Dafyd noticed that the young man’s eyes kept straying toward the Tor in the distance and so tried to ease his mind by talking on about how the shrine would appear when finished and how the worship there would soon begin.

Taliesin did not hear a word, so Dafyd said at last, “But you did not come to hear me prattle on about the shrine. If you want word of Charis, you must ask her yourself. We have not seen the lady.”

Taliesin shook his head glumly and told Dafyd what had taken place the night Avallach had visited the Cymry camp, “So you see,” he concluded, “the matter is unresolved between us, and I am not welcome in the Fisher King’s palace or I would go myself.”

“Yes, I see,” said Dafyd. “Would it help if I were to bear a message to her?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Dafyd dipped his hand into the bowl for another loaf, took it, and tore it. “Well then, let us finish eating and I will go.”

Taliesin jumped up and pulled the priest by the arm. “Eat when you return.”

“Oh, very well,” the priest agreed. “I am going. Lend me your horse and I will be that much quicker away and that much sooner back.”

They walked back down the hill and Dafyd mounted the black, saying, “What message shall I bring her?”

“Tell her I will wait for her in the orchard Below the Tor. She is to meet me there.”

Dafyd rode to the Tor across the earthen causeway and up the steep, winding track to the palace gate. He was admitted without ceremony and entered the courtyard, where he dismounted and stood looking around for a moment. Yet again he was impressed with the grandeur that surrounded him-so unlike anything he had ever seen before, even in Constantinople.

He could see why Avallach’s people were called Fair Folk by their Briton neighbors: everything about them was strange and splendid-as if indeed they had come from another world. Perhaps the tales of the Westerlands were true; perhaps, as whispered by the hill folk, Avallach was the Faery King from the Isle of the Ever Living. Stranger things were possible.

This was not the first time Dafyd had entertained these thoughts. But the feeling behind them-that in setting foot on the Tor he was stepping into a world apart-that feeling was stronger now than at any time he could remember.

It would, he reflected as he contemplated the graceful stonework of the palace, take very little convincing to Believe that there was strong magic behind all he saw.

And yet, he knew Avallach and knew him to be a mortal man-had been befriended by him, had shared meat and drink with him, had slept under his roof, had baptized him in the lake that lapped at the grassy feet of the Tor. And although he and Collen had momentarily mistaken Charis for a vision of the Holy Mary-the recollection made him smile-it was a perfectly logical error, one anyone might make under the circumstances: they were tired and hungry from their long journey, apt to see anything; and besides, one rarely encounters such beauty in the world. Certainly they were not expecting to find anyone, let alone one so fair, guarding the shrine. The mistake was most natural.

Upon reaching the portico, he became aware of eyes watching him. He stopped and waited. Out of the shadows stepped the maid Morgian, hands folded before her, a demure smile touching her lips. He returned the smile but felt a watery chill strike through him.

“You are come to see Charis,” Morgian said, still smiling.

“Yes. Tell me, if you know, is she in her chamber?”

“She is. She has been expecting you this day.”

Dafyd’s eyebrows knitted in surprise. “How so? Until a short while ago I had no thought to come at all.”

Morgian inclined her head slightly, as if listening to someone standing beside her. “So you say.”

“Will you take me to her?” Dafyd gestured at the great brazen door which stood open. Morgian looked to the doorway but made no move toward it.

“You have come about Taliesin.”

“In truth I have.”

Morgian’s face clouded and she advanced slowly toward the priest. A thin tendril of fear snaked out and touched Dafyd’s heart. “She does not love Taliesin,” Morgian told him, her voice low and threatening.

“She told you this?” Dafyd had the sudden and inexplicable urge to flee.

“She has told everyone-even the singer himself, but he will not listen. She told him she would not come. He waits in vain.”

“I would like to see Charis now.”

Morgian nodded gravely. “Then you had better follow me.” She started toward the door, took a few steps, and then hesitated. “Perhaps I can help the singer.”

“Perhaps,” replied Dafyd, “but I will speak with Charis first and then we will see.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Did you think to go to him without telling me?” Avallach filled the doorway to Charis’ room. She straightened from pulling on her riding boots and faced him.

“How did you know?”

“Morgian told me,” he said, disappointment and anger roughening his voice. “She said Dafyd had come with word. You do not deny it?”

“How did Morgian know?” she wondered. “I was going to tell you. Dafyd has only just left.”

“When?”

“When I was certain.” She returned her father’s gaze directly. Avallach stood just inside the doorway, a hand pressed to his side as if the knowledge that his daughter meant to leave him had pierced him through. His face was the color of carved ivory behind the blackness of his beard. “I do not know if I love him, Father, but I know I want to try.”

“No.” He shook his head slowly. “I cannot allow it. We are a noble people; our race is a noble race.”

Charis moved around the table and laid her hands on Avallach’s arm. “Why have you come here this way?” she asked gently. “It cannot be Taