The Shining City (42 page)

“Lewen, is it true what I have heard? Have ye and the Banprionnsa Olwynne . . .”

Lewen looked dazed but happy. “Aye, it‟s true indeed.”

“I canna believe it!” Fèlice cried.

“Neither can I, really,” Lewen said, smiling. “To think she would want me! I‟m the happiest man alive.”

“But what o‟ Rhiannon?” Fèlice demanded, having no time for diplomacy.

Lewen‟s expression darkened. “What o‟ her?”

“But she loves ye, and ye love her,” Fèlice said, her throat closing over in distress.

“It was no‟ true love,” Lewen replied. “She ensorcelled me.”

“Nay, she didna. She canna have,” Fèlice said softly and urgently, aware of the Banprionnsa‟s dark eyes upon them. “Ye ken she has no knowledge o‟ spells and suchlike. She has had no training in the Craft.”

“Aye, happen so, but she‟s cunning indeed,” Lewen said sharply. “Ye ken Nina believes she has a strong natural Talent. Why do ye no‟ believe she could have laid a compulsion upon me? It must be so, for I feel naught now.”

“Then how could ye have fallen out o‟ love with her so swiftly, if she had compelled your will with such strength?” Fèlice argued. “Canna ye see that it is a spell o‟ love upon ye now that has turned your eyes away from her so suddenly?”

She became aware of Owein turning towards her, frowning, and lowered her voice. “Please, Lewen. Rhiannon is in such distress. Could ye no‟ go and see her?”

“Olwynne thinks it best if I do no‟ hurt her any further,” Lewen said stubbornly, “and I think she is right. Olwynne says I must be careful she does no‟ ensorcell me again, which she would very likely do, I think, if she thinks I can help her escape justice. Olwynne says—”

“Olwynne says, Olwynne says,” Fèlice cried. “What o‟ Rhiannon?”

Lewen drew back, looking angry; then Olwynne was there beside him again, sliding her fingers through his and turning a cool, haughty look upon Fèlice, who at once bowed her head and curtsied.

“Good day to ye, Lady Fèlice,” the Banprionnsa said politely. “I hope ye are well.”

“Very well, thank ye, Your Highness,” Fèlice replied, and Olwynne nodded, gave a polite smile, and begged to be excused. Fèlice bent her head again and, arm in arm, Lewen and Olwynne went away down the library.

Owein disengaged from Edithe, much to her disappointment, and came up to Fèlice, asking her, with a look of most unusual gravity, if he could walk her back to the dormitory. She smiled and thanked him, but kept her spine stiff, knowing full well that Owein did not wish to flirt with her.

As soon as they had left the cool of the old building behind them, stepping out into the warmth of the spring sunshine, Owein began to speak. “What is wrong, Lady Fèlice? Why are ye angry with Lewen? Is it because o‟ the satyricorn?”

Fèlice nodded, blinking back tears.

“But why? I mean, I ken Lewen imagined he was in love with her, but it was a dreadful thing for him, to be enamoured o‟ some wild girl from the mountains with no name and no family, and one accused o‟ murder and treason to boot. It would‟ve ruined him—canna ye see that? If she was found guilty and hanged, and he was her partisan—well, I canna see him being chosen as a Blue Guard, can ye?”

“No, I suppose no‟, Your Highness,” Fèlice said.

“It is much better for him to have come to his senses now, afore the trial, afore he had to give testimony on her behalf. Connor the Just was a favorite here at the court, ye ken. Or maybe ye do no‟ ken. Certainly we were all rather surprised to hear ye performing that ballad about Rhiannon.

I mean, I ken ye meant no harm, and certainly it was a lively story and one the faeries all seemed to enjoy, but still . . .”

Fèlice was silent. Owein tried to see her face, but she kept her eyes resolutely fixed on the ground.

“I dinna mean to upset ye,” he said.

She said nothing.

“It was a most rousing performance ye gave,” he said teasingly. “Ye deserved your bag o‟ gold.”

“I gave the money to Rhiannon,” Fèlice said. “Even prisoners who have been granted liberty o‟

the tower must pay for their food and bedding, Your Highness, and at a price far greater than they would fork out at the meanest inn!”

