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seriousness, and paused. “But the trees keep the Wood-born
nearly as isolated. We’ve had no true bards visit Cerisild since I
was very young.”
    Telyn sat up straighter. Cerisild, the city
in the heart of the Wood, was remote and mysterious. There were
still few people who had traveled there despite the fact that trade
and commerce had flourished between the Three Realms since the end
of the Great Wars. Those who had ventured into the deepest reaches
of the forest relayed tales of Cerisild’s unusual beauty and a
surprisingly large population.
    “Perhaps if you’re not otherwise contracted
after the spring rites, you might consider visiting our city?”
Mithrais continued. “There are many who would relish hearing the
latest news from outside the Wood, especially my father.”
    “I have no obligations after Rothvori and
would be glad to come,” Telyn accepted eagerly. “I will make
certain to discharge my duty directly to your father. For whom
should I ask when I arrive?”
    “Gwidion, Lord Cerisild.”
    Despite Mithrais’ mild tone, Telyn’s jaw
dropped at the unexpected information. He had just named himself
the son of one of the most powerful men in the Three Realms. She
rose and offered respectful obeisance.
    “It will be an honor, my lord.”
    Mithrais made a gesture of protest. “Out
here, I’m only a Tauron warden,” he stated firmly, and his smile
widened to become genuine. “My mother finds my calling most
unsuitable, so I make it a point to remain on active duty as much
as possible.”
    “Your knowledge of court becomes clear to
me.” Telyn found herself smiling back. “I have never met the
Princess Marithiel, but I’ve been told that she is...” Telyn
searched for an acceptable word, finishing with,
“...formidable.”
    “Worse things have been said of her, I
daresay,” Mithrais countered with grim humor. His expression
changed to that guarded mask she had glimpsed the night before, and
he smiled mirthlessly. “In Cerisild, we are much less inclined to
follow the rules of etiquette, although my mother has always
insisted on the formalities due her rank.”
    That alliance had cemented the Sildan Kingdom
into the largest of the Three Realms, and Telyn knew the story
well. The Lords of the Wood had largely been kings in their own
right until Gwidion had been the first to visit Belthil in more
than a century. In reuniting the common bloodline sprung from
intermarriage with the fair folk who had once made the Wood their
home, King Amorion and Lord Gwidion had healed a long-standing rift
between their people.
    Telyn sobered when she remembered something.
“I have heard that Lord Gwidion gave your mother and brother
co-regency over the Wood,” the bard said softly, and the Westwarden
nodded curtly.
    “Yes, but he is still a great man.” Mithrais
looked fiercely protective. “The injury that cost him the use of
his legs has impaired his spirit, not his judgment, as my mother
would have it believed.”
    “No one who knew him at court believes that,”
Telyn reassured him. “I was not fortunate enough to meet him
myself, but all others speak of him with genuine respect.”
Mithrais’ gaze returned to her and softened somewhat.
    “That’s good to hear. My father has endured
much from Marithiel for the sake of alliance since his
accident.”
    Although Gwidion had made a yearly visit to
court before his injury, neither his eldest son nor the princess
had visited during the last three years to pledge their fealty to
the King in his stead. If the bard read the carefully checked anger
in Mithrais’ words and eyes correctly, it seemed that all was not
well in the house of Cerisild.
    Telyn began to ask a carefully phrased
question regarding their absence from court, but an odd sensation
of urgency robbed her of voice. She turned, the query forgotten as
another crest of that strange, intermittent vibration flowed
through the clearing and made the bard shiver. Mithrais, still
leaning reflectively