The Keys to the Realms (The Dream Stewards) Page 15

  “It may be a questionable solution, but it is the best one.” Glain stood her ground, although she expected she might very well suffer for it. “It is what Madoc would do.”

  Alwen’s eyes narrowed, and then the room darkened. Glain felt a sudden foreboding just before the thunderstone floor shuddered. There could be no mistaking the warning. Glain had breached the bounds of Alwen’s benevolence.

  The Sovereign pulled to her feet. “I will not say it again.”

  Thorne Edwall was the first to break ranks and Rhys was close on his heels. The soldiers of the Cad Nawdd took Cerrigwen and Finn into their custody, and Ynyr escorted Ariane out of the room. Hywel’s lieutenants waited for him at the door.

  Glain lingered long enough to be the last to leave. She barely had the nerve to meet Alwen’s angry glare straight on. Glain forced herself to stand strong just long enough to convey her resolve, but just shy of showing defiance.

  Alwen was unmoved, and Glain was forced to break the gaze. She offered Alwen a slight bow and then turned away to take her leave. To her surprise, Hywel was still standing between the dais and the entry. He fell in step just behind her as she passed, and followed her out. Glain felt reassured and a little flattered by the king’s show of support, but she was more than a little afraid.

  FOURTEEN

  Glain nearly stumbled down the stairs in her hurry to catch Rhys, but Ynyr stopped her on the second-floor landing. Concern had carved deep lines into his brow that made him seem decades older than he was. It frustrated her to be detained, but she knew why he was worried, and she could not ignore him.

  “Perhaps if you had spoken to her in private,” Ynyr said, working hard to keep his voice hushed.

  “And what good would that have done?” Glain glanced through the open doors of the scriptorium to be certain they would have privacy and then gestured for him to follow. “It had to be said right then and there.”

  She led Ynyr closer to the stone hearth. The fire had been left a good while, and it wouldn’t be long before someone came along to tend it. The gloomy chill in the room only made her more impatient, and her skin begged for relief from the itch raised by the black camlet robe. It required more and more of her focus to resist the urge to rake her fingernails along her arms and over her neck.

  Ynyr gripped her shoulders to force her to face him. His pale eyes had turned a brooding shade of blue. “You do realize that you have put yourself in a dangerous position. You came uncomfortably close to siding with Hywel against her, and worse, if Alwen were so inclined, it would not be a far stretch to accuse you of defending a traitor.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I suppose I am guilty of insubordination, strictly speaking, but no one in their right mind could think I was defending Cerrigwen.” Glain pulled free, dismissing the entire idea out of hand, and then thought again. She stared hard into the ashes. “But then Alwen was not herself.”

  “My point, precisely.” Ynyr hovered behind her, so agitated that he had difficulty keeping his voice low. “The whole thing was odd, the entire proceeding. It was as if Alwen were a completely different person. I have never seen her truly angry, and in there she was almost vengeful.”

  Glain sat on the edge of one of the armchairs adjacent to the hearth, absentmindedly scratching her right forearm and contemplating the possible explanations. “It’s not her anger itself that was so bizarre. We are all angry. And given all that Alwen has suffered personally at Cerrigwen’s hands, I imagine she was fighting a powerful rage. But that’s just it. As you said, we have never seen Alwen angry. She is always, always serene. It’s a matter of pride for her, you know, to keep her emotions from clouding her judgment.”

  “Not today,” Ynyr said. He shifted from one uncomfortable stance to another—first next to the hearth and now across from her. “Today, I’d say her emotions were actually undermining her judgment.”

  In hindsight, Glain could see a subtle but discernible pattern of alterations in Alwen’s usual behavior ever since the night the Cythraul appeared. Of course, there were reasonable explanations. Not the least of them, the stress of governing under constant chaos, but now Glain was beginning to wonder about the not so reasonable explanations. Something was amiss.

  “I will speak to her again,” Glain decided, thinking she might still find Rhys before some other crisis got in her away. “After the evening meal.”