“That was nice o‟ ye,” Owein said after a moment. When Fèlice still did not glance at him or smile, he said tentatively, “Ye are friends with her too, then? I had no‟ realized . . .”

“Aye, I am friends with her,” Fèlice said shortly.

“Is that why ye‟re upset with Lewen? For I heard she didna take his change o‟ heart well.”

Fèlice glared at him. “Why should she? They were lovers, Your Highness! He had sworn to jump the fire with her!”

“Really? I mean, I ken he said he wanted to, but I had no‟ realized he had made promises . . . but it can be o‟ no account. If she laid a spell o‟ love on him, it makes a difference, doesna it? He canna be held responsible—”

“It is your sister who has ensorcelled him, no‟ Rhiannon,” Fèlice said gruffly. She drew her handkerchief out of her reticule and discreetly blew her nose.

Owein stopped short.

“Never!” he declared. “Olwynne would never do such a thing! She has trained all her life to be a sorceress. Do ye really think she would just throw it all away? Besides, why should she need to?

She is a NicCuinn! Nay, it was that satyricorn girl who ensorcelled Lewen. I canna believe ye do no‟ see that. Lewen choose a wild girl from the mountains over Olwynne? That was what I could no‟ believe—no‟ that he‟s finally come to his senses and seen what was under his nose all the time.”

Fèlice turned to look up at him. “Your Highness, I traveled with Lewen and Rhiannon for more than a month. I saw them falling in love. It looked real to me. Indeed it did, Your Highness.”

“And ye ken so much about love,” Owein teased.

Normally Fèlice would have sighed and admitted she knew nothing, that she needed someone to teach her, but for once she was in earnest and would not be swayed by dalliance. “Nay, truly, Your Highness,” she said. “I swear Rhiannon kens naught about any spells o‟ love. She is very forthright. It is no‟ her way to be underhanded or secret in her dealings.”

“And ye think that is my sister‟s way?” Owein said, offended.

Fèlice dropped her eyes. “I‟m sorry, Your Highness. I do no‟ mean to offend ye.” She glanced up at him under her lashes. “It‟s just . . . do ye no‟ think it all happened very fast? One minute he is in despair over Rhiannon, and the next, he has eyes only for your sister?”

“I daresay the satyricorn‟s spells wore off,” Owein said stiffly. “Lewen and my sister have always been close. I was no‟ alone in wondering if they would make a match o‟ it. I was far more surprised to hear he had fallen head over heels for a satyricorn, especially one who he kent had killed a Yeoman.”

“Rhiannon is only half a satyricorn,” Fèlice said angrily. “And she killed the Yeoman to save her mother!”

“So she says,” Owein said coldly. “We will find out the truth o‟ it all at the trial, I daresay. Here we are at your dormitory. If ye will please excuse me?”

Then, with a slight bow, the winged Prionnsa turned and strode away, his bronze-red wings held up stiffly behind him, his hands clenched by his sides. Fèlice watched him go, feeling miserable; then she fled into her room and buried her face in her pillow, blotching it with tears that she told herself were for Rhiannon.

N
ina sat at her dressing table, hanging her antique amber pendant about her neck and looking at herself in the mirror. She looked well enough, in a gown of yellow silk with trailing sleeves slit to show crimson under-sleeves, and scalloped edging of the same color at hem and cuff and girdle. The dress suited her tawny coloring and was a good choice for a midsummer feast. Nina was not happy, however. She felt stifled in the heavy gown and wished she was barefoot in a forest somewhere, dabbling her feet in a stream and calling birds down to her hand.

She rose and, with a rueful twist of her mouth, asked the seamstress‟s assistant to help her disrobe. Nina hated not being able to dress and undress herself. It was one of the many things that she disliked about court life. A woman should be able to run and dance and pick up a child, she thought, not mince about in clothes so tight and heavy they made one faint and weary. Seven weeks they had been back at Lucescere, and it was seven weeks too long for Nina. She longed to be back on the road with her husband and son, their big old cart horses Sure and Steady pulling their caravans, able to go where they wished and do what they wanted.

