The Keys to the Realms (The Dream Stewards) (3 page)

Hywel’s glower darkened further as he inclined his head in an unmistakable display of resentment. “A wise precaution, for now. But if Clydog marches for Dinefwyr, I will be there to defend it.”

Alwen took this as agreement and continued to list
commands
. “Emrys, send scouts east and north. If Thorvald or Bledig can be found on any of the roads home, let us hasten their return. The sooner the remaining Guardians of the Realms are safe within these walls, the better we will all rest. Glain, gather those among the Order you would trust with your life, and bring them to me at dawn.”

Alwen returned to her seat. “You may take your leave now, all of you, save my son. Rhys, I fear there will be no rest for you tonight.”

Glain wished for an excuse to stay behind, hoping to hear what errand Alwen had in mind for Rhys. Maybe he would find her later. For now she had her own tasks, and Ariane still owed her an explanation.

T
WO

G
lain wandered the hallways for what seemed like hours, thinking on Alwen’s order to choose her most trusted. By the time she returned to her chambers, her decision was made. To her surprise, Ynyr was waiting outside her door—with a summons from Hywel.

“He can be very intimidating, but he loathes a bootlicker,” Ynyr advised as he escorted her to the king’s quarters. “Which I find interesting, because he has a way of making a person
desperate
for his favor. Which, of course, he never grants. You’ll see what I mean.”

Glain wiped her dewy palms on her robe and hoped that she’d managed to tame the flyaway locks around her face. “Why would he want to see
me
?”

“I imagine he means to offer you his thanks. You did save him from the Cythraul, you know.” Ynyr paused with his hand on the door clasp. “Glain. I trust you to have more sense than Ariane.”

“Really, Ynyr.” Glain was appalled, and then a little worried. “You don’t think
that
is why he has summoned me?”

Ynyr gave an apologetic shrug as he sprang the latch, as if to say he wished he knew, but did not. “Ariane is hardly the only girl he has charmed, though she is the most smitten. Nerys says she can’t stop nattering on about him.”

He pushed open the door to the master’s chamber that Hywel occupied and waved her in, whispering as she passed, “I will be right here, in the hall.”

Glain was too nervous to respond. All of the third-floor suites were spacious and finely appointed, especially when compared to the small plain rooms she and the other acolytes occupied. The
proctor’s
official suite was second in finery only to the Sovereign’s, and as such had been offered to Hywel. By right, and under less chaotic
circumstances
, the chamber would have been Glain’s. She was proud to hold the title but had no desire to ever claim the suite. These rooms had last belonged to Machreth, which forever soiled their appeal
for her.

Hywel’s was the only presence evident now. He could not have appeared to be more at home, sprawled sideways across a tufted armchair and reading a book by firelight.

She made a slight bow in his direction. “Sire.”

“That’s twice you’ve used that particular address.” Hywel glanced at her over the top of the book. “My countrymen call me ‘brenin’; others say ‘king’ or ‘lord.’ ”

“And Alwen calls you Hywel,” Glain responded without thinking, then realized that she ought not to have spoken so plainly. “Which do you prefer?”

“I have little regard for titles, though I will answer to any I’ve earned, by birthright or battle.” Hywel folded the book closed and studied her instead. “But it is my opinion that the man who claims the laurels a title demands must be deserving of them, or else the title is meaningless.”

“Madoc had a saying,” Glain recalled. Though she knew she shouldn’t, Glain felt quite at ease with him. “Something about a pig dressed in fine fur and silver still being a pig.”

A smile widened the long lines of Hywel’s narrow and
angular
face, softening the edges of his naturally stern expression. “I have heard him say it.”

“How shall I address you then?” Glain asked. “What does Ynyr call you?”

“To my face—or behind my back?” Hywel chuckled. “If ‘sire’ comes naturally to you, so be it.”

Glain tried hard not to smile, but she liked his humor. “
Sire, th
en.”

