He had his breakfast, which pleased his servants; he dressed deliberately in clothing his servants somehow found for him—black—and, resolved to mend his behavior, talked pleasantly with Uwen, who had been able to sleep late, too, which Uwen almost never could. He took a little bread and opened the square of window that would open and set it out for the pigeons, which he would do every morning he had leisure—he wanted to have his life quiet and the same again, and he did all those things he would do when his life was at its most even.
But after breakfast he excused himself to Uwen and said he was going across the hall. “I promise, Uwen,” he said. “I do most earnestly promise to go nowhere else without coming back for you. Rest. Do what you care to do.”
“I don’t distrust ye, m’lord,” Uwen protested.
“I deserve your mistrust,” he said. “And I am going to do better, Uwen. I promise I am.”
“M’lord,” Uwen said, seeming embarrassed. But there was little more he could say than that.
It was clear by the number of guards at Cefwyn’s door that Cefwyn was in and most likely alone: at least no other lord’s guards were standing about. He went across the corridor, trailing the two members of his guard that were obliged to go with him even this distance, and asked entry to Cefwyn’s apartment, half-expecting that Cefwyn would not grant it, and dreading the meeting if he did.
But the guards passed him through on standing orders, it seemed, which had never been revoked, and he passed through Idrys’ domain between the doors, finding that vacant, and so on into Cefwyn’s rooms, where Cefwyn sat at the dining table which he had had pulled over to the light of the window.
“M’lord,” he said faintly.
“Tristen.” Cefwyn started to get up, and it cost him pain. Cefwyn settled again with a sigh, and beckoned him.
“I didn’t know that you’d see me,” Tristen said, and came and took the chair Cefwyn offered. “I’m truly sorry, sir.”
Cefwyn reached out across the table and caught his wrist. “Tristen. I would have called you last night but they said you were abed.” “I was, sir. What did you want?”
Cefwyn laughed and shook his head, letting him go. “Constant as the sunrise. ‘What did you want?’ I wanted you alive, you silly goose. I wanted you well.”
“That’s very kind, sir.”
“Kind! Good gods. What’s ‘kind’ to do with it? I might have known you’d turn up unscratched.”
“I stole. I lied. I went where I knew danger was.”
“That fairly well sums it up.” Cefwyn shook his head and seemed amused instead of angry. “I knew every damn step of the way you’d taken. Uwen knew. I knew. Idrys knew, the moment you turned up missing, and you still got away from us.”
“It took Uwen a while to get a horse.”
“To get six squads of cavalry. Uwen had the sense not to go alone.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You should not have seen,” Cefwyn said soberly then, “what you saw that night. You shouldn’t have gone outside.”
He had half-forgotten the start of the business, or what had prompted him to the meeting Cefwyn was holding.
“Yes, sir,” he said, accepting Cefwyn’s rebuke.
“Heryn,” Cefwyn said, “was responsible for my father’s death. It turns out—for Elwynim deaths as well. Heryn Aswydd was on every side of the business, and he was seeing that messages went through him. If the message didn’t suit him—that messenger died. He was dealing with every Elwynim faction, dealing with me, informing my father with lies about my doings, informing my brother and informing any lord of any province who would listen to his poison. He was guilty, Tristen. And if there is war, as I fear there will be, he is in no small part responsible for that.”
“I think that he listened to Hasufin.”
“Your bogeyman in the tower. I don’t know who he listened to, my friend. But his own greed—and his panic when I began going through his tax records—made him desperate. He was, I am almost certain, directly behind the attempts on my life. Certainly he indirectly instigated them and possibly secured safe passage of assassins to get near me. Certainly with his men on patrol up by Emwy, it was easy for that bridge to be rebuilt and for any number of Elwynim to come across that route: his so-called guards passed them through like a sieve.”
It certainly made sense of a great deal that had happened. “I believe you’re right,” he said.
“You do.” Cefwyn seemed faintly amused, and then sober again as he leaned back in the chair and shoved it back a little to face him across the corner of the table. “Lucky for everyone you were able to get the lady Ninévrisé to come to Henas’amef. I dislike encouraging you to your folly, but I think there would have been a far worse issue without you. -Emuin did explain that you felt something was about to happen, and that you went for that reason.”
“I couldn’t defeat him.”
“Who? This Hasufin?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Forget the ‘sir.’ Forget ‘m’lord’ while we’re talking in private. Tell me the absolute truth. Tell me every detail you know and I shan’t interrupt.”
He did try. He began with stealing Petelly, and ended with their coming to Henas’amef; and once a guard came in to say a councilor wanted to see Cefwyn and once to give Cefwyn a note, for which Cefwyn excused himself a moment and wrote a brief reply, but Cefwyn would not let him go on until he had seated himself again and heard everything. Cefwyn made him tell about the Regent and the gray place. He made him tell about Ninévrisé meeting him there, and about what he had told Ninévrisé about his having the portrait. It was the longest anyone had ever listened to him, except Mauryl, and he was less and less certain, when he came to the business on the road, that Cefwyn wanted to hear him in that detail, but Cefwyn said leave out nothing. He was not certain that his talking to the Elwynim about the portrait might not make Cefwyn angry; but Cefwyn gave no sign of it. Cefwyn kept all expression from his face.
And when he had finished, and said so, Cefwyn nodded and seemed to think for a moment.
“You dream of this Hasufin. But you say he’s very real.”
“Very real, sir.”
“And can cause harm?”
“I think that he could. I think certainly that he moves the Shadows.
And the wind. He made the door come in. He cracked the walls. He made the balconies fall.”
“Certainly substantial enough,” Cefwyn agreed. “But he can’t come here.”
“The lord Regent said he could come where he had something to come to. Someone who listened to him. I think Heryn listened to him. Not well. And not the way the lord Regent did, because I don’t think Heryn was a wizard. I think it’s most dangerous if wizards did it.” “But to some extent, Hasufin could come here.”
“If we began to listen to him, he could, yes, sir, that’s what I think.”
“Very good reason not to do that, is it not?”
“I agree, sir. But he’s much stronger. Much stronger. And we should go there.”
“To Ynefel.”
“Yes, sir. We should stop him.”
“How?”
Tristen bit his lip. “I don’t know. I tried.” He felt the failure sharply.
“If the lord Regent had been stronger, maybe the two of us could have driven him back. We did, for a time.” “Could you and Emuin do so?”
He did not want to say the truth. But Cefwyn had expected him to be honest, and Cefwyn was listening to him. “Emuin is afraid,” he said.
“Emuin is afraid of him. —And the lady can’t help. She’s only just able to hear me when I speak to her. She could be in great danger. She’s not as strong as the lord Regent. Maybe she could learn—but I couldn’t say.”
Cefwyn seemed to think that over a time. “Tell no one else about the lady.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I have offered to marry her. She’s accepted. I expect to meet with her—in not very long. Should this wizardry of hers prevent me?”