Yet Nina had promised to stay in Lucescere for the royal wedding, still three weeks away. She could have gone to Caerlaverock, her brother‟s estate, which was only a few days‟ ride away, and returned in time for the wedding, but Nina felt a strong responsibility for Rhiannon, incarcerated in her bleak little cell in Sorrowgate Tower. Rhiannon had saved Nina‟s son, Roden, at great risk to herself, and Nina could never repay that debt. It was a small sacrifice to make, feeling stifled in the luxury and idleness of the royal court, when Rhiannon grew thin and sick and pale in the evil air of the prison.

Nina was feeling very troubled about Rhiannon. She was far too quiet and listless. The half satyricorn had always been a wild, fearless girl, quick with a blow or a curse, and ever unwilling to compromise. She would never have submitted to the restrictions of court dress just because it was fashionable. She would have scowled and demanded, “Why?”

“Ye ken, I‟ve changed my mind,” Nina said abruptly. “I will no‟ wear the dress to the wedding.”

The seamstress paused in her task of unhitching the many hooks at the back of the dress. “But, my lady, ye look so fine in it! And it has taken us weeks to make.”

“I‟m sure ye will find another lady to wear it,” Nina said. “I will wear something a little . . .

lighter.” She had to smile at the aghast expressions on the faces of the seamstress and all her assistants and said apologetically, “It will be very hot, ye ken.” She rose and found her purse and pressed a few gold coins into the woman‟s willing hand. “If ye could design something more to my taste?”

“Aye, my lady, o‟ course,” the seamstress said. “Ye would like something more like what the Banprionnsa Bronwen and her ladies wear. Tight and low cut? In gauze, perhaps? With artificial fins?”

Nina shook her head. “Silk,” she answered. “With none o‟ these trailing sleeves. They only dangle in the soup and knock over one‟s cup. And no buttons up the back. And no petticoats.”

She took a long, deep breath and added firmly, “And no laces!”

“Ye wish to start a new fashion?” the seamstress said doubtfully, her look telling Nina that she was neither young enough nor pretty enough to be a leader of fashion.

“Nay,” Nina replied, smiling. “I want to be comfortable.”

The seamstress‟s assistants exchanged rolls of the eyes, but Nina felt much more cheerful. She watched the seamstress and her girls sadly gather up the billowing mass of the dress and carry it away, and then dressed herself again in one of her favorite old gowns, shabby but comfortable, and went out into the living room.

Roden was standing on his head, his boots making dirty marks on the silk-hung walls. His constant companion, Lulu the arak, stood on her head next to him. They were sharing an apple, passing it back and forth between them. Nina smiled and bent her head down so she was face-to-face with her son.

“Ye quite comfortable there?”

Roden considered her question. “My head feels like it‟s blowing up like a balloon,” he said. “It‟s rather strange. But it‟s been more than three minutes now, which is my best ever record. I‟m trying to beat Lulu.”

“Ye‟ll never manage that,” Nina answered. “Ye‟re no‟ an arak, ye ken.”

“Nay,” Roden said regretfully. He was turning red in the face.

“Happen ye should come right way up now,” Nina said.

“All right,” Roden said and let his boots fall down to the floor with a clunk. He lay there for a while, breathing hard, then rolled over and took the apple from Lulu, who was still standing on her head.

“I‟m going to the prison to visit Rhiannon,” Nina said. “I‟m worried about her.”

“Canna I come too?” Roden demanded, sitting up. “I want to see her!”

Nina shook her head. “Nay, sweetie, I‟m sorry. I really do no‟ want ye going to the prison. I ken ye love Rhiannon and want to see her, but it‟s truly a most blaygird place, Roden. Ye willna like it. And I think Rhiannon is unwell. I wouldna want ye to catch jail fever.”

“What‟s that?” he asked through a mouthful of apple.

“A sickness ye get from the bad air in prison,” Nina said.

“Why is the air bad?”

Nina considered her reply. “It‟s shut up all the time,” she said after a moment. “The doors and windows are always locked up tight, so the fresh air canna get in.”

“Why do they no‟ open them up?”

“Because then the prisoners would escape.”

“Why do they want to keep them locked up all the time?”

“Because they‟ve done bad things and need to be punished for them.”

“But Rhiannon hasn‟t done anything bad. Why is she locked up?”

Again Nina had to think about the best way to answer him. “She killed a man, remember,” she said at last. “It‟s wrong to kill people, Roden.”