  “You might only make matters worse,” Ynyr cautioned, and then cleared his throat. “We have company.”

  “What?” Glain focused fully on Ynyr again, who was looking over her head at something or someone behind her. One of the novices must have come to rekindle the fire. Hoping Ynyr felt she had given him a good hearing, Glain stood and turned to acknowledge the attendant and take the opportunity to leave. Instead she found Rhys, uncharacteristically sober.

  “If you will both excuse me, I’ve a thing or two to see to before the day is over.” Ynyr was a true gentleman and a good friend. “The small storeroom down the hall is on my mind. I started in there earlier, before all the excitement, but got interrupted before I could give it a good search. Something about the room seemed off.”

  “Thank you, Ynyr.” Glain was so grateful she would have kissed him on that aquiline nose of his if Rhys hadn’t been in the room. It was a convenient excuse, but also a critical mission. The search for the second scroll had all but been forgotten in the uproar of the last two days. “Do let me know what you find.”

  She could have sworn Ynyr winked at her as he left. He had earned himself a favor or two for this. Perhaps there was some kindness she could offer Nerys.

  “I was just coming to find you,” she said to Rhys, whose grim expression remained unchanged. “Is there something wrong?”

  “The mage hunter wants to know when we can expect my mother to resume the proceedings,” Rhys said. “His intention is to leave as soon as they are concluded.”

  Glain sighed, suddenly realizing that the business left unfinished was as problematic as the business itself. “Hywel will want to know as well. No doubt he is just as eager to go.”

  “I tried to speak to her myself just now, but she made it clear this particular business was none of my concern.” Rhys offered half a smile. “I hate to ask you.”

  “It’s alright. I had already made up my mind to speak to her later,” Glain said, reluctantly, “but it seems sooner would be better.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid it would.” Rhys fidgeted with the decorative tassel tied round the throat of his scabbard, looking everywhere but directly at Glain. “I’ve never seen my mother so unsettled, at least not in public, and even then it was for far better cause than what happened today.”

  “It hasn’t been her best day.” Glain shared his distress and his dilemma. They were both of them answerable to others now, and not as free to address their personal concerns as directly. “I never meant to disrespect her, only to help her see all of the possibilities.”

  “I’m sure she knows that.” Rhys still would not look directly at her, but at least he didn’t think she had overstepped herself. “She’ll come around.”

  “I hope so.” As perplexed as she had been with Alwen’s decisions these last days, Glain made an effort to see her as Rhys did—with compassion. “She seems to be tasked beyond her means, but then she resists looking beyond herself for help.”

  “That’s just her way. She would rather suffer alone than trouble others with burdens she believes are hers to bear,” Rhys said. “She takes her obligations to heart; that’s all.”

  “That she does, though I do worry her commitment to her duty might make her a bit, well, shortsighted.” Glain felt quite certain there was more to it than that, but she had come as close as she dared to criticizing Alwen. The last thing she wanted to do was make the son feel the need to defend his mother.

  Rhys nodded, accepting of the realities and seemingly consumed by thoughts that o
bviously had nothing whatsoever to do with her. Glain had been hoping the avoidance she had sensed earlier was for the sake of decorum. She was still feeling the kiss he gave her the last time they parted, and once they were alone, she had intended to show it. Instead, Rhys appeared even more uncomfortable.

  “I am happy to see you, though, in spite of all this,” Glain invited, “even if it is only in passing.”

  “Not much of a visit,” Rhys said, attempting an apologetic smile that wasn’t very convincing. “But as I said, Thorne is eager to resume the hunt.”

  Whatever response she had hoped for, it was not this halfhearted apology. He was trying to lay blame on the demands of his new taskmaster, but it was obvious to her that Rhys was intentionally keeping distance between them. The unbearable itch on her arms and neck was insignificant compared to the hollowing ache this new sadness dug into her heart.

  “We’ ve been lucky so far, aside from Pedr’s unfortunate encounter with the warghound.” His eyes brightened as he spoke, and some of his natural exuberance surfaced. Rhys was taking pains to contain it, likely for her sake, and failing miserably. “Machreth won’t be so easy to find as Cerrigwen. But at least we have a trail to follow.”

