The Dragon Revenant - Katharine Kerr [196]
“Well, my sweet, it’s a strange road you’ve chosen to ride.”
“It chose me, Da, and a long long time ago.”
He nodded his agreement, his eyes distant, as he thought something through. Through the perfumed mist around them the sun came in shafts.
“A better road than mine,” he said at last, and he rose in the stirrups to catch a branch and break off a cluster of apple blossoms. “Want some?”
He broke the cluster in half, handed her a sprig, then tucked the other behind one ear with a laugh for the surprise on her face.
“A warrior’s like these flowers, Jill. Like them we have our splendor in the spring, and it’s over cursed soon. I’ve been lucky enough to see my summer through, but not a lot of us are. Think about that when you remember me.”
“I will, Da. Promise.”
He watched while she tucked the sprig behind her ear; then he turned and rode off without another word. Her eyes filled with tears, but she wiped them away, thinking how odd it was that her last sight of him would be with flowers in his hair.
Rhodry rode home to Aberwyn on a day that seemed to have been arranged by the gods as the perfect backdrop for spectacle: brilliantly sunny, yet cool with a soft spring wind that kept the banners snapping and the horses’ manes flowing. All along the road the grass and the spring wheat stood tall and green; the trees shimmered in new leaf. Farmer and lord alike rushed out as the procession rode by to cheer and wave to their new overlord. When they reached the city gates, they found them mobbed with well-wishers, and the city walls, too, were lined with a cheering crowd. As they worked their way along the twisting streets to the dun itself, women threw flowers and little children ran after the warbands, turning the trip into a ragged parade.
“Looks like they’re glad to see you, Your Grace,” Cullyn remarked.
“No doubt.” Rhodry grinned at him. “It means there won’t be war. They’d welcome the Lord of Hell himself if he had a clear claim to the rhan.”
From Cullyn’s slight and ironic smile, he knew that his captain agreed.
At the massive gates of Dun Aberwyn Lady Lovyan stood waiting, wearing the plaid of Aberwyn in her role as regent, but her kirtie was woven of the browns and reds of the Clw Coc to remind everyone that she was a lord in her own right as well. She was also wearing the ceremonial sword of the gwerbrets, slung over her shoulder in an antique baldric, because she was too short to carry it gracefully in a sword belt. As Rhodry dismounted, she strode to meet him, and the golden hilt winked and the jewels sent long sparks of sunlight around her face.
“Am I welcome here, regent?” Rhodry said.
“Always, my lord, to what is rightfully yours.” With a flourish bespeaking some practice, Lovyan drew the sword and handed it to him hilt-first. “It gladdens my heart to welcome you home.”
The crowd shrieked and screamed like banshees as Rhodry hoisted the sword and held it over his head so all could see. Cullyn stepped forward and smoothly drew Rhodry’s own sword so he’d have a free scabbard to sheathe the golden one, then fell in behind him as he and Lovyan walked into the dun. Their path was lined with servants and riders, all cheering and waving, and on either side the door the dragon banners fluttered in the wind, as if they too greeted the heir. Just inside stood a handsome dark-haired woman with her hands on the shoulders of a beautiful little girl, all scrubbed and combed and dressed in a cut-down version of adult finery.
“My wife, Your Grace,” Cullyn prompted. “And your daughter.”
From the way the crowd was watching him, Rhodry knew they expected a grand gesture; a simple acknowledgement of paternity would be far too paltry for the occasion. He knelt down in front of the child, whose enormous violet eyes studied him with all the haughtiness of a great lady. Around her clustered a gaggle of gnomes and sprites, and in the air above hovered a pair of sylphs. She brought such a feeling of wildness with her that seeing her was