Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) (37 page)

Yseult and Medraut dipped their heads to each other politely, acknowledging Ginevra's words. His behavior at dinner had been exemplary, but through Ginevra's memories, Yseult had seen the way he had been paying court to his aunt in the evenings before.

For some reason, Medraut wanted to seduce his uncle's wife.

She didn't want to know about this, not now, not when she had problems enough of her own. Besides, what was she to do about it? She had no facts such as the British preferred, a legacy of their many years under Roman rule. All she had were the stolen thoughts of a neglected wife. While many people in Britain respected Yseult's powers, just as many regarded them with fear or denied they existed. In Eriu, as one of the Old Race and daughter of the Kingmaker, her words would be heard. Yseult might no longer want that kind of unquestioned power, but at the same time, she could not help being frustrated that her knowledge was of little use.

As she nibbled on a dried apple, she found herself wanting to tell Cador about what she had discovered, ask him his advice. He would take her concerns seriously, since he knew her powers and discussed political matters with her as an equal. But her husband had sent her away; he wanted to live without her for a time. She would not be discussing implications personal or political with Cador anytime soon.

"Must you really continue on to Dyn Tagell tomorrow, Yseult?" Ginevra asked. "It's so pleasant having you here!"

"That's very kind of you, but I know you will soon be joining Arthur in Caer Leon, and I do not want to be underfoot when you are packing for your journey."

"True," Ginevra said regretfully. The regret was sincere, but at the same time Yseult caught a hint of relief. "Medraut has offered to remain here until we travel north, so that he and his men can provide additional protection to our party."

"Excellent idea." Yseult only hoped Medraut did not intend to abduct Ginevra rather than protect her; she was Queen of Cerniw in her own right, after all.

But that would bury any chances he still had to increase his influence with the Dux Bellorum, and from everything Yseult had seen and heard, that was still Medraut's chief ambition — to be named Arthur's heir. Dux Bellorum was not originally an inherited position, but many of the present kings of Britain derived their "kingdoms" from administrative positions held by their grandfathers and great-grandfathers during the time of the Romans. Who was to say that Dux could not also become an inherited rank? She found herself framing the question to Cador, looking forward to his thoughtful response.

But no — she was running away, avoiding any further conflicts with him for the time being. Which meant the end of their stimulating political discussions as well.

* * * *

Yseult was glad to leave the next morning. Perhaps she should have remained and kept an eye on Ginevra, but while Medraut's flirtation with his aunt had the potential for wide-reaching political consequences, it was also personal, and at the moment Yseult had no interest in getting involved. It might yet come to nothing.

As she and her party traveled the road north, a thick fog bank rolled in from the ocean, bringing with it dismal shifting grayness, much more in keeping with her mood than the sun of the day before. She was leaving Cador farther and farther behind. But he had told her he wanted to be alone — what else could she have done? The best thing for it was to go along with his wishes. Perhaps with time he would find he missed her and ask her to return. She was already missing him.

When they finally caught sight of Dyn Tagell, the relief Yseult felt was a physical thing. Brangwyn was there, her cousin and best friend, the one woman whom she could tell what happened.

Cador had once been her friend too; now he was her husband.

Even before they reached the gatehouse of the mainland fortress, servants and slaves came running forward to help them dismount and take their mounts and mules to the stable yard.

"Lady Yseult!" a young stable hand said as he took the reins of her gelding. "Welcome back to Dyn Tagell. We had not expected to see you so soon."

"It was a sudden decision."

He smiled. "We are glad to have you."

Yseult hoped Brangwyn and Kurvenal would feel the same way. Yseult's relationship with Kurvenal was problematic at best.

By the time the servants had unloaded their belongings from the cart, Brangwyn was already entering the mainland courtyard, a wide smile on her face. "Yseult! It's good to see you."

They embraced and gave each other the kiss of peace. "It is good to see you too, Brangwyn. I've missed you."

Brangwyn laughed. "And I you. Things are sadly quiet here during the winter months. What brings you so unexpectedly to Dyn Tagell?"

Yseult hooked her arm through Brangwyn's and together they walked towards the land bridge — and out of hearing distance of anyone else. "Cador said he wanted to be alone," she murmured and told Brangwyn how she had come to leave Lansyen.

"I should not have written," Brangwyn said when she was done.

The guards stepped aside as they approached; there was barely enough room for two on the narrow isthmus of rock leading to the promontory. Yseult gazed down at the gray-blue water of the harbor below — the place where she had first set foot in Britain, almost twenty years ago now. She had spent more of her life here than in Eriu, her home.

She shook her head. "I would have found out soon enough. What if it hadn't been until our next visit to Caer Leon or Glevum? Meeting Gawain with his new wife on his arm?"

"That was my thinking when I sent the letter." Brangwyn was silent for a moment. "Does it really bother you so much, Yseult?"

Yseult didn't answer right away, sorting out her own feelings. "I don't think so. But it took me by surprise. And Cador noticed."

Instead of heading straight to the lower hall, they walked together to the far edge of the near-island and the sheer cliffs that fell away to the churning sea. Mist curled up the sides of the Rock, and damp air clung to the tendrils of hair escaping from Yseult's thick braid. As they neared the highest point of Dyn Tagell, the wind became stronger, whipping their skirts around their legs.

Yseult pulled the stray strands of hair away from her forehead and gazed out at the ocean, known as the Erainn Sea here in Britain. Past the unquiet waters below, to the west and north, lay her former home, the island of Eriu, the land that had never felt the influence of the Romans — until now, and the coming of the religion of Christ.

