The Winter Prince (The Lion Hunters:01)(33)

It was hours past midnight. The rest of the household slept. Into the deep unbroken silence that followed your final question I barely managed to whisper the words, “My lord King, finish with her.” I drew a deep breath and pressed my hand to my shoulder, regretting that I had neglected the burn there. So I stood, uncomforted, alone.

“You will leave in the morning,” Artos said to you at last; “and the boys will stay with me. They were to stay in any case. I will not let my nephews’ minds be twisted by your treachery.”

Gareth suddenly burst out with fretful sorrow, “Oh, Mother, how could you?” Devoted to you as they are, none of your sons expressed any doubt as to your guilt.

Agravain muttered fiercely, “I’d count it lucky should you pay such notice to any of us.”

This you ignored, and asked of Artos, “Have I leave to travel south to visit our mother—yours and mine—before I return to the Islands?”

Agravain snapped, “Anyone fool enough to talk to the high king like that—after practicing witchery on his heir—”

“Agravain,” you said gently.

He looked away. “Excuse me, Mother,” he murmured bitterly.

“No need, Agravain,” Artos said. “Yes, you may visit Igraine. I will even provide you with an escort. They will be ready to leave as soon as you have gathered clothes for the journey. Your menagerie, the rest of your belo c oft. ngings, and your servants will be sent after you. No one will be told of this meeting, but you will leave tomorrow.”

“The menagerie is my gift to you.”

Artos sighed. “Spare me, Morgause. Your gifts to Lleu have been sufficient.”

“Is that all?” you said.

“There is more I could say,” Artos answered evenly, “but none of it is necessary.”

Lleu lifted his head impulsively to look at his father, and at the sudden movement you turned on him. “Prince of Britain,” you said with real hatred, “indeed. You are so young, so frail! Hardly more than a rare ornament, a plaything, to be used and discarded at leisure.”

“Lleu’s no more frail than any of your own boys,” Artos said tersely. “As to playthings, you seem to find more amusement in your collection of peacocks than in your husband’s children.”

“And truly your other son is more useful to me,” you replied, glancing at me. Agravain stared with narrowed eyes, envious, desperate for your favor. All your children are.

“Medraut fought honestly enough against you to prevent Lleu from being hurt,” Goewin cried. Her loyalty shamed me.

“No need, Goewin,” said Artos, as he had to Agravain. “I have finished. All of you: enough snarling at one another.”

You bowed deeply to Artos and kissed his hand. “Then I will take my leave of you and prepare for my journey. I thank you for your lenience, my lord.” You turned to Lleu and knelt before him. “And you, little lord,” you said softly, holding out your hands, “have I your pardon?”

He glared at you and answered vehemently, “No. You don’t have my pardon. And I think you can guess why I would rather not take your hands.”

“You know I would not have slain you in your father’s house,” you said.

“I know,” he replied. “You might not understand: it was knowing you did not mean to slay me that frightened me most.”

You answered with a full smile, glowing and warm in the dim light. “I do understand,” you said. “That was my intention.”

At dawn I fled to the mines, and stayed almost till sundown. You were gone when I returned. The household was still unsettled; your servants huddled together in whispering pairs or else were busy packing your belongings. I could not face your children, though it meant little to them whether or not I met their eyes. I sought solace in the young bats, and Goewin found me there, standing under the eaves outside my chamber. When she came close I opened my cupped hands, and the bat I held blinked sleepily at her in the failing daylight. She touched its silken back gently. “They trust you now,” she said, “even the grown ones.”

“It is very peculiar,” I answered quickly, “because no one—” I stopped, and glanced at her to smile apologetically. “They are beautiful, aren’t they?”

She gazed at me and said, “You seem so tired.”

“I am tired.”

“You could have easily let Lleu die, or even arranged his death yourself, this last week. Your hands are so strong you could crush that delicate creature you hold, but you do not hurt it.” She c&#xyoursighed. “Medraut, do you ever dream of anything but your mother?”