Song Magick (25 page)

“Was that enough?” she asked, her voice more
harsh than she meant for it to be, shame and embarrassment lending
itself to anger.

“Please forgive me, Telyn. I can’t imagine
how difficult that was for you to share. There was never any
question of your innocence, and I am prepared to defend you without
reservation.”

Telyn glanced at him, unable to meet his eyes
just yet. “I’ve never allowed myself to remember it before this,”
she confessed, “and now that it’s all laid out before me, I can see
that I did have a lapse of control that night. I was careless, and
Taliesin knew it.”

“But the attack against you was not your
doing, Telyn. Even I could see this in your memory. That young man
acted in violence, with the atmosphere you had accidentally created
as an excuse, not a cause. Amorion said that he was known to be a
brute, and that he had considered sending him away. It was never
your fault.”

Telyn caught her breath, and met Gwidion’s
eyes. There was no doubt or condemnation in that steady gaze, only
a deep sadness and an edge of anger that she knew was not directed
at herself.

She tentatively called the memory back to
her, verifying what he’d said. And saw it was the truth. Something
within her released its tightly coiled hold on her conscience, and
relaxed. It was a strangely giddy feeling, and she was lightheaded,
almost unable to think.

“Could I please have a moment alone, my
lord?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly. “I need to come to
terms with this. It may not have been my fault, but I still killed
him. Nothing will change that, but remembering might begin to allow
me some peace.”

“Take all the time you need, Telyn. I will be
inside with Mithrais. When you’re ready, join us.”

Chapter
Sixteen

“Is she all right?” Mithrais asked,
concerned. The shared memory of the violent attack had sobered him,
and his instinct to protect Telyn had been roused to anger over the
events that had unfolded in her mind’s eye. He had had to remind
himself that the perpetrator was far beyond his reach, and had
already paid for his act. He had been ready to follow her to the
balcony as she fled, but Gwidion had stayed his movement with a
gesture.

“She will be. Telyn has more strength and
courage than she knows, and in time, she will be able to turn that
courage inward and forgive herself.”

“She is very brave. And that’s not all.”
Mithrais sighed, glancing at the doorway where Telyn had
disappeared. He offered Gwidion his open hand. “Some of the most
important events of the last few days concern Telyn, and the
Gwaith’orn.”

When their clasped hands finally parted,
Gwidion placed a hand on Mithrais’ shoulder, a gesture offering
comfort and reassurance to his son. There were no words needed;
Gwidion had seen the raw guilt that Aric’s death had left behind,
and knew that Mithrais must also be allowed to come to his own
terms with the loss of his closest friend.

The bard had silently reentered the room as
they had communed, having won a relieved composure with the use of
her disciplines. The Lord of Cerisild looked at Telyn wonderingly
as she reclaimed the empty chair, his features alight with
interest.

“Mithrais has told me what occurred between
you and the Gwaith’orn, Telyn. It seems your presence here is part
of a larger fate.” Gwidion nodded toward the piles of scrolls on
his desk with barely contained excitement. “Somewhere in the Tauron
histories are the answers to this puzzle. I vaguely remember a
reference to someone called a ‘seed-speaker’ in some of the
earliest records, but the old language is a bit thick and difficult
to wade through. It may not be easy to find again.”

* * * *

Telyn sat up, hope and interest piqued. Here,
at last, was something that she could do to help unravel the riddle
of the Gwaith’orn. “The court histories are the same way. I can
read and speak the old language. If you would allow me to assist
you, we might be able to find it more quickly.”

“I would like that.” Gwidion smiled at her,
surprised and pleased. “Perhaps we can even attempt some
conversation.” He glanced sidelong at Mithrais with mock
disapproval. “I have tried to teach both of my sons the old
language, but without use, it is difficult to retain.”

This elicited a sheepish smile from Mithrais,
and Telyn laughed. “He did remember enough to greet me in the
Wood.”

“And well he should have,” Gwidion agreed.
“That is a part of the Sildan heritage which is all too quickly
being forgotten. The histories will also give you a better
understanding of the relationship between the Gwaith’orn and the
Tauron Order.”

