The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) (16 page)

Keenan and Aife stared at her, clearly baffled. “At least have one of the men accompany you,” Keenan said. “It’s not safe for you to go alone.”

“I’ve left the fortress alone many times before and always returned safe and whole.”

“Begging your pardon, milady,” Keenan said, “Your powers may indeed protect you from attack or similar threats, but they won’t shield you from foul weather.”

“I don’t fear the natural elements. Is it not from them that I possess my abilities?”

Keenan and Aife still appeared dubious. But compliant Aife said, “Let me help you dress, milady.” She went to the heavy wooden chest under the window. “You must take your fur-lined cloak. And wear two gowns for warmth, at least.”

“I think it would be much more practical for me to dress in my trews and a tunic, as I do when I practice with arms,” Dessia responded.

“I suppose that’s true,” said Aife. “Then you wouldn’t have your skirts dragging in the mud and getting wet.”

Seeing that the decision had been made, Keenan bowed and left.

Dessia stripped off the plain gown and began to dress in the garments Aife fetched from the chest.

* * *

Although she’d hoped the weather would let up before she set out, it was not to be. The rain still poured down, soaking her oiled leather cape. She’d finally convinced Aife that the serviceable garment—borrowed from one of the men—provided better protection than her heavy, fur-lined cloak.

Her gait was brisk and purposeful as she headed toward the Forest of Mist. She couldn’t say why she felt so certain Bridei had gone there. Perhaps it was because there was no other reasonable destination. If he’d decided to leave Cahermara permanently, he’d have traveled west or south and taken the main trackway. There was always the possibility he was meeting up with someone. But it seemed unlikely he would set out for an assignation in the middle of the day. If he was a spy and wanted to report his findings, there would certainly be better opportunities than this.

Besides, she no longer really believed he was a spy sent by her enemies. Her early conviction had melted away as she listened to him tell about his life and began to understand that what he valued most was his freedom. Being a spy would entail giving up some of his independence, and she didn’t think he would obligate himself in that way.

She’d also discovered that beneath his glib manner and facile charm was another Bridei: a boy who’d been enslaved and brutalized, but who had fought back, survived and even thrived. There was something admirable about the tale he told. He had courage and resolve and—she wanted to believe—a kind of integrity. His parents appeared to be good and decent people, and although he was estranged from them, she couldn’t help but think he must also possess those traits.

“You fool,’ she said aloud. “In a month, you’ve gone from contempt to admiration for this man. But you must never forget how skilled he is with words. It could all be a clever tale meant to gain sympathy.” She chastised herself with this thought, but her heart and head didn’t really believe it.

She reached the Forest of Mist and took the familiar pathway. As always when she entered these woods, she was reminded she was in realm beyond the mortal one. There was a timelessness here, as if the past and future were connected, or perhaps had become same thing. Her senses quickened and her skin prickled, not with warning but heightened sensitivity. There was sudden shift in her surroundings, and she thought how everything was more extreme here. The stark harshness of winter seemed to have arrived already, and the forest was barren and lifeless. Although it had stopped raining, the sky was dark, with no hint that the sun would ever shine again. Instead of the verdant green she was used to, this was a world in shades of gray, with only color visible the deep red of dried berries clinging to the dead and desolate-appearing vines and bushes.

A sense of loss and grief gripped her, and she suddenly felt an urgent need to find Bridei. She tried to hurry, but a light mist rose, obscuring her vision, and she had to move cautiously through the veil of moisture. Although she knew the way, the journey seemed to take longer than it ever had before. By the time she could see the silver gleam of the lake through the trees, her skin was clammy with sweat and she was breathing hard. Her heart seemed gripped with dread for Bridei. She must find him before it was too late.

At last she pushed her way through the clumps of winter-bare bushes and saw Bridei near the edge of the lake. He had taken off his cloak and tunic and was kneeling at the very edge of the water, leaning forward and gazing intently into the depths of the lake. The panicked dread that had haunted her all the way to the lake rose to fever pitch. She rushed forward calling, “Nay! Don’t do it! Don’t!”

He didn’t move as she reached him. Then, slowly, with great reluctance, he tore his gaze away from the lake and turned to look at her. “Don’t do what?” he asked.

Dessia swallowed, feeling very foolish. “I . . . I thought . . . that is . . .” How could she explain her ridiculous conviction he’d been about to throw himself into the water? “I was afraid you were going to fall in,” she said.

His brow furrowed as he perused her face. “You were afraid for me?”

Dessia stiffened, her fear and embarrassment turning to anger. “Of course not,” she snapped.

He stood, still studying her. “You were.”

“Well, perhaps,” she admitted. “But only because you’re here, in this place.” She glanced around at their surroundings, and another wave of shock swept her as she realized the bleak winter landscape had vanished. The waters of the lake reflected a world of green, and the surrounding forest seemed bursting with the ripeness of summer.

Bridei apparently guessed her thoughts, for he said, “Aye, it’s amazing, isn’t it. After half-freezing on the way here, I found myself actually growing hot. That’s why I took off my clothing. But I wasn’t going to jump into the lake. The water’s cold as ice.”

“But what
were
you doing?”

Bridei motioned. “Come closer and look.”

She knelt down beside him and gazed into the water. There was reflection of the sky and the trees around them, but nothing else. Bridei let out a sigh. “It’s gone now. I should have known it wouldn’t last.”

“What did you see?”

“The past, I think . . . or maybe it was the future. I don’t know.”

“But
what
did you see?”

“Blurry images. I recognized some of them. I saw my parents. I also saw myself when I was young. I didn’t want to relive what happened to me, but now that I have, I feel better somehow. As if by remembering, I can finally let go.”

