The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [128]
“Valandario’s been telling you and I have been telling you that dweomer demands that a man keep his feelings under control. Do you see now what we mean? Ye gods!”
“You have my true and humble apologies, O master. Here, since I’ve seen Perryn, I can scry him out whenever you or Liddyn need my aid.”
“And doubtless we will. He’s got to be caught.
“True enough. I wasn’t thinking. It was just seeing our Jill so … well, so broken and so shamed. It ached my heart.”
“It aches mine, too.” Nevyn realized then that part of his anger at Salamander was only a spillover from his rage at what had happened. “I only wish I could come join you. If you’re riding south, maybe I will. It depends on how things go here.”
“Where are you, by the by?”
Nevyn managed a laugh.
“My turn for the apologies. I’m in the gwerbret’s dun in Aberwyn.”
“Ye gods! I’m surprised Rhys will let you cross his threshold.”
“Oh, he bears me no particular ill will. Lady Lovyan asked me to come with her and pretend to be a legal councillor. She’s going to try one last time to get Rhys to recall Rhodry.”
“No doubt the hells will melt first.”
“No doubt. On the other hand, Rhys loves Aberwyn, and he might do what’s best for her in the end.”
When Salamander looked profoundly skeptical, Nevyn sighed in agreement. Being stubborn was a crucial part of a noble-born man’s honor, and Rhys, like all Maelwaedds, would never betray his.
After finishing his talk with Salamander, Nevyn went to the open window and leaned on the sill to look out. From his chamber high up in the broch, he could see the gardens, a long reach of lawn lit with a hundred tiny oil lamps, where the ladies of the court were having an evening entertainment. Minstrels played, and the noble-born danced among the flickering lights. He could hear them laughing, half out of breath, as they circled round, stamping and slapping their feet in time to the harps and wooden flutes. Ah, my poor Jill, he thought, will you ever be as happy as they again?
His anger came close to choking him, a cold fury with Perryn, with Rhys, stubborn men who insisted on having what they wanted no matter what the cost to anyone else. Rhys was the worse, he decided, because his refusal to recall his brother could plunge Eldidd into open war. And then all those noble lords below would ride in a circling dance of death, this entertainment long forgotten. He pulled the shutters closed so hard that they banged like thunder in the chamber and turned away to pace back and forth. Finally he shook the mood away and turned to the brazier again.
When he thought of Rhodry the image appeared in an instant. He was standing, his back to the wall, in a crowded tavern and watching a dice game while he sipped from a tankard. At times, when Rhodry was in a particular melancholy mood, Nevyn could reach his mind and send him thoughts, but tonight he was preoccupied and oddly enough, not at all unhappy. At times he smiled to himself as if remembering a triumph. Most odd, Nevyn thought. Why isn’t he brooding over Jill?
When someone knocked on his door, he canceled the vision. Lady Lovyan came in, her plaid cloak caught at the shoulder with a ring brooch set with rubies winking in the candlelight.
“Have you had enough of the dancing, my lady?”
“More than enough, but I came to see you for another reason. A speeded courier just rode in from Dun Deverry.” She handed him a piece of parchment, tightly rolled from its long sojourn inside a message tube. “This is supposedly for my eyes alone, but I doubt if Blaen would mind you reading it.”
After the long ritual salutations, the letter itself was brief: “I am in Dun Deverry in attendance upon the king. He tells me only that he’s most interested in talking with a certain silver dagger known to you. Would the dragon roar if our liege usurped one of his privileges? By the by, Lord Talidd seems