  “This work seems to suit you.” As much as Glain wanted his enthusiasm to be on her account, she knew what the adventure meant to Rhys. “Perhaps you’ve discovered your calling.”

  “I’ve waited all my life to know what I want.” His expression turned earnest, almost pleading. “I think, at last I may have found it.”

  She had heard this sentiment from him before, in the difficult first weeks after Madoc had fallen and his sister was lost to the faerie realm. Rhys had joined the ranks of the Cad Nawdd partly because he had needed purpose, but also for his mother’s sake, and in some measure because it was the only honorable choice to be made at the time. But he had always known it was not his true destiny. And Glain understood, better now than she ever had.

  “Well,” she said, resigning herself to the inevitable, “if Alwen will not reconvene the hearing, perhaps she will render an edict through me. I will find a way to suggest it, but it doesn’t seem likely we will have any kind of a decision before nightfall. Perhaps you can persuade the mage hunter to wait until morning.”

  The instantaneous relief that appeared on his face nearly crushed her. “The promise of a hot meal and a dry bed ought to do it.”

  “Good.” Glain forced a smile, hoping to keep her sadness from showing. “I will see what I can do.”

  This time Rhys was not so quick to turn away. He met her gaze straight on and gave a slow nod to signal his appreciation, all the while acknowledging her with a look that held something more meaningful in its expression. Glain took it for respect, maybe even admiration, and just possibly genuine regret. Perhaps Rhys wasn’t as oblivious to her as she had thought.

  And then, before Glain could think what to say or do next, he was gone. A withering shudder overtook her as another sorrowful place opened up deep inside. Some of her wondered how much more loneliness she would have to endure in the name of the prophecy. Still more of her feared she might survive it all just to discover that the bright days it promised held no particular reward for her. But none of that mattered to the fates. Unless she could find a way to help Alwen succeed, such worries would be the least of her troubles.

  Odwain had taken the stairs as far as the second-floor landing twice now and still couldn’t decide whether to walk down the west annex hall to Pedr’s room. Alwen’s bizarre audience had been difficult to bear, and Odwain had been torn between his loyalty to her and his need to defend his father and brother, no matter what they had done. The only emotion he had acknowledged for months was anger, in all its many shades, and the concern Odwain was experiencing now came as a peculiar relief. He still wanted answers, though, and he also wanted to see for himself that Pedr was not on his deathbed.

  The membership was gathering in the great hall on the main floor for the evening meal, and the corridors were nearly deserted. Odwain loitered on the landing, trying to be inconspicuous and failing miserably, until deciding at last that his only choice was to confront the situation.

  The long hallways that extended east and west from the central tower-like core of the Fane were essentially rows of individual chambers adjacent to a central great room. The third-floor chambers were reserved for the ruling ranks of the Stewardry, anchored to the Sovereign’s grand suite. On the second floor, instead of a grand suite, the corridors were annexed to a large scriptorium that also served as a parlor. And instead of bedchambers, there were spell rooms. At the ends of each hallway, some of these spell rooms had been converted to accommodate guests. Pedr had been given hospice in one of them.

  Odwain went at first to the wrong room. To his right, he saw a door ajar but found the chamber dark and smelly. He closed the door tight and tried the room across the hall. This door was closed, but light slipped out beneath it.

  A sober young man dressed in the gray robe of an apprentice answered his knock with a book in his hand. He looked to have been sitting vigil in a chair next to the bed, reading by firelight. He acknowledged Odwain with a polite nod and closed the door behind him as he quietly excused himself.

  “You scared off my nurse.” Pedr’s voice was faint, though not strained. He seemed to be resting easy and was trying to be jovial, but he looked awful. “You can have his seat, if you want.”