Hywel folded himself into a proper sitting position and
beckoned
her closer. “I have questions, Glain. Will you answer them for me?”

Glain took several small paces nearer to the hearth, less sure of herself now. “If I am able, Sire.”

“Good.” Hywel nodded at the small divan adjacent to his chair, indicating she should be seated. “It’s already late, and we may be a while.”

Glain felt obliged to accept his hospitality, though she wasn’t quite sure it was proper. Suddenly, she wasn’t quite sure
any
of this was proper, but Ynyr was just outside. “I can’t imagine there is anything I know that Alwen does not.”

“Is that so?” Hywel’s brow furrowed, and one eyebrow slid into an arch. “Does she know you better than you know yourself?”

“I suppose not.” Glain was puzzled. What could Hywel
possibly
want to know about her?

“Nor did she know Madoc well,” Hywel asserted. “It seems to me she hardly knew him at all.”

“Alwen had only a short time with him before he passed, and those were frantic days.” Glain felt compelled to explain. “She was twenty years absent, after all.”

“But you…,” Hywel said, leaning forward in a way that seemed to suggest affinity between them. He looked at her with a directness that should have unsettled her, but it did not. “You were close to him.”

“I was his last apprentice. I spent most of my life attending him, learning from him.” Glain noticed that he still gripped the book, an old historical text. Hywel was clearly learned, but his hands were broad and coarse, more like those of a tradesman than a man of letters. “Everything I am, I owe to him.”

Hywel nodded as though this information reassured him, and Glain found herself noticing other details like the small
jagged
scar crossing the ridge of his nose, and the particularly warm brown hue of his eyes, which were a lighter brown than his long curls. There was nothing overtly threatening about him, though she had seen his rage and heard him lauding his own ruthlessness.

“You mentioned before that a warning came to you in a dream.” Hywel was engaging, and yet an air of self-possession ensured that anyone in his presence knew he held command. In this way, Hywel was intimidating. But he also appeared to her to be a much less obvious man than she had presumed. He was gentlemanly, even charming. “Do you have these dr
eams oft
en?”

Glain was unprepared for this question. She had never openly discussed her dreams with anyone but Madoc, though she brought her visions to Alwen when she thought they might help. She was reluctant to answer but had no legitimate reason to avoid it. The safest response was the simplest one.

“Not so often that I dread sleep,” she offered. “But the visions are more common these past several months.”

Again he nodded, as if she had given the answer he expected to hear. “These visions, do they always come to pass?”

“Yes.” Glain was surprised how quickly this answer found its way out. The intense focus of his gaze had a way of making a
person
want to oblige him, if for no other reason than to escape it. “In some form or another.”

Hywel wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue and then pressed them tightly together, contemplating his next approach. This made Glain exceedingly uncomfortable, but also curious and a little flattered.

Finally he drew breath to speak. “If ever your dreams involve me, I wish to know.”

Glain could see no reason that this should be at issue. “Alwen will keep you informed, of course.”

“I am sure she will, when it suits her,” Hywel said. “But you misunderstand, Glain. I wish to be the
first
to know.”

Glain did not know how to respond. She could not possibly agree, nor could she refuse. Hywel was the very embodiment of the prophecy the Stewardry existed to serve, but she answered to Alwen. No matter whose interests she chose to serve, one or the other of them might feel betrayed. Before Glain could decide what to say, Hywel stood and walked the book he was holding back to its place in the shelf on the wall behind the chair.

“You are in possession of something very rare, you know,” he said. “Very few people can say they are owed my favor.”

Glain, who was still struggling to find a way to respectfully decline his request, found herself at even further loss. “You owe me no favor, Sire.”

“But I do.” Hywel returned to stand directly before her and held out his hand. “You saved my life tonight with your quick thinking and remarkable skill.”

Not knowing what else to do, Glain put her hand in his and allowed Hywel to help her to her feet. When he did not
immediately
release the hold, her stomach fluttered, but she did not resist. His touch was warm, and her cheeks burned. Not from embarrassment, as they should, but from a more base response to the subtle sensuality of the gesture.