“Thank you.” Telyn drew a breath. “It seems
that I have little time to waste. The Gwaith’orn do not seem to be
a very patient lot.”

“Now that they have given you their charge,
it’s less likely they will be bombarding you with summonings.”
Gwidion’s brow creased as he noted her discomfiture. “It is your
trust they must now earn. Mithrais was correct, Telyn. The
Gwaith’orn do not impose their will on a heartspeaker unless there
is no other way to communicate. I know it was a violation that you
understandably resent. When you have had some time to rest, I would
like to read the memory of your encounter with the Gwaith’orn to
see if I can glean any clues from it,” Gwidion told Telyn. “For the
moment, I think you have had quite enough of mind-meddling. Am I
correct?”

Telyn could not help but smile abashedly at
Gwidion as he continued, “Yes, I see that I am. In that case, I
understand that you have also been charged with greetings from a
certain Lord of Rothvori.” Gwidion grinned roguishly, and Telyn
could see the young man that Gwidion must have been when Riordan
knew him. “Tell me how my old friend is doing. Perhaps, when all
our tasks here are concluded, we shall have to renew old habits and
celebrate a solstice together.”

* * * *

The light was fading from the tower room, and
the skies were still a rich sapphire between the tops of the trees
outside the balcony when Diarmid entered, followed by a servitor
who bore a tray of covered dishes.

“Good evening,” Gwidion greeted him, and
turned to Telyn and Mithrais. “I fear that I’ve kept you far too
long. You should be resting after your adventures, and Marithiel
will wonder why you haven’t yet paid her a visit.”

“She’s already asked after you,” Diarmid
admitted to Mithrais, his lips curving in an ironic smile. He took
the tray from the servitor and dismissed him with thanks, beginning
to set out Gwidion’s evening meal on a low table near the desk.
“However, she has said that since you are both injured, you may
wait until tomorrow morning to see her.”

Mithrais exchanged surprised glances with his
father, and said thoughtfully, “She truly is in a rare mood. I
wonder how long that will last.” He used his arms to push himself
out of the chair and stand. Telyn retrieved the staff from where it
rested against the wall, handing it to him.

“Dinner will be brought to you shortly, and I
have had the adjoining room prepared for Telyn.” The steward bowed
casually toward the bard. “I hope you will find it to your
liking.”

“I’m sure that I will. Thank you,
Diarmid.”

“We will leave you to your meal, Father.”
Mithrais smiled at him affectionately.

“I am glad you are home, Mithrais.” Gwidion
turned his gaze to Telyn. “And so do we. When you are at leisure,
please join me here, and we will begin to plod through the
histories together.”

“It will be my pleasure, my lord.” Telyn
bowed deeply, and Gwidion shook his head in negation.

“None of that! I do not require such
formality from my son’s lifemate.” Gwidion smiled at her gently.
“Welcome home, Telyn.”

Telyn’s throat tightened with emotion;
sudden, fierce affection for Mithrais’ father rose within her and
threatened to overflow in the form of tears. Impulsively, she knelt
beside the chair and kissed Gwidion’s cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispered, laying her
forehead against his hand where it rested on the arm of his chair,
overcome by gratitude. Telyn felt his other hand rest on her head
gently, and she raised eyes that were brimming with unshed
tears.

“Go now, and get some rest.” Gwidion’s voice
was slightly rough, but his eyes smiled at her in a way that
reminded her of Riordan. He searched her face for a moment and then
Gwidion nodded, as if finding something there, and pressed her hand
between both of his. “Go on. We will speak tomorrow.”

“It seems you’ve made yet another conquest,”
Mithrais said warmly as they closed the library door. Telyn smiled,
following his slightly more difficult descent of the stair, her
hand resting on the banister.

“Lord Gwidion is very kind,” she said
wistfully. Her happiness was marred only by the painful knowledge
that her own father had been unable to believe in her innocence as
easily as Gwidion had.

They reached the first landing below the
tower. Mithrais led her down a hallway that progressed deeper into
the interior. Telyn was delighted anew with the graceful curves of
the walls and the simple elegance of the entire manor. At a point
where the hallway began to curve toward the opposite side of the
dwelling, Mithrais stopped at a pale, wooden door.

