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

“I fail to understand how you could think that betraying
the S
tewardry could possibly protect your daughter?” Alwen was unconvinced. “If anything, it has brought her to greater peril.”

Cerrigwen’s jaw clenched, as though the answer on her lips was sour. “Exile made me bitter, and Madoc’s favoring you when we returned only angered me more. Machreth told me what I wanted to hear. He offered me the power I had always desired and promised my daughter would have everything she deserved.

Alwen shook her head. “And you believed him.”

“I am not so foolish as to ask forgiveness for myself. I am beyond mercy.” Cerrigwen swallowed hard. “But I
will
beg you to pity Ffion, if for no other reason than her having had the double misfortune to have been sired by a tyrant and born to a traitor. I will submit to whatever judgment you impose upon me if you will bring my child under your protection, just as you would yo
ur ow
n.”

Alwen managed to appear indifferent. “If I were inclined to agree, what would you have me do? Ffion is still on the travels that you insisted she take. She is outside my influence.”

“But it has been months. How can she not be here by now?” Cerrigwen struggled to her feet, clearly panicked. “Clydog’s men will find her on the road, or Machreth will.”

“What has Clydog to do with this?” Hywel forced his way to the dais. “What is he to you?”

“He is less than nothing to me,” Cerrigwen spat. Her face twisted ugly and dark with hatred and then settled again into the flat, resolved expression of a woman facing her end. “But he is of Cadell’s seed, the same as she, the same as you. My
daughter
is your sister, Hywel ap Cadell. She shares your blood. She is also mageborn, like me, and heir to my legacy as Guardian of the Realms.”

Hywel’s shock, if he harbored any, was stifled so deep within him that not a single sign surfaced. He stared at Cerrigwen as though he were examining an intricately detailed map.

“My father made a careful practice of eradicating the product of his affairs,” he said, nodding. “But I remember you at Cwm Brith for many a hunting season. I was just a boy, though, and took you for one of the servants at my father’s lodge.”

Cerrigwen nodded. “Think of it. A sorceress with blood ties to the two most powerful legacies in the land, and no more willing to submit to your brother than you are. The only person
Clydog
could ever want dead more than you, is her.”

Hywel circled Cerrigwen slowly, considering the possibilities, and then faced Alwen. “Cadell would have let such a child live, if for no other reason than to give him a legitimate claim to the Stewardry, another stake in the prophecy should I not succeed.”

“Yes.” Alwen looked at Cerrigwen again, as though she had suddenly made sense of it all. “That’s why you forced Aslak to send Ffion on the expedition to retrieve Branwen. To keep her away from Machreth.”

“We were friends once, Machreth and I. When the time ca
me to ret
urn to the Fane, I hoped we might renew our
acquaintance
, that I might still have an ally in him, but I knew better than to trust him blindly,” Cerrigwen explained. “I was not about to
put Ffion within Machreth’s reach before I was sure of him.”

Alwen stiffened, digging her fingers into the chair arms as if she were holding herself back. “You were allied with him from the beginning.”

“Yes,” Cerrigwen confessed. “In the year before Madoc sent us away, Machreth had begun to talk of reform. There were factions within the guild who supported his more progressive views, and I admit I found his ideas appealing. I never advocated defection, and certainly not revolt, but I did share Machreth’s interpretation of the tenets and the prophecy. I was nearly condemned for it, but I supported his views, and in return he supported me.”

“You also shared his bed,” Alwen sniped.

“So I did.” Cerrigwen affected a dismissive shrug. “He was revered then and very powerful. Nearly every sorceress in the Stewardry coveted his attention. I enjoyed his favor, as he did mine. I counted on Machreth remembering me fondly enough that he would agree to take Ffion’s cause as his own.”

Cerrigwen turned to Hywel. “Ffion is as entitled to your father’s name and his lands as you and Clydog. But Madoc would never have agreed to approach Cadell on her behalf.”

“Not Cadell,” Hywel said. “But he would have come to me. Had he known, Madoc might well have petitioned me to acknowledge her.”

Cerrigwen’s chin lifted, but her lips trembled. “And would he have succeeded?”

“Not while my father still lived,” Hywel admitted. “But Madoc would have protected her, knowing that I would eventually see how a blood bond between the Stewardry and Seisyllwg strengthened my claim. Instead, she is outside my protection as well as yours.”

Tears glistened in Cerrigwen’s eyes, but not a single drop spilled. “And as vulnerable to Machreth as she is to Clydog.”

Hywel frowned. “Then they both know.”

“I took Machreth into my confidence when I first returned here,” Cerrigwen explained, “and he disclosed the truth to
Clydog
.”

Glain could see the new King of Seisyllwg already plotting and planning, and she was uneasy. She envisioned the two stags on the hill and the river of blood from her dream, and she knew destiny was about to take a dangerous turn. Though she had envisioned a path to peace that circumvented the carnage, Glain now realized that no matter what path Hywel chose, his destiny would ultimately lead him into it.

Alwen obviously saw the same. She stood abruptly. “Hywel.”

