brief.
A kiss? Her eyes opened. From Shay? Aye,
indeed things had changed, and not for the better.
Unbidden by intent, she looked to the
copse—and found it empty. A sense of loss enveloped her, a feeling
as inexplicable as her tears, which had stopped as suddenly as they
had begun. She wiped the last of them away, looking all the while
to the overgrown birch where Mychael ab Arawn had stood.
He was gone, disappeared without a trace, and
she’d not had the courage to so much as say hullo. Vexation thinned
her mouth into a tight line. She needed better of herself.
“Rhuddlan is waiting at Carn Merioneth, and
Moira has sweet bannocks for you,” Shay said, breaking into her
thoughts. He rose to his feet and took her hand to pull her up.
“I’ll race you to the postern in the keep’s east wall.” The
challenge came with a grin, but before she could answer, a rustling
of leaves below had him reaching for a higher branch and levering
himself out over the limb on which they stood. “Good morn, Aedyth,”
he called down.
The old woman rose to sitting, brushing
leaves off here and there as she looked up into the tree. “Good
morn, Shay. Have you come to see us home then?” Her graying blond
hair was plaited in a crown around her head with parts of the braid
worked loose from sleep, but a tuck or two put the strands aright.
Her eyes were bright, her fingers nimble, the signs of age showing
mostly in the lines on her face.
“Aye, and give you first greeting. You made
good time coming north.” He dropped out of the tree and landed
lightly on his feet in front of her.
“As if these old bones would not,” Aedyth
exclaimed in mock affront, accepting the hand Shay offered. Once on
her feet, she brushed her skirts down. “If ’tis a race to the
postern you want, I warrant I can give you one, if you would but
even out the years a bit.”
His grin broadened. “What would you have me
do?”
“Drink the river dry and cross over the moon
while make I straightaway for the castle.”
“And I would still win,” he boasted with an
ingenuous laugh.
The old woman shooed him off, smiling, and
Llynya followed him into the trees. For the morning at least, she
was free.
~ ~ ~
Madron walked quickly through Riverwood, her
Quicken-tree cloak veiling her in the mist-bound shadows of the
forest morn, the hood pulled up to cover the loose flow of her
auburn hair. Not all of Balor’s cottars had run away when the keep
had fallen to Rhuddlan, and she did well to take care.
Sunshine broke through the gloom in places,
but did naught to lighten her mood. The day had barely begun and
had already gone awry. Mychael ab Arawn had slipped free of her yet
again. Recalcitrant, obstinate youth. She could help him, if he
would let her, but he would forever go his own way, or Rhuddlan’s,
playing into the elf-man’s hands as neatly as a hooked fish.
Despite the Quicken-tree leader’s interference, she would not lose
the boy, not as she’d lost his sister.
She came to a small stream, a freshet, and
lifted the hems of her cloak and dark green gown before stepping
nimbly across and continuing on her way.
Shay and Llynya were running in the forest
this morn. She’d let them pass her by a quarter league back. The
two of them had appeared carefree, but for the girl at least, ’twas
bound to be a fleeting state. The sprite’s destiny was about to
meet her head-on. Which brought Madron to her present problem and
her woodland task, forced on her by the Quicken-tree and their
damned brambling and tangling of the trees. ’Twould only get worse
with the coming of Ailfinn Mapp—if the mage ever did come.
And if she did not, where did that leave
Llynya? That Ailfinn had grown so powerful that she dared ignore
Rhuddlan’s summons was not out of the question. That she would
desert her acolyte, flighty as the maid could be, was out of the
bounds of reason. Yr Is-ddwfn aethelings were not so thick on the
ground, and Prydion Mages even less
A kiss? Her eyes opened. From Shay? Aye,
indeed things had changed, and not for the better.
Unbidden by intent, she looked to the
copse—and found it empty. A sense of loss enveloped her, a feeling
as inexplicable as her tears, which had stopped as suddenly as they
had begun. She wiped the last of them away, looking all the while
to the overgrown birch where Mychael ab Arawn had stood.
He was gone, disappeared without a trace, and
she’d not had the courage to so much as say hullo. Vexation thinned
her mouth into a tight line. She needed better of herself.
“Rhuddlan is waiting at Carn Merioneth, and
Moira has sweet bannocks for you,” Shay said, breaking into her
thoughts. He rose to his feet and took her hand to pull her up.
“I’ll race you to the postern in the keep’s east wall.” The
challenge came with a grin, but before she could answer, a rustling
of leaves below had him reaching for a higher branch and levering
himself out over the limb on which they stood. “Good morn, Aedyth,”
he called down.
The old woman rose to sitting, brushing
leaves off here and there as she looked up into the tree. “Good
morn, Shay. Have you come to see us home then?” Her graying blond
hair was plaited in a crown around her head with parts of the braid
worked loose from sleep, but a tuck or two put the strands aright.
Her eyes were bright, her fingers nimble, the signs of age showing
mostly in the lines on her face.
“Aye, and give you first greeting. You made
good time coming north.” He dropped out of the tree and landed
lightly on his feet in front of her.
“As if these old bones would not,” Aedyth
exclaimed in mock affront, accepting the hand Shay offered. Once on
her feet, she brushed her skirts down. “If ’tis a race to the
postern you want, I warrant I can give you one, if you would but
even out the years a bit.”
His grin broadened. “What would you have me
do?”
“Drink the river dry and cross over the moon
while make I straightaway for the castle.”
“And I would still win,” he boasted with an
ingenuous laugh.
The old woman shooed him off, smiling, and
Llynya followed him into the trees. For the morning at least, she
was free.
~ ~ ~
Madron walked quickly through Riverwood, her
Quicken-tree cloak veiling her in the mist-bound shadows of the
forest morn, the hood pulled up to cover the loose flow of her
auburn hair. Not all of Balor’s cottars had run away when the keep
had fallen to Rhuddlan, and she did well to take care.
Sunshine broke through the gloom in places,
but did naught to lighten her mood. The day had barely begun and
had already gone awry. Mychael ab Arawn had slipped free of her yet
again. Recalcitrant, obstinate youth. She could help him, if he
would let her, but he would forever go his own way, or Rhuddlan’s,
playing into the elf-man’s hands as neatly as a hooked fish.
Despite the Quicken-tree leader’s interference, she would not lose
the boy, not as she’d lost his sister.
She came to a small stream, a freshet, and
lifted the hems of her cloak and dark green gown before stepping
nimbly across and continuing on her way.
Shay and Llynya were running in the forest
this morn. She’d let them pass her by a quarter league back. The
two of them had appeared carefree, but for the girl at least, ’twas
bound to be a fleeting state. The sprite’s destiny was about to
meet her head-on. Which brought Madron to her present problem and
her woodland task, forced on her by the Quicken-tree and their
damned brambling and tangling of the trees. ’Twould only get worse
with the coming of Ailfinn Mapp—if the mage ever did come.
And if she did not, where did that leave
Llynya? That Ailfinn had grown so powerful that she dared ignore
Rhuddlan’s summons was not out of the question. That she would
desert her acolyte, flighty as the maid could be, was out of the
bounds of reason. Yr Is-ddwfn aethelings were not so thick on the
ground, and Prydion Mages even less
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