Silver Silence by Joy Nash

wise.”
    She shut her eyes briefly. “Then…I cannot go with you. I am sorry.”
    Myrddin gazed at her in silence for a long moment. Then he simply sighed, and bowed his head. When he raised it again, she was struck by the vast weariness in his eyes.
    “As you wish. I see I was mistaken in thinking you were old enough to follow this path. In truth, you are still a child.” So saying, he planted his staff in the dirt. Turning, he strode toward a cleft in the rocks edging the meadow.”
    “I am not a child!” Breena called after him.
    He paused and looked back. “Then prove it. Come with me. I give you my word that I walk in Light, and do the will of the Great Mother. But then,” he added softly, “you know that, do you not?”
    She inhaled a sharp breath. Though Myrddin’s aura was not visible to her, she could feel his magic, vibrating with the same perfect frequency as that of the Great Mother’s stone. In that moment, she would have staked her life on the old Druid’s sincerity.
    “I do know it,” she said.
    “Then come with me. Your magic is needed. Not only by Igraine, but by tens of thousands of Britons whose lives and future depend on her safety.”
    It was the hint of desperation, and the vivid fear in Myrddin’s clear eyes that decided her.
    “All right,” she said. “I will.”

Chapter Four
    R hys was, at heart, a coward.
    Why else had he awakened Trevor before dawn, to mumble a ludicrous tale of an errand in the coastal town of Isca Dumnoniorum? Because it required a sennight to travel there and back. A sennight in which he would not have to face the hurt in Breena’s eyes.
    Rhys did not for a moment think Trevor believed his story. The taciturn Caledonian’s eyes had narrowed in suspicion. But in the end, he had merely grunted and turned over on his pallet. Rhys had collected his meager belongings and fled.
    He did not actually mean to go to Isca Dumnoniorum, of course. He’d simply camp in the hills across the swamp. His harp and Hefin would be company enough. When had he ever had more?
    The village was silent, and the journey through the mist uneventful. Scant hours later, Rhys lounged at the mouth of a south-facing cave, a small fire warming the morning’s chill. Leaning back on his elbows, he watched Hefin draw lazy arcs against a blue sky.
    Briefly, he considered joining his animal companion aloft. All he’d need to do was shuck off his clothes and call his shape-shifting magic. What a relief it would be, to take to the sky in his falcon form, leaving his human troubles far below on the ground. But much as Rhys craved the mindless oblivion of his animal self, he knewhe would not cast the spell to throw off his humanity. Shape-shifting was dangerous deep magic.
    When Cyric had been Guardian of Avalon, he’d forbidden deep magic. Now, with Rhys’s grandfather dead, the stricture was not absolute. But that did not mean the Druids of Avalon called such power lightly. They did not. Rhys had shifted to falcon form only a handful of times in his life, when the need was dire. Gwen, who possessed similar magic, was more familiar with her wolf form. Thus far, Rhys’s shifting had not resulted in disaster, though more than once it had been a near thing. It was not wise to tempt the gods.
    Heart heavy, he gazed out over the swamps. A braver man would have stayed on the island, and faced the hurt and humiliation in Breena’s innocent eyes. But Rhys’s courage failed miserably where Breena was concerned. He hoped that seven nights hence, when he returned for the harvest feast, it would not be so difficult to face her. By that time, surely, the burning in his stomach would have lessened, and the horrible feeling of having destroyed something indescribably precious would have settled into a dull ache in his heart. Once the feast was done, he would leave Avalon.
    It would be a long time before he returned.
    He shifted his weight on the unyielding ground. Why had he imagined visiting the isle would