‘And would you have us round up every soul in the Greenwood and take them with us?’Gavron asked.‘How many would go willingly, do you think?’He smiled gently and shook his head.‘Many in Glascoed—in the whole world, I imagine—were raised on tales of your City, Fola.Most dismissed them as no more than tales.Much as they dismissed tales of Barwon’s betrayal.’
Ifan scowled at that; Gavron pressed on, as though taking no notice.‘Some of us, though we had no certainty, chose to believe that the City of the Wise truly did exist, somewhere.A fact is more powerful than a symbol, and the example of something real—of a place where life is lived as you dream it might be—makes efforts feel worthwhile that might otherwise seem in vain.But Glascoed was such a place, too, in its past.A harder place, maybe, without the blessings of the First Folk.But a free place, where lives were lived well, without fear of tyranny.It is our home, and we would see it become such a place again.’
‘Well said!’Calbog roared, pounding his fist on the table.
‘But if it is hopeless…’ Ifan ventured.
‘Hope lives as long as we hold to it,’ Gavron said.‘I, for one, would hold to it a little longer.’
For all their hope, Fola could not help but fear their dream could never be.The City was a place without toil, insulated by magical artifice from the deprivations and suffering that seemed so common elsewhere, with little cause for strife beyond competition for respect and renown.Even death itself had been defanged by the Great Tree, its fruits of rebirth, and the birds who carried back the memories of those who died by misfortune.Pillars that upheld the City’s egalitarian way of life and guaranteed its people their total freedom.Could anything of the sort be achieved here, in the hard world beyond the walls?
Reason told her no, yet the strength, resilience and courage of these people stirred her.This was another thing of beauty, like the troupe’s care for Siwan.To respond to suffering with hope; to choose to struggle for a bright, impossible dream.She would not take that from them, though her own hope felt withered and brittle.
‘Hope will not turn back an army on the march,’ she said.‘But the truth may.’
‘What truth?’Ifan asked.
‘The root of the haunting,’ Fola said.‘The blood that mortars this kingdom’s foundation.This haunting has already cost Owyn his father.It may cost him his kingdom, if he does not give it up willingly.If we can make him understand that truth, will he surrender his crown to save his people?’
‘Fola, what are you saying?’Gavron leaned towards her, furrowing his brow.
‘You know him well, Ifan, or you did once,’ Fola said.‘What do you think?’
Ifan planted his elbows on the table and pressed his chin to his folded hands.‘Ynyr demanded Owyn’s life.’
‘I will deal with the wraiths,’ Fola said.‘There are other paths to justice than bloodletting.’
‘Owyn never wanted the crown,’ Ifan murmured.‘It is an obligation.The question becomes how his desire for relief from that burden will balance against his sense of duty.’
‘His duty is to his people,’ Fola argued.‘If the haunting does not end, they will go on suffering, or face subjugation by the Mortal Church.’
‘Our detractors would use that same threat of subjugation to argue against our cause,’ Gavron pointed out.‘If Owyn casts aside the crown, and with it the powers that have defended the realm for generations, what is to stop Alberon and the Church from seizing the kingdom?’He shrugged and chuckled wryly.‘But ours has never been a path of caution, Ifan.There is right, and there is wrong, and we are on the side of right, whatever it costs.And it is not right to allow a kingdom to endure on a foundation of brutality and lies.’
Ifan met Fola’s gaze.Always his eyes were like windows into a furnace—burning, feverish and determined.Now, they flickered, as though a cold wind stirred the flame.
‘Will you show Owyn what you showed me?’Ifan asked.
‘No,’ Fola answered.‘A conjured wraith is far from powerless.Ynyr would likely tear Owyn apart before saying a word.It is frankly astonishing that he let you escape with your life, seeing that you are Barwon’s heir.’
‘But he is more than that,’ Robiann piped up.She stood and planted her palms on the table.‘Since he became count, Ifan has done all he can to support the cause of freedom in Glascoed, hasn’t he?Maybe this ghost knew that.’
‘Maybe,’ Fola said carefully.‘Suffice to say, the risk of presenting Owyn to the wraiths that want him dead would be great.’
‘Then what do you propose?’Ifan asked.‘That we speak with him?Mere words will not convince him that the history of his kingdom—of his family—is a lie.He believes himself descended from a hero, not a villain.He will never accept the truth.’
‘He may,’ Fola said.‘We won’t know unless we try.’
‘And how do you propose to have this conversation?’the druidess sneered.‘Do you think the prince will give audience to a fugitive?’
Fola chuckled to herself.‘With a few hours of preparation, I can approach him in a way he can’t refuse.’
Ifan looked at her quizzically.‘I wonder why you are helping us, and what your city stands to gain.’He put up a hand to prevent her answering.‘I wonder at it, and at why you do not flee the quagmire that our kingdom has become and return to your home.But it seems to me that we can either accept your help, or be slaughtered.’He turned to Gavron.‘What do you say?’
Gavron stroked his stubble.‘I say we let her try, and make what preparations we can in case she fails—by which I mean no offence, my lady, only to be practical.’
‘Do I seem so easy to offend?’Fola had hoped for a laugh in response, and got only a few confused expressions.She cleared her throat.‘With a bit of luck, by this time tomorrow the prince will have tossed aside his crown and the army at your gates will have scattered.But first, I should eat something.’
That provoked a few chuckles, at least.She stood and left them to their own planning, then went to join Colm and the others at the far end of the table.Colm had already secured a bowl of porridge with honey and a slice of rye bread with jam for her breakfast.In between bites of his own, far more substantial meal, he and Harwick were engaged in an arm-wrestling contest, much to Spil’s annoyance and Siwan’s delight.Colm pitted one of his smaller arms against Harwick while he went on eating with the others.Fola laughed along and ate a few bites, but the honey was cloying on her tongue, and the bread nearly tasteless.Not any fault of the baker, she was sure.She could nearly hear Arno’s reminding her to eat while she spent days hurling herself at the tangled snarls of an unsolvable problem.Little in her life had seemed as snarled as this.Before long, she returned to her room.There was a great deal to be done before her night-time meeting with the prince.
