more
than dutiful, and a smile that warmed her for a good while after. It even, a
little, eased her longing for Riquier.
4.
Aidan had no use for sleep, with Gwydion to share the night
with him. Even Morgiana trailed off at last, leaving them to themselves in the
lamplit dimness of the chamber. Gwydion’s squire snored softly just outside the
door; but for that, there was no sound. For a long while neither moved to break
the silence, with mind or tongue.
Gwydion laid his head on his brother’s shoulder and sighed. “Never,”
he said. “Never so long again.”
Aidan settled an arm about him. “No,” he said. “Never. How
did we stand it?”
“Did we?”
“I thought I did.”
“I, too. Until I realized that there seemed to be too little
of me. I kept groping for my other half. I even missed your temper.”
Aidan grinned and ruffled his hair. “Does you good to have
to fly into your own rages now and then.”
His brother shivered. “You know why I don’t dare.”
Aidan’s grin faded. He held Gwydion close, shaking him a
little. “I’m here now. I won’t let you shatter.”
“No; you’ll do it for me.” Gwydion laughed: a quick hiss of
breath. “Ah, brother, God knows I’ve needed you. Maybe it’s true what they say,
and there’s only one of us, but in two bodies.”
“Does that make me half a man?”
“Surely that’s for your lady to say.”
Aidan ran his hand down his brother’s back. “Saints, you’re
as stiff as a stone. Here, lie down. Don’t you know by now to let it out before
it sets solid? You don’t need a rage. A good, loud howl would do.”
“What, on shipboard?” Gwydion lay as he was bidden and let
himself be coaxed out of his shirt. He gasped as Aidan attacked a knot. “I was
well enough until I went to Rome. Maura was with me then. You know how she
dislikes to leave the land which she has made her own: how she pined when I
brought her to Caer Gwent, until her beasts came, and she made her garden, and
put down roots in the new earth. In Rome it was worse. She hid it from me; she
gathered all her strength, and used it all, and worked miracles in the papal
curia. One day she fainted at a cardinal’s feet. She was alive and blooming,
but she was dying: like a flower cut from its root.”
Aidan’s hands stilled. “You didn’t tell me.”
“What was there to tell? I prevailed on her to return to
Rhiyana. She was most unwilling. She wept that she should be so weak; that she
had failed in a thing that any mortal child could do. But she was fading, and
in the end even she could not deny it. I sent her back to Caer Gwent, to rule
in my place, and grow strong again. So she did, and so she has.”
“And you’ve been alone.”
“And I’ve been alone.” Gwydion’s voice was inexpressibly
weary. “Now I understand why Maura wept.”
“Prices,” Aidan said, easing the tension out of him, stroke
by long slow stroke. “We have blessings beyond the reach of human men: beauty,
agelessness, great magic. But there is a price. She is bound to the land, and I
to you, and all of us to one another. And there are so few of us; so pitifully
few.”
“It keeps us from growing too proud.”
“Or too vain, or too spoiled.”
“Power can be a sore temptation,” Gwydion said. “Everything
can be so easy: to make, to heal, to speak not in empty rattling words but in
the truth behind them. Yet it’s never enough. The world is so great, and I—even
I—so small...”
Sleep was claiming him, though he struggled against it. The
weariness in him was bone-deep. It dragged at Aidan. He thrust it away, pouring
out his own bright, glad strength. “Rest,” he said. “Sleep.”
When Gwydion gave up the fight at last, Aidan stretched out
beside him. His warmth was beast-warmth, his presence a joy so profound that
for a moment Aidan could not breathe. He laid his arm across his brother’s
back, body to gently breathing body, and matched the rhythm of his magic to the
slow
than dutiful, and a smile that warmed her for a good while after. It even, a
little, eased her longing for Riquier.
4.
Aidan had no use for sleep, with Gwydion to share the night
with him. Even Morgiana trailed off at last, leaving them to themselves in the
lamplit dimness of the chamber. Gwydion’s squire snored softly just outside the
door; but for that, there was no sound. For a long while neither moved to break
the silence, with mind or tongue.
Gwydion laid his head on his brother’s shoulder and sighed. “Never,”
he said. “Never so long again.”
Aidan settled an arm about him. “No,” he said. “Never. How
did we stand it?”
“Did we?”
“I thought I did.”
“I, too. Until I realized that there seemed to be too little
of me. I kept groping for my other half. I even missed your temper.”
Aidan grinned and ruffled his hair. “Does you good to have
to fly into your own rages now and then.”
His brother shivered. “You know why I don’t dare.”
Aidan’s grin faded. He held Gwydion close, shaking him a
little. “I’m here now. I won’t let you shatter.”
“No; you’ll do it for me.” Gwydion laughed: a quick hiss of
breath. “Ah, brother, God knows I’ve needed you. Maybe it’s true what they say,
and there’s only one of us, but in two bodies.”
“Does that make me half a man?”
“Surely that’s for your lady to say.”
Aidan ran his hand down his brother’s back. “Saints, you’re
as stiff as a stone. Here, lie down. Don’t you know by now to let it out before
it sets solid? You don’t need a rage. A good, loud howl would do.”
“What, on shipboard?” Gwydion lay as he was bidden and let
himself be coaxed out of his shirt. He gasped as Aidan attacked a knot. “I was
well enough until I went to Rome. Maura was with me then. You know how she
dislikes to leave the land which she has made her own: how she pined when I
brought her to Caer Gwent, until her beasts came, and she made her garden, and
put down roots in the new earth. In Rome it was worse. She hid it from me; she
gathered all her strength, and used it all, and worked miracles in the papal
curia. One day she fainted at a cardinal’s feet. She was alive and blooming,
but she was dying: like a flower cut from its root.”
Aidan’s hands stilled. “You didn’t tell me.”
“What was there to tell? I prevailed on her to return to
Rhiyana. She was most unwilling. She wept that she should be so weak; that she
had failed in a thing that any mortal child could do. But she was fading, and
in the end even she could not deny it. I sent her back to Caer Gwent, to rule
in my place, and grow strong again. So she did, and so she has.”
“And you’ve been alone.”
“And I’ve been alone.” Gwydion’s voice was inexpressibly
weary. “Now I understand why Maura wept.”
“Prices,” Aidan said, easing the tension out of him, stroke
by long slow stroke. “We have blessings beyond the reach of human men: beauty,
agelessness, great magic. But there is a price. She is bound to the land, and I
to you, and all of us to one another. And there are so few of us; so pitifully
few.”
“It keeps us from growing too proud.”
“Or too vain, or too spoiled.”
“Power can be a sore temptation,” Gwydion said. “Everything
can be so easy: to make, to heal, to speak not in empty rattling words but in
the truth behind them. Yet it’s never enough. The world is so great, and I—even
I—so small...”
Sleep was claiming him, though he struggled against it. The
weariness in him was bone-deep. It dragged at Aidan. He thrust it away, pouring
out his own bright, glad strength. “Rest,” he said. “Sleep.”
When Gwydion gave up the fight at last, Aidan stretched out
beside him. His warmth was beast-warmth, his presence a joy so profound that
for a moment Aidan could not breathe. He laid his arm across his brother’s
back, body to gently breathing body, and matched the rhythm of his magic to the
slow
Similar Books
