, Gilmarion sat with his head lowered into his hands.

The healer made a non-committal gesture. “He suffered a blow to the head sometime in the last few days. It appears to have been serious. One never knows what might be happening on the inside. It could be bleeding. He should have been resting, but you tell me he’s traveled all the way from the Wood on foot, save for the last few leagues.” He appeared at a loss for words. “His heart is strong and regular, and his breathing normal, but his eyes are...strange.”

They all avoided looking at Mithrais, except for Telyn. The barest ring of pale green showed around wide, black pupils as he stared sightlessly at the canopy above him. The healer went on. “He doesn’t appear to be dying at this time. Quite the contrary, he appears to be in excellent physical health, save for the blow to the head. It’s the only theory I have, my lord King. He may awaken. Or...we must consider that he may never awaken. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” Amorion dismissed him. Silence dominated the room until Keir finally spoke.

“I have seen a man fall several days after a blow to the head in the practice fields. It seems a plausible theory.”

“Did he awaken?” Gilmarion asked, raising his head. Keir’s silence gave the answer.

“It’s not the head injury,” Telyn whispered. No one heard her except Emrys, who squeezed her shoulder. He had abandoned the sling and still favored the arm, but was much farther on the road to recovery than he would have ever been without Cormac’s help.

“Is there any way we can send for Cormac?” Emrys asked Deirdre. The Eastwarden sighed.

“Not quickly. One warden on a fast horse might be able to reach the outpost in less than two days, but Cormac is no horseman himself. I have no idea if Colm would be able to travel here with him in a shorter time, or even if they are still at the outpost.”

“Our father needs to know what’s happened, regardless.” Gilmarion stood up. “Can we not send a rider, at least, who can deliver both messages?”

“We return to the Wood in the morning. I’ll send one of my wardens ahead on horseback.”

“I will compose the letter to Gwidion myself.” Amorion pinched the bridge of his nose in weary resignation and closed his eyes. He admitted with a softer voice, “Although, I hardly know what to say.”

“I will write one of my own.” Gilmarion cleared his throat. He walked to the bedside. “Might I have a moment with my brother, my lords?”

“Of course.” Amorion nodded. Telyn started to rise in numb, automatic obedience, but Gilmarion held up a hand.

“No. You stay, of course. He would want you here.”

With a start, she realized he spoke to her, and she acknowledged him gratefully. The King regarded her from where he stood, his eyes compassionate.

“There is a room prepared for you. You should rest, for I know you’ve had very little sleep in the last two days.”

“I won’t leave him now.” Exhausted, her emotions hung by a spider’s thread as she set her lips in negation. “I’ll sleep here.”

Amorion acquiesced. “I will ask them to bring you what you need.”

“Thank you, my lord King.”

They all left one by one. At last only Gilmarion remained.

“I never thought...” His voice broke, and he took a moment to compose himself before beginning again. “After our father’s injury, we thought he would die at first. To see him laid low by a fall was unthinkable. He was always so strong but... Thrais has always been the best soldier, the best rider, and the best fighter—all our lives. And he’s grown into the finest man I have ever known, so much like Gwidion. I never thought he would be bested by something like this. It seems an inglorious way to die. How did it happen?”

Telyn’s heart felt as if it would burst with despair and anger, but she kept her voice low for Gilmarion’s sake. “There are no glorious ways to die, except perhaps for the right reasons. The injury happened when he tried to save a friend.”

“Did he succeed?”

“In the end, the same man chose to die to protect us from a terrible magic. I don’t know if his sacrifice was the right thing. But it was the only choice he felt he had.”

“Magic. Even all this magic can’t help us now, it seems. So what’s the purpose of it?”

Too weary to answer, she knew Gilmarion didn’t truly expect one. He leaned over to smooth the chestnut hair back from Mithrais’ forehead. Gil kissed his brow and leaned his head against his brother’s in a gesture Telyn knew to be farewell. It made her want to scream. He walked to the door, and paused before he exited.

“I’m glad he met you, Telyn. You made him very happy.”

The door shut and left her alone with Mithrais. She trembled violently as she admitted Gilmarion’s words were true. What was the purpose of all this magic if she could not help the man she loved?

All the way to Belenus, Telyn had ridden in Emrys’ carriage with Mithrais cradled in her arms and searched for some sign of understanding. He hadn’t been completely unconscious at first. Her mind caught ragged fragments of awareness of sounds or sensations. A thick, black fog obscured his senses.

His thoughts were paralyzed. And every so often, something seemed to move behind his eyes, as if it were looking out at her.

She was terrified. And if she couldn’t find a way to help him, she knew he would die.

Weeping could not help, but the tears refused to be held back, and she muffled her sobs against the bedclothes covering Mithrais. She cradled his limp hand in hers. The connection between them grew fainter, his sensations of the outside world less frequent, and she could no longer tell if he knew she was there.

He’d told her their bond would never change, no matter the distance between them. But death was a distance that could not be bridged.

She climbed up onto the bed and lay beside him, her head on his chest. She listened to the sound of his strong, steady heartbeat in her ear. It soothed her. As long as it still beat, hope lived too.

 

* * * *

 

She must have fallen asleep. She didn’t hear Emrys creep back into the room until he sat beside her on the bed, his hand on her shoulder. Night had fallen, the sky outside the window spattered with starlight. Someone else had been in the room. Candles flickered on the mantel and at the side of the bed, creating shadows that moved unsettlingly on the walls and ceiling. A cold tray of food sat on the bedside table.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” he asked.

“No.” She sat up and wiped her eyes. “I know you’re tired, too, and you’re still healing. You should rest.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone if he should—” Emrys didn’t finish the thought, but she knew what he meant, and her careful veneer crumbled.