“One day you will have need of something I can provide.” Hywel led her to the door, and then took both her hands as he captured her again with his gaze. “And when you do, you must not hesitate to ask.”

Before she knew what was happening, Glain found herself taking her leave of the king in a silly, schoolgirl stupor and
feeling
all a-flush. It wasn’t until she was out in the hall and Ynyr had closed the door behind her that she realized how much Hywel had affected her. And only then did she realize that she had never actually refused his request.

Morning dawned too bright on an angst-filled and sleepless night. Glain had spent the remains of it in tortured thought, assessing each of her colleagues. In the end, the decision was not so difficult to make. Of the three score and four Stewards who remained at Fane Gramarye, Glain trusted only four enough to count them among her chosen.

The acolytes Ynyr and Ariane were her closest friends, and the apprentices Verica and Euday had supported her in the early days following Machreth’s insurrection, when Alwen had first appointed her proctor. All had served the Stewardry with
distinction
, though to varying degrees and ability. For these
comrades
Glain would sacrifice her own life, and they would vow the same for her. What else Alwen would ask of them, Glain could only guess.

“So few?” Alwen seemed surprised, taking in the small group from the Sovereign’s chair atop the small dais in her private receiving room. “I see you continue to exclude Nerys from your confidence, Glain. She is an acolyte as well. Her experience and leadership might be useful.”

“Yes, Sovereign.” Glain choked the urge to bristle with
indignation
. “But you charged me to bring only those I would trust with my life.”

Alwen’s brow creased. “And still you do not count Nerys among them, even after her actions last night?”

“I have no evidence yet, but there are reports of subversion, clandestine meetings with her own inner circle.” Glain’s
frustration
refused to be contained. “And I have not forgotten her allegiance to Cerrigwen.”

“We have no proof of any allegiance to Cerrigwen beyond what duty demanded of her. Nerys was in service to Cerrigwen, just as you are in service to me,” Alwen reminded her. “But you are correct, Glain. The choice was yours to make. So be it.”

Alwen surveyed the Stewards before her, her gaze lingering long enough to make them all even more anxious than they were already. Glain worried when Alwen’s eyes turned toward Ariane. What must Alwen think of her? And what would Alwen think of Glain, once she knew of her own private encounter with the king—
if
she were to know. It was only a passing thought. It would be wrong to withhold this truth.

With her elbows cradled in the ornately carved armrests, Alwen rested her chin atop clasped hands and continued her contemplation. The silence stretched on, straining Glain’s nerves until she was sure they would snap.

At last, Alwen looked directly at Ynyr. “Madoc held the opinion that the Order never healed from the fracture that took place before you all were born. Nearly half the membership defected from the Stewardry then. Madoc thought this was how Machreth was able to encourage sedition among those who remained. Glain agrees. She thinks the discord still survives. What have you to say? Have recent events unified our Order, or does the Stewardry remain divided?”

“The Stewards have always been of two minds, Sovereign, have we not?” Ynyr was scholarly and given to practical, well-
considered
opinion—qualities that provided a welcome counterbalance to Glain’s instinctive responses, even when she disagreed with him. “Some of us are purists, true believers one might say, those who take the prophecy of the Ancients in its most literal sense.”

“As did Madoc,” Alwen affirmed.

“Yes,” said Ynyr. “And then there are others who see the
prophecy
as an allegory which was meant to be interpreted in
keeping
with the ever-changing tides of time. These are the
members
to whom Machreth appealed, and some of them
supported
his course of action. However, the fact that any of us question or even argue either belief does not necessarily mean our loyalties are at odds.”

Alwen acknowledged his point with a sideways tilt of her head. “And yet, there
was
a defection, and Machreth’s recent insurrection had support. Clearly there are ardent believers who have been willing to take the issue beyond argument. How many of them remain within our walls?”