“We must intercede,” Hywel announced, “and quickly.”

“Hywel,” Alwen said again, more forcefully. “I caution you to remember who rules here.”

“On what heading will Aslak’s expedition travel?” Hywel all but ignored Alwen’s warning. “From what direction?”

“From the east,” Cerrigwen offered.

“How do you know that?” Alwen was aghast and quickly losing control of her own audience. “Hywel, be silent!”

“So, I will take my men east, through the woods.” He addressed Alwen directly. “We will intercept the expedition, warn your guard of the threat, and send them on their way here. And then I will press on to Cwm Brith and deal with Clydog.”

“Enough!” Alwen ordered. “That is
quite
enough from the two of
you
! Be still, or I will have you both removed.”

Emrys and his lieutenants snapped to attention, prepared to assert their authority should Alwen command it. Cerrigwen looked a little chagrined, whereas Hywel seemed smug and even a little amused. The rest of the room hung on the tension and worried they were about to witness a battle of wills between the Sovereign of the Stewardry and the king of the prophecy.

Alwen lowered herself back into her chair, sighing as though the happenings had pushed her past exasperation. “Have we any idea where Machreth is now?”

Cerrigwen responded cautiously. “Three days ago, Clydog claimed to be expecting him at Cwm Brith, but Machreth had yet to arrive.”

“The Cythraul trail leads southwest toward Castell Banraven,” said Thorne Edwall. He stepped into the conversation with such command that even Hywel deferred to him. “It is possible that Machreth is there.”

“It is more likely he is already at Cwm Brith,” Hywel countered, “or at least well on his way.”

“All the same,” Alwen said, wearily, “with the mage hunter in pursuit of the Cythraul, and you on your way to meet the escort, one of you is bound to come face to face with him. Thorne Edwall is well prepared to confront magic, Hywel. Are you?”

A fair point, but Glain was surprised by Alwen’s lack of diplomacy. Surely it would be better to support the king than to try to subdue him. Hywel had no reply, at least not one that he was willing to voice, but his expression said more than enough.

“Perhaps you should not presume to commit horses and men to a campaign that is not yours to issue and that you are woefully unprepared to undertake.” Alwen’s sarcasm was slightly
undercut
by exhaustion. She seemed taxed beyond her willingness and unable to see a clear path ahead of her. “I will decide what is to be done about Ffion, and your brother, but before I can even begin to consider
that
, I must first decide what to do with the traitor before me now.”

Whether she meant to or not, Alwen had completely undermined Hywel’s authority, and in front of a room full of his subjects, no less. Such a misstep, were it an unmindful one, was an insult that might yet be redressed. But if Alwen’s intent was to force Hywel to accept her rule in place of his, she foolishly risked the freshly forged relationship between the two of them. H
ywel’s
reign might well come to pass without their alliance, but the Stewardry would never survive without it. Glain could not begin to fathom how Alwen had managed to lose her equability and her wisdom all at once. The Sovereign seemed in need of counsel but showed no sign that she intended to seek it.

Hywel’s posture squared, and his jaw clenched tight. Glain dared not wait for Alwen to find her way. In another moment, Hywel’s self-preserving nature would drive him to confrontation. The result would be ugly.

“Sovereign, if I may.” Glain stepped into Alwen’s line of view. “It seems clear to me the king’s plan has the potential to solve our problems as well as his. If the most urgent task is to reunite the Guardians of the Realms, sending aid to the envoy can only help to ensure their safe return. Branwen travels with them, as well as Ffion. And if I may be blunt—”

“As if you weren’t already,” Alwen said, more bitter than sarcastic. “But go on.”

Glain continued with the confidence that came from deep conviction. “You will need Ffion to complete the circle. Someone must take Cerrigwen’s place, and her daughter is the only possible choice. And if the king is to ride into battle with Machreth, as you have pointed out, he will need the means to fight magic or, at the very least, defend against it. Aside from you, there is only one Steward among us who is powerful enough to confront Machreth.”

Alwen’s eyebrows had arched so high her eyes looked like they might pop out of their sockets. “Just what are you suggesting?”

Glain expected full well that Alwen and Hywel and likely everyone else in the room knew exactly what she was suggesting. It was a heretical idea, but it was the right one. All the same, it was not an easy thing to say. She took a slow breath to steady her nerves.

“Send Cerrigwen with him.” Glain swallowed. “No matter what crimes she has committed, none of us doubts her dedication to her daughter. For this single purpose, I believe she might be trusted. She and Hywel have a common interest in defeating Clydog, and as it stands, she is the only Steward you can spare.”

Alwen stared at her, her eyes stark and almost vacant, as though she were shocked out of her wits. Glain felt her hands shaking. She could hardly believe she had spoken the words aloud, but Glain knew she was right.

“Get out.” Alwen spoke so calmly at first that no one reacted. “Every last one of you, get out of my receptory.”

“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.

F
OURTEEN

G
lain 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 nec
k.

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 obviously 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 fo
und 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 h
er. “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 s
eco
nd 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.