The Dragon Revenant - Katharine Kerr [172]
“No doubt,” Aderyn broke in. “Your Grace, grave matters are afoot, beyond, perhaps, what any of us could know.”
His words made Cullyn feel strangely cold and solemn. For as long as he lived, he would remember that moment at the table of honor: Lovyan, leaning forward, her blue eyes deep and shadowed with some private thought; Calonderiel, his lips half-parted, the goblet dutched in his hand as he turned to her as if in support; Aderyn himself, with his white hair swept up from his forehead in two peaks like an owl’s horns and his enormous dark eyes that seemed to look far into a future that none could see but him. Yet, at that moment, Cullyn had an odd instinctive glimpse of that future, and the even odder feeling that someday he and the elven warleader beside him would play an important part in it.
“So great things are on the move, are they?” Cullyn said to the dweomerman.
“They are. We’ll talk later, captain, but I’m going to need your help.”
“You’ll have it, of course.” With a nod to the tieryn, he rose, then made her a bow. “My lady, with your permission, I’ve somewhat that needs attending to.”
“By all means, captain.”
“My thanks, my lady. Cal, I’ll see you in a bit. Come sit at my table for dinner, will you?”
“Gladly. I’m an archer, not a horse soldier, but I feel more at home in a warband anyway.”
Cullyn strode off, heading for the stairway up to the women’s hall. Soon, he knew, he’d be riding over half of Eldidd on Gwerbret Rhodry’s business, and there was something he wanted done before he left. He’d only gotten to the first landing when he met Tevylla coming down with Rhodda clinging to one hand and a basket in the other.
“I was just going to look for you,” she said. “Rhodda and I were thinking we’d have our noon meal outside.”
“Good idea. I’d best come with you, then.”
Since the day was sunny and warm enough if you were out of the wind, they took the chunks of sweet bread and pot of soft cheese in the basket out to the sheltered rose garden in a curve where two half-brochs met. Although the roses were still naught but mulched sticks, the lawn there was green again, and Rhodda was happy to sit on the grass and pretend to share her meal with her imaginary friends, the ones she called gnomes. Cullyn and Tevylla sat down on a stone bench nearby. Now that the crux was here, Cullyn found himself utterly tongue-tied until Tevylla gave him an opening.
“How’s my Merddyn these days? I never seem to see him anymore, except from a distance.”
“He’s been working hard, and I’m pleased with him, though I’ll ask you not to tell him I said that. He’s got a good hand for a sword and the right amount of courage—enough to make him fight, but not enough to make him do stupid things in a scrap.”
She winced.
“Well, my apologies. I don’t suppose any mother wants her son to go for a rider.”
“None that I know of, truly. I think you bewitch your young men, Cullyn. They all want to be just like you, and they never think once of what you risked to become the man you are.”
“That’s true spoken, and it aches my heart. But lads are like that. You never think that you could be the one to die in battle, not till you’re twenty or so, and by then, well, all you know is the warband. But here, I didn’t mean to trouble your heart about his future.”
“Tact’s never been a weapon in your armory, has it?” But she was smiling at him.
“It hasn’t, at that. I’ve never been much for words. Somewhat of a pity, now.”
“Indeed? Why?”
He shrugged to gain a little time, wishing that he could think of some elegant or flowery phrase, wishing that he’d asked one of the bards for advice. Women were supposed to like it, weren’t they, when you said fine words to them? She was watching him with her head tilted a little to one side.
“You know,” he said at last. “That widow’s black doesn’t suit you.”
“Indeed? Well, it’s not truly my choice to wear it, you know.”
“If you were the captain’s woman, you could have it off and be done with it.”