“This is the room that Diarmid has prepared
for you,” he told her, leading her inside.

The rounded room was very simple; warm light
from a single oil lamp on the mantelpiece illuminated a wide,
wooden bed with inviting pillows and soft, green-gold blankets. A
small hearth awaited only the strike of steel and flint to warm the
room, but the breeze fluttering the white draperies in an arched,
open window was mild and refreshing, the sound of rustling leaves a
tranquil reminder that they were still deep in the Wood.

Telyn looked around the room happily. “It’s
lovely.”

“It shares the dayroom of my quarters.”
Mithrais showed her a smaller door to the left of the hearth. He
lifted the latch and swung the door open, inviting her to enter.
This room was also lit with a single lamp, but candles waited on
the mantel of a large fireplace, and atop a table which held a
flask of wine and cups. Two comfortable chairs were arranged before
the hearth and could be easily drawn to the table.

The walls were the same cream color she had
seen elsewhere, empty of any decoration, but soothing in their
simplicity. The double door of a balcony was open to the night air,
and Telyn walked out onto the terrace, drawn by the silver-white
disc of the moon visible through the trees. Mithrais followed her,
the tap of the staff on which he leaned echoed more loudly as they
passed through the doorway onto the wooden platform.

In the quicksilver bath of moonlight, Telyn
could see nothing but trees, the transient glow of lighted windows
below giving evidence to the city hidden beneath the early spring
leaves. The Wood stretched out to the horizon, rounded hills black
against the evening sky. The balcony was almost completely
surrounded by trees, even encompassing one that grew up through the
floor at the center of the terrace, its trunk centered in a large,
circular opening that allowed for the movement of wind. To the
right, the balcony extended just past another, smaller door which
stood open to the play of leaves and moonlight, a solitary willow
chair next to the railing.

“This is your retreat when you’re not in the
Wood, isn’t it?” Telyn made it more of a statement than a
question.

“Yes. Here I can escape from almost
anything.” Mithrais moved to the edge of the rail, looking out into
the sea of silver-lit leaves. “In winter, nearly the entire city is
visible from this place. I prefer it in the summer, when it gives
the illusion of solitude, but in the autumn, it is a sight not to
be missed. The leaves are aflame with color as far as your eye can
see.”

“It must be breathtaking.” Telyn walked down
the balcony to the other door, and Mithrais followed more slowly.
“This is your room, then?” she asked, stopping outside the door and
waiting for his invitation to enter.

“It is.” Mithrais brushed the fluttering
draperies aside, leaving the staff on the balcony, and Telyn
followed him into the room.

It was larger than the other bedroom, the
necessary hearth somewhat wider. A tall clothes chest stood on the
far side of the chamber beside the door that led to the dayroom,
and nearer the balcony door, a darkly polished wooden bed frame
dominated the room in the faint glow of the lamp on the mantel, its
mattress spread with deep red coverlets. Few things were in
evidence that gave Telyn a glimpse of Mithrais’ preferences, or
private interests-–the rooms were warm and comfortable, but as
impersonal as any guest quarters Telyn had ever seen.

“I spend little time here,” Mithrais said
quietly, answering her unvoiced question. “I feel that home is
something carried within.”

“I understand that feeling well. I even
agree.” Telyn smiled faintly. “Emrys and I never spent more than a
few months in any one place, and it was a different place nearly
every year. Such is the life of a bard,” Telyn shrugged. “Home is
wherever love and friendship welcome you.”

Mithrais touched her cheek softly. Telyn
leaned into the caress, the touch of his hand sending pleasant
shocks through her as it always did. “I think my definition of home
will quickly come to depend upon your presence,” he said. “I find
it difficult to remember that we have known each other less than a
week.” He drew her back out onto the balcony, and they stood close
beside each other at the rail.

“I must admit that I am taken aback that Lord
Gwidion and Diarmid never questioned that I was your lifemate,”
Telyn admitted.

“Among the Wood-born, especially among
heartspeakers, there is no question. It’s reason to celebrate when
lifemates discover each other,” Mithrais answered her.