rather starve.”
As the guards fell back in front of him, Galrion strode out of the camp. At the top of the rise he turned for a last look at Brangwen’s tent. Then he broke into a run, crashing through the underbrush, running across the road, and tripping at last to fall on his knees near the bay gelding. He wept, but for Brangwen’s sake, not his own.
II
The women’s hall was sunny, and through the windows, Brangwen could see apple trees, so white with perfumed blossoms that it seemed clouds were caught in the branches. Nearby, Rodda and Ysolla were talking as they worked at their sewing, but Brangwen let her work lie in her lap. She wanted to weep, but it was so tedious to weep all the time. She prayed that Prince Galrion might be well and wondered where he was riding on his lonely road of exile.
“Gwennie?” Lady Rodda said. “Shall we walk in the meadows this afternoon?”
“If you wish, my lady.”
“Well, if you’d rather, Gwennie,” Ysolla put in, “we could go riding.”
“Whatever you want.”
“Here, child,” Rodda said. “Truly, it’s time you got over this brooding. Your brother did what was best for you.”
“If my lady says so.”
“It would have been ghastly,” Ysolla broke in. “Riding behind a banished man? How can you even think of it! It’s the shame. No one would even take you in.”
“It would have been their loss, not ours.”
Rodda sighed and ran her needle into her embroidery.
“And what about when he got you with child?”
“Galrion never would have let our child starve. You don’t understand. I should have gone with him. It would have been all right. I just know it would have been.”
“Now, Gwennie, lamb, you’re just not thinking clearly,” Rodda said.
“As clearly as I need to,” Brangwen snapped. “Oh! My pardons, my lady. But you don’t understand. I know I should have gone.”
Both her friends stared, eyes narrow in honest concern. They think I’m daft, Brangwen thought, and maybe I am, but I know it!
“Well, there are a lot of men in the kingdom,” Ysolla said, in an obvious attempt to be helpful. “I’ll wager you won’t have any trouble getting another one. I’ll wager he’ll be better than Galrion, too. He must have done something awful to get himself exiled.”
“At court a man has to do very little to get himself out of favor,” Rodda said. “There are plenty of others to do it for him. Now, here, lamb, I won’t have Galrion spoken ill of in my hall. He may have failed, but truly, Gwennie, he tried to spare you this. He let me know that he saw trouble coming, and he was hoping he’d have time to release you from the betrothal before the blow fell.” She shook her head sadly. “The King is a very stubborn man.”
“I can’t believe that,” Brangwen snapped. “He never would have cast me off to my shame. I know he loves me. I don’t care what you say.”
“Of course he loved you, child,” Rodda said patiently. “That’s what I’ve just been saying. He wanted to release you in such a way as to spare you the slightest hint of shame. When he failed, he planned to take you with him.”
“If it weren’t for Gerro,” Brangwen said.
Rodda and Ysolla glanced at each other, their eyes meeting in silent conference. This argument had come full circle again, in its tediously predictable way. Brangwen looked out the window at the apple trees and wondered why everything in life seemed tedious.
Brangwen and Gerraent were visiting at the Boar’s dun for a few days, and Brangwen knew that Gerraent had arranged the visit for her sake. That night at dinner, she watched her brother as he sat across the table and shared a trencher with Ysolla. He still has his betrothed, Brangwen thought bitterly. It would have been a wonderful release to hate him, but she knew that he had done only what he thought best for her, whether it truly was best or not. Her beloved brother. While their parents and uncles always doted on Gerraent, the precious son and heir, they had mostly ignored Brangwen, the unnecessary daughter. Gerraent himself, however, had loved her, played with her, helped care for her and led her round with him in a way that was surprising for a lad. She remembered him explaining how to straighten an arrow or build a toy dun with stones, and he was always dragging her out of danger—away from a fierce dog, away from the river’s edge, and now, away from a man he considered unworthy of her.
All through the meal, Gerraent would sometimes look up, catch her looking at him, and give her a timid smile. Eventually Brangwen could no longer bear the crowded hall and made her escape into the cool twilight of Rodda’s garden. Red as drops of blood, the roses bloomed thickly. She picked one, cradled it in her hand, and remembered Galrion telling her that she was his one true rose.
“My lady? Are you distressed about somewhat?”
It was Blaen, hurrying across the garden. Brangwen knew perfectly well that he was in love with her. Every soft look, every longing smile that he gave her stabbed her like a knife.
“How can I not be distressed, my lord?”
“Well, true spoken. But every dark time comes to an end.”
“My lord, I doubt if the dark will ever end for me.”
“Oh, here, things are never as bad as all that.”
As shy as a young lad, Blaen smiled at her. Brangwen wondered why she was even bothering to fight. Sooner or later, Gerraent would hand her over to his blood-sworn friend whether she wanted to marry him or not.
“My lord is very kind. I hardly know what I say these days.”
Blaen picked another rose and held it out. Rather than be rude, Brangwen took it.
“Let me be blunt, my lady,” Blaen said. “You must know that my heart aches to marry you, but I understand what you say about your dark time. Will you think of me this time next year, when these roses are blooming again? That’s all I ask of you.”
“I will, then, if we both live.”
Blaen looked up sharply, caught by her words, even though it was only an empty phrase, a pious acknowledgment that the gods are stronger than men. As Brangwen groped for something to say to dispel the chill round them, Gerraent came out into the garden.
“Making sure that I’m treating your sister honorably?” Blaen said with a grin.
“Oh, I’ve no doubt you’d always be honorable. I was just wondering what happened to Gwennie.”
Gerraent escorted her back to the women’s hall. Since Rodda and Ysolla were still at table, Brangwen allowed him to come in with her. He perched uneasily on the edge of the open window while a servant lit the candles in the sconces with a taper. After the servant left, they were alone, face to face with each other in the silent room. Restlessly Brangwen turned away and saw a moth fluttering dangerously close to a candle flame. She caught it softly in cupped hands and set it free at the window.