  Odwain felt obliged to sit, although he wasn’t particularly comfortable. He and his brother were barely more than acquaintances. When Finn and Fergus MacDonagh had been called to serve the Crwn Cawr and gone into hiding more than twenty years before, each had taken one of Finn’s young boys to apprentice. Odwain had lived nearly all his life with his uncle, in service to Alwen. He had not seen his father or elder brother again until they had all returned to the Fane just twelve weeks before.

  It had been a glad reunion of kin long parted, despite the dire occasion, and an opportunity to celebrate Odwain’s betrothal. And then Alwen’s daughter, his beloved Eirlys was cursed and Fergus killed, and the rest of his family had disappeared without a word. It had been the worst two days of Odwain’s life.

  “They assured me you’d be good as new soon enough.” He required himself to express his good wishes. “I wanted to see for myself.”

  Pedr tried to pull himself up to sit but quickly abandoned the effort. “Where did they take him, our Da?”

  Odwain knew, but he wasn’t happy to say. “He’s being held in the old guardhouse next to the barracks, for now.”

  “And Cerrigwen?” Pedr asked, struggling a bit between distress and disgust. “Not that I much care, but the damned oath demands that I ask.”

  “She is confined to her chamber until Alwen can find the sense in it all. Pedr,” Odwain continued pointedly. He was through with niceties. “I am about to ask you why you left, and you had better tell me there was nothing you could do.”

  “Of course there was nothing we could do. You know that better than anyone. You’ve lived the code all your life, same as me.” Pedr’s face looked pained, but from a far deeper wound than the one to his shoulder. “The Crwn Cawr indentures us to whichever guardian we are pledged. She is our first duty, before everything and everyone else. Just as Alwen was yours, all those years in Norvik.”

  “So Cerrigwen ordered you to follow her out of the Fane in the midst of a siege?” Odwain asked. It had to be true, but he needed to hear it said before he could put his worries to rest.

  “Whatever befell the Fane, we were gone long before any of it started. That night, Cerrigwen assigned us the late watch at the rear gate, but we were to stand guard from the forest side, from outside the wall,” Pedr explained. “It was a strange request, but no stranger than anything else going on in this place. So we stood in that enchanted mist, staring at those damned woods and waiting for whatever was lurking in the trees to swallow us up. An hour late
r, maybe two, Cerrigwen appeared at the gate astride that silver mare of hers and demanded we let her out. She conjured something at the edge of the forest and then just walked straight into the trees. It’s not what either of us wanted, Odwain, but there was no choice but to go with her.”

  Odwain was accepting, if not forgiving. “You did what you had to do. What I would have done had I been in your place.”

  Pedr seemed relieved to have Odwain’s understanding. “We will accept the consequences, whatever they are. The MacDonagh men are men of honor.”

  “Did they tell you that Madoc fell to Machreth’s dark magic?” said Odwain.

  “No,” Pedr sighed, “but I figured as much when I heard they had taken Da and Cerrigwen to atone to Alwen.”

  “And Fergus.” Odwain had to steady himself to get it out. He’d managed to avoid speaking of any of it until now, and it was difficult to allow the words to leave his lips. But he intended to be kinder than Alwen had. “He is gone too.”

  The pained look returned to Pedr’s face, an offering of empathy from one brother to another. “I guess this must have been hardest on you.”

  “All of us are suffering on some account.” Odwain would never have guessed how much it helped to hear his personal sorrow acknowledged. Not that he claimed himself to be more bereaved than anyone else, but he had felt profoundly alone—until now. “I am glad to have you both back at the Fane, even with things as they are. I should speak to Alwen to be sure she understands why you did what you did. She is new to the responsibilities of the Sovereign.”

  “No.” Pedr took hold of Odwain’s arm. “You’ll only put your own standing at risk. Alwen knows the oath as well as any of us. Let her come to reason on her own.”

  “And what if she doesn’t?” Odwain did not want to admit he had any doubt, but he wasn’t as confident as he should have been. Alwen was different, more easily unsettled since the onslaught on the Fane, since Eirlys. So was he. But the woman he had seen holding audience earlier was not the woman he had known nearly all of his life.