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over a snowy white smock rose from a graceful curtsy. Her girdle was a fine silver chain, wrapped once at the upper waist and doubling back over her hips. The front of her bodice was laced with white silk ties, and her torque had a triangular pendant from which a sapphire dangled. Her long, red-gold hair was loosely wrapped with a blue ribbon. She had a generous mouth and bright, blue eyes under slender red-gold brows. She held out her hand to Gwydion. “Susanna ur Erim, Uthyr’s Bard.”
    “Been here long?”
    “No, I just arrived last month.” Her eyes cut to Griffi. “I haven’t been here much longer than he has.” As she looked at the young Druid, her eyes glowed, finding an answering glow in Griffi’s fresh face. She bowed to Amatheon. “You are both most welcome here.”
    A tall, older man with dark hair lightly silvered and mild gray eyes stood by diffidently, patiently waiting to be noticed. He wore a sea green tunic and his torque was silver with a pentagon-shaped pendant, a single pearl dangling from it. Amatheon caught the man’s eye and grinned. “Uncle Cynan! You look well,” he said, slapping the man’s back. “Being Dewin here must agree with you.”
    “It does, Amatheon, it does.” He smiled, and made a slight bow to Gwydion. “Greetings to you, Dreamer,” he said.
    “So formal, Uncle Cynan? I remember when you dawdled me on your knee and fed me sweets.”
    “Oh, yes. That always made Celemon angry.” At the mention of his mother, Gwydion froze. Amatheon’s eyes cut sharply to Gwydion, but he did not speak. Cynan colored slightly and looked to Uthyr. Absorbing Amatheon’s more relaxed stance, Uthyr laid a light hand on Gwydion’s arm. “Come, I have somebody else for you to greet.”
    Uthyr led Gwydion to a man waiting at the other end of the table. The man stood stiffly, a fixed smile on his face. His reddish gold hair hung in curls to his shoulders. His red tunic and leggings were embroidered with silver-threaded hawks. His boots were red, dyed to match the tunic and the tops were turned down, showing flashing rubies. His blue eyes were cold.
    “Madoc,” Gwydion murmured. “That popinjay! What’s he doing here?”
    “Why he’s here for the birth.”
    “He hoping for a still born?” Gwydion asked, bitterly.
    Uthyr froze and turned slowly toward his brother, his eyes wide with shock. “Is that what you have dreamed? Is there something wrong with the child?”
    “Oh, Uthyr, no. No.” Gwydion put his hand on his brother’s arm, gripping it hard. “It’s just, it’s only . . .”
    “It’s only that you hate Madoc? He’s my half brother, Gwydion. The same as you and Amatheon are. He is Lord in Rhufonoig and serves me faithfully. You will treat him politely. Come, do as I bid you.”
    Gwydion raised one eyebrow, his mouth tightening.
    “All right, Gwydion,” said Uthyr in an exasperated tone. “Do as I beg you, then. Greet him and try to be polite. His wife just gave birth to a daughter, and died doing so.”
    “I’m sorry for that,” Gwydion said quietly. “Bri was a lovely woman. And she deserved better than the husband she got.”
    “Most of them do,” Uthyr said dryly. Together, Uthyr and Gwydion approached Madoc, who had been watching them narrowly.
    “Madoc,” said Gwydion, as he briefly inclined his head.
    Madoc smiled even more widely, but his blue eyes were cold. “Gwydion. How very, very good to see you!” He nodded toward Uthyr. “Perhaps, Gwydion, you can calm him down. He’s as nervous as a cat about Ygraine. I keep telling him that nothing will go wrong. Women have babies every day.”
    “I was sorry to hear about Bri,” Gwydion said quietly, his eyes never leaving Madoc’s face.
    Madoc’s smile faded slightly. “Yes, poor Bri. I miss her sorely. But the child does well, so we must be thankful for that.”
    “Hear anything from your father?” Gwydion asked casually.
    Madoc’s eyes narrowed. “Not a thing. Just after the Queen died he