Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [82]
“Well, here,” Lyssa said at last. “Surely you didn’t come all this way to talk about the rain.”
“I didn’t, but about Aderyn. He shows a real talent for the herbman’s trade, and I was wondering if you and your husband would consider apprenticing him to me.”
“I want to go, Mam!” Aderyn broke in.
“Hush! We’ll have to talk this over with your Da. Here, Nevyn, I know perfectly well this means he’d have to travel with you. I’m not sure I can let him go.”
“Mam!” Aderyn wailed.
“Out with you, then, if you can’t sit quiet. Go listen to your father for a while.”
Whining, reluctant, Aderyn dragged himself out of the chamber and slammed the door behind him. Lyssa settled back in her chair and looked Nevyn over thoughtfully.
“I’ve already lost one child. Two seems a bit much to ask.”
“I know, but he’ll be leaving you anyway for some kind of apprenticeship, sooner or later. I doubt me if he’ll ever be a bard like his father. Here, do you doubt that I’ll take good care of him?”
Lyssa considered, and as their eyes met, she remembered again, a little flicker of puzzled recognition.
“Well, I don’t. But will I ever see him again?”
“Of course. We’ll ride back regularly for visits.”
“That’s some comfort, I suppose. Here, I’ll tell you somewhat, because you’re the only man I’ve ever met who might understand it. When Aderyn was born, I had the strangest feeling about him. I knew that someday he’d leave me for a truly strange Wyrd indeed. It was my first time, of course, and truly, I was so tired and sick, just glad it was over. So the midwife laid Addo to my breast, and he looked up at me with eyes that saw. Most babies are like puppies, nuzzling at your breast with cloudy little eyes, but Aderyn saw. I knew he knew just where he was, and he was glad of it. And I thought then that he was marked out for a strange Wyrd. Do you think I’m daft?”
“I don’t. I’ve no doubt it’s the plain truth.”
Lyssa sighed and looked out the window, where the rain fell soft and steady.
“Herbs?” she said. “Is that all you’ll teach him?”
“A bit more than that, truly. Tell me, what do you think of dweomer? A tale, fit for one of Gweran’s songs and nothing more?”
“A bit more than that, truly.” Lyssa smiled as she consciously echoed his words. “So I thought. If that’s the truth of it, well, there’s no way I can stand between him and his Wyrd.”
“It would be a harsh thing if you tried—for all of us.”
Nodding, Lyssa stared at the rain.
“Will you wait until spring?” she said, her voice catching. “He’s such a little lad.”
“I will. And we won’t ride far the next summer. You’ll see him in the fall.”
The tears ran down her cheeks. Nevyn wanted to kneel at her feet, to call her Brangwen and beg her to forgive him. He decided that he could stay in Blaeddbyr, never take her son away, never leave her. The dweomer-warning hit him like a slap. Just as he did, she had a Wyrd to fulfill that he could no more soften than he could his own. And what will happen if you stay? he told himself. You’ll hate Gweran for having her.
“Shall I leave you alone?”
“Please. My thanks.”
Nevyn went down the spiral staircase and lingered in its shadow to watch the great hall. Over by the servant’s hearth, Aderyn was playing a game of Carnoic with one of the pages. Gweran was singing a ballad from the Dawntime, the sad tale of Lady Maeva and Lord Benoic and their adulterous love. Adultery. Nevyn felt the dweomer-warning and looked around for Tanyc, who was sitting with the riders and watching the bard with a tight, insolent smile. Every now and then, Gweran would glance his way with a smile of his own. Ah, ye gods, Nevyn thought, I’m too late—Gweran knows. Stanza after stanza reeled out until Gweran came to