“It isn’t a head injury, Emrys!” She leapt up and rounded on him in sudden fury. “That thing, the elemental, is responsible. I know it, I feel it! But I don’t know what to do to keep him from dying!”

His eyebrows went up into his hairline. “I thought the two of you defeated it back there in the campsite.”

“So did I.” She laughed bitterly. “All the knowledge the Gwaith’orn gave the Magians is out of my reach. I have power, but I can’t think of any way to use it to destroy that creature. I can feel him slipping away from me. If I don’t do something, he will be lost to me forever.”

She collapsed on the floor beside the bed, her back against the frame and the heels of her hands tight against her forehead. Emrys joined her on the floor, cross-legged, and for once, unable to find words.

“Is this the test?” she asked dully.

His brow furrowed. “What test, my shadow?”

“When we talked, back in Cerisild. You said I needed to find a way to balance my heart, or the Fates would make the decision for me.”

“Oh, Tel.” He reached out and gathered her against him. She held herself stiffly for a moment, but when she realized Emrys wept for her, she was undone. He’d always been more a brother than cousin, more friend than master during her apprenticeship. She was grateful for his affection and loyalty, and let him hold her as she allowed her tears to spend.

“I can’t believe they’d be so cruel,” he said at last, dashing his sleeve across his eyes. “But even in the old stories, there seems to be an ordeal before love endures.”

“Why is it always the woman who has to endure the ordeal in these stories?” Telyn demanded with a sniffle.

“Because they’re the stronger when it comes to love. Or at least, the most undeterred.” Emrys hugged her. “Unfair, but true. The ash princess must complete her chores in order to go to the masquerade and reveal herself to the prince she loves. The scarlet-cloaked maiden has to defeat the wolves to save her beloved from being eaten. The queen ransoms her king with a song.”

The queen ransoms her king with a song created of purest love...to save him from darkness.

Telyn caught her breath as she wiped her eyes. She and Gwidion both remembered the story. The Gwaith’orn had told Mithrais about Terrais and his queen, how she’d given him the strength to hold the darkness at bay.

“What is it?”

“You taught me some of the old stories are allegorical, and they are sometimes based on things that happened in the past.”

“Some of them, yes.” Emrys blew out his breath. “And if the last few weeks have taught me anything, some of the old fairy tales seem to be based in fact.”

“The king and queen in the story... I wonder if they were real.” Her pulse quickened. “Will you get my harp?”

Emrys didn’t even question what she had in mind. He left the room in haste. Telyn leaned over Mithrais and searched his vacant, staring eyes for the black shift behind them. When the movement came, she whispered with cold resolve, “I will not let you take him from me. You should have learned the first time.”

 

* * * *

 

How long Mithrais was lost in the dark, he did not know. Reality slipped further away as the poisonous remnant of the elemental drained him of life.

He became aware of the harp’s song in the way a sleeper comes awake. It began in a part of his consciousness he barely recognized any longer. Magic touched him with the lightness of butterflies’ wings, borne on notes that tumbled and soared and coaxed him to take heed. When this failed, the magic insisted he pay attention. The harp’s voice changed to chords struck with a force that compelled him to listen and draw his sluggish thought-self out of the mire.

Darkness sank needle-sharp claws into his mind and tried to drag him back into oblivion. Something stronger tugged at him from the outside. Sight returned slowly as the black curtain began to lift. He rolled his head in a movement that took hours to complete. A pair of tawny hazel eyes met his and would not allow him to look away. The song returned to a sweeter melody, but one no less compelling. Instead, it guided him toward the source of the sound and the magic, a light against the darkness that sought to destroy him.

A crystalline sheet of notes fell like rain against the shroud of darkness in gentle, relentless assault. The curtain began to shred, and a shuddering breath shook him to the core. He could taste the air in his lungs again, sweet with the scent of beeswax candles. Telyn continued to play until the small, malevolent thing that clung to his soul with sharp talons released its hold. It wilted in the presence of her love and light. Clarity returned to his mind. A harsh sigh escaped him, the last faint vestige of the elemental carried out like smoke upon his breath.

“Mithrais?” She put the harp aside and sat next to him on the bed, tears in her eyes.

He didn’t speak, but sat up and drew her into his arms to hold her tightly. Telyn trembled from the effort the spell had cost her. There had been a price for the risks he’d taken, of which he’d been unaware, and he had almost paid with his life not once, but twice.

Telyn had saved him both times.

“You’re all right?” She pushed him away to look into his eyes, her hand against his cheek. He kissed her palm, and then her lips.

“So much more than all right,” he whispered against her mouth before he claimed it again, felt her melt against him in relief and passion. Their union of mind and heart in this moment of joy brought them an exquisite, blended awareness. It turned the kiss into something with a magic all its own, and Mithrais lost himself in this new oblivion.

Until Emrys cleared his throat in embarrassment.

Telyn’s cheeks flamed in a blush as they parted, but neither of them regretted the display a whit.

“Well, that was nothing short of miraculous.” Emrys beamed at them both and swiped at the tears on his face with his sleeve. “For a man whom we thought to be dying, you seem fully recovered.” He stopped short, horror on his face. “Oh, Fates. I hope it isn’t too late to stop the King from sending that letter to Lord Gwidion!”

He dashed from the room, door slamming in his wake. Mithrais caught Telyn’s hands to draw her back to him, and she gave a sharp gasp of pain. He examined her fingers with an exclamation of dismay as he realized the tips were red, hot, and nearly raw. “How long did you play?” he demanded.

“All night.”

A glance at the unglazed window revealed the early light of morning and confirmation of how long he’d been in the grip of darkness. It took his breath for a moment. He kissed the tips of her fingers tenderly and lay back against the bolster, drawing Telyn down with him. He held her close in silent gratitude, his heart too full for words.