Suddenly Yseult wanted to go home. It had only been two years since she had last visited, but nothing was keeping her here in Britain now. Kustennin had reached the age of choice and was King of Dumnonia in more than just name. And Cador had sent her away.

They stopped at the edge of the cliff. "So, were you fooling yourself all these years? Do you love Gawain?" Brangwyn asked, giving Yseult a sharp look.

Yseult pulled her cape tighter. Trust her cousin the ask the difficult questions. "Love? No. But it was strange how much it hurt when I read of his marriage."

"Ah, Yseult. Why did you marry Cador if you felt this way for Gawain?"

"I don't know what 'this way' is, Brangwyn! Yes, it hurt, but it also hurt when Cador told me he didn't want to hear my explanations, when he told me he wanted to be alone."

"And you, my dear cousin, do not need to be told anything twice."

"No, I do not."

Brangwyn gazed at her as if she were a riddle she had almost solved. "You know, it's odd, and forgive me for saying this, but I think you understand very little about love, Yseult. Love is not always like what you had with Drystan —
rarely
is even, praise the gods. Perhaps you love both Gawain and Cador, in different ways, but were unable to recognize it. The question is, who do you love more?"

The idea that she might love either of them, let alone both, was too new for Yseult to make any sense of it. Love Cador? They had gotten off to a bad start, with Cador lying to her about Cwylli and Yseult overreacting, but they had slowly been negotiating their way to a good life together, comfortable and undemanding, when the news of Gawain's marriage arrived — and the next conflict. But love?

"Let me put it another way," Brangwyn asked. "Who do you most miss now?"

The answer was surprisingly easy. "Cador."

She felt her cousin's impatience even before she heard it in her voice. "Then why have you not spoken to each other for a week?"

Yseult turned away, anger flaring. "Because Cador would not speak to
me
— and then when he finally deigned to again, he told me not to say anything."

"And you think he meant it?"

"Of course not! The next day, he accused me of
not
speaking with him. After which he told me to leave." To Yseult's surprise, she heard her voice break on the last word.

To her relief, Brangwyn ignored the sign of weakness. "And so you did."

"I have my pride."

"There is no doubt of that."

Yseult could feel the affectionate impatience in the words, and she turned back to her cousin. "And you? Would you stay if told to leave in such a fashion?"

She had thought the question rhetorical, but Brangwyn merely shrugged. "Perhaps. If the man who told me to leave meant enough to me. If he was worth fighting for."

If he was worth fighting for.
Yseult gazed at her cousin's fine features, repressing a hint of resentment; what experience would Brangwyn have with being turned away? She had been with Kurvenal nearly as long as the two of them had been in Britain.

Brangwyn shook her head. "Yseult, you and Drystan had a love the bards sing about, a love that may well outlive either of us in legend, but it never had to stand the test of time — over a dozen years of marriage, separations and temptations, mistakes and harsh words. I may not have been told to leave in so many words, but I have stayed and fought even without the words, and in a situation much more serious than yours, which is no more than a minor incident of misunderstanding and misplaced pride."

Yseult stared at her cousin, stunned. Brangwyn had never told her of any kind of conflict with Kurvenal as serious as that implied. Had she and her cousin truly grown so far apart?

She touched Brangwyn's elbow. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need. Kurvenal and I made it through, and we're stronger for it." But she had looked away, out to the gray ocean, in the direction of what was once home.

Yseult found that she was afraid to ask what had happened; she hadn't been there for her cousin when Brangwyn needed her, and she hardly deserved to hear the story now.

"Of course you weren't there," Brangwyn said, reading her thoughts effortlessly as they used to do. "For years, our lives have only touched in passing. At least we have seen each other a bit more often since Kurvenal took the position here at Dyn Tagell."

At the price of the destruction of Caer Custoeint, her home for nearly ten years.

"We all lose homes, Yseult," Brangwyn said quietly. "We have both lost several. Our lives since the battle of Caer Baddon have been the exception, not the rule, even though we might have been tempted to see it otherwise." She took Yseult's arm and turned around with her to view the new buildings of Dyn Tagell. She traced the faint scar above Yseult's jawbone with one finger before she spoke again. "You nearly lost one too not so long ago."

Yseult felt a faint smile crook up one side of her mouth. "Are you speaking of a home or a life?"

Brangwyn put one arm around Yseult's waist, drawing her close. "A life is a kind of home, don't you think?"

"That's one way of putting it." She thought of Drystan, visiting her mind after his death, almost indistinguishable from her own thoughts for the space of an afternoon. Was he homeless now?

They leaned their heads together, gazing across the promontory, one of the many homes they had shared over the years.

"Yseult, I want you to think about something," Brangwyn said, straightening, her hand still on Yseult's waist.

It sounded ominous. Yseult grimaced. "Yes?"

"I think I understand now one of the personal truths by which you have defined your life. You may not like it."

Yseult stepped back, folding her arms in front of her chest. "Whether I will like it or not, you can hardly not tell me now, after that introduction."

"I only wanted to warn you."

Brangwyn had closed her mind to Yseult; whatever she had to say, she wanted to say it in words, not thoughts and feelings. "I am warned. Go on."

"Yseult, even as strong and independent as you are, in many ways you have defined your life by what you had with Drystan — and what you lost. That experience seems to have taught you that love can only exist under hopeless circumstances, forced into a state of constant renewal. Like the way the two of you kept ending the relationship and beginning again, ending and beginning. And then every time you found your way back into each others' arms, it was almost as if you were freshly in love again, wasn't it?"

Her cousin had been right; Yseult did not like the implication that she was dependent on a man, even a dead one. "In a way it was, yes."