“Let go of what?”

He looked up at her and distant expression on his face altered, as if he remembered whom he was talking to. “The pain . . . and the anger.”

“Who were you angry at?”

He grimaced. “The man who enslaved me, obviously. But even more than that, my father.”

She nodded. It was reasonable he would resent being sent away so young.

“I’m certain now that my father didn’t mean for those things to happen to me,” he said. “I don’t think anyone guessed I would travel so far from home, or encounter such danger.”

“Of course not,” she answered. It had struck her as she listened to the description of his father, a man who had loved his first wife enough to grieve for her for years, would never have sent his son away if he’d had any idea he would be enslaved and brutalized.

Bridei shrugged his shoulders, as if shaking off the mood. His gaze focused and his impossibly blue eyes bored into her. “Perhaps you should look into the water and see what secrets the lake holds for you.”

For some reason, she felt compelled to tell him the truth. She was tired of pretending to know magic, when in fact she’d never done anything magical in her life. “I won’t see anything. I never do. All these years I’ve chanted spells over the scrying bowl and searched its depths for hours and I’ve never seen a thing.”

“But you haven’t looked into the lake.”

His words aroused a sliver of hope. Perhaps she’d been looking in the wrong place all along. She moved closer to the water and peered in. All she could see was her own reflection, surrounded by the familiar landscape of the lakeshore. She concentrated, trying not to think how foolish she must look, garbed in the oversize rain cape.

Her eyes began to water with the strain of staring so intently. There was movement in the water beside her and another image formed. She knew a twinge of irritation. Why couldn’t Bridei leave her alone? She didn’t need his interference. But then she looked at the image of Bridei in the water and realized he was wearing a blue tunic banded with gold and green embroidery, a garment she’d never seen before. The next moment, she looked back at her own image and froze. The gown she was wearing was also unfamiliar. Around her neck was a gold torc that had been her father’s, and her hair was unbound, flowing over her shoulders. As she continued to stare in awe, the image wavered and then vanished, leaving only the reflection of herself in men’s clothing.

She stepped back from the water, her heart pounding.

Bridei came up beside her. “What is it? What did you see?”

“I saw myself,” she whispered. “And it must have been the future . . . but . . .” She shook her head, unable to accept what the image conveyed. What she’d seen was herself garbed as a queen. And at her side, as her consort, was Bridei ap Maelgwn.

Bridei watched as Dessia’s jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed. Whatever she’d seen had upset her a great deal. “You didn’t like it,” he said, “whatever it is you saw. I must admit, I didn’t like what the lake revealed to me either, at least at first.”

“Maybe the things it shows are false,” she said. “Maybe it’s some kind of trickery.”

“Do you really believe that? This place is full of magic. Why should the powerful forces that dwell here have any reason to lie?”

“I don’t know.”

The sulky tone of her voice amused him. “It’s you who’s lying. You’re lying to yourself. It’s just like earlier, when you denied you were worried for me. It seems to me you lie to yourself all the time. If something doesn’t fit the rigid plan you have in your mind, you reject it.”

“What do you know of me?” she demanded.

 He decided it was time to confront her. What he’d experienced in this place had stripped him bare of many of the things he’d believed about his life. It was time for her to face some hard truths of her own. “What are you afraid of?” he asked.

“You,” she said. Her green eyes glinted with anger. “I’m afraid of you.”

“Is that why you dressed up like a hunched-up old crone and came to the hall to listen to me? Why you ordered sweet young Aife to question me about my life?”

“I have to protect my people,” she said defensively. “I need to know who you are and whether you represent a threat to us.”

Bridei felt a burst of irritation. “And did you find out what you wanted to know? Am I a threat?”

She seemed to consider this very carefully. Finally, she said, “Perhaps not in the way I thought. But nevertheless . . . my instincts tell me I should fear you.”

She looked so young and vulnerable as she said this. So bleak and near despairing. He felt sorry for her. She tried so hard, seemed so careful never to give her heart, lest she end up having it broken. They were two of a kind, he thought. He used his mask of charm and carelessness to hide his feelings, while she used duty and responsibility to shield herself from the world.

At one time, he would have taken advantage of her defenselessness. Like the wolf that pounces on the weakest animal of the herd, he’d have seized this moment to get what he wished from her. She was as ripe for seduction as she’d ever be. But now that the opportunity was before him, he couldn’t do it. What he desired at this moment was to comfort her, to let her know she didn’t have to do everything on her own, to carry the whole world on her shoulders.

He reached out and touched her cheek. “You’re a fine queen. You do your best for your people and they love you.”

She raised her gaze to his, her green eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “But will it be enough? What if it’s not enough?”

“We can never know that,” he said. “My brother sacrificed everything for Arthur’s cause, and in the end, the Saxons prevailed. But that doesn’t mean he failed. In the years while they were fighting the Saxons, the enemy built their homes and raised their children in our lands. Over time, they started to become like us. They stopped being the brutal raiders who swept in on the eastern shore and plundered and murdered. Once they settled on the land and began to have ties to it, they became men rather than savages. Farmers instead of warriors.”

He sounded exactly like Rhun, Bridei thought with a shock. When he had turned into his brother, the dreamer who believed that good would prevail over evil in the end? It was a foolish, absurd way to look at life. He knew that, and yet, he was starting to hope that his usual cynical outlook was wrong.

He was jarred from his uncomfortable musings when he saw Dessia glaring at him. “Don’t you dare say such things!” she cried.

“What? What did I say?”

“You think I’ll fail, just as Arthur did. You’re trying to prepare me for the day when I have to submit to O’Bannon, or some other chieftain! You think because I’m a woman, I can’t prevail! That I can’t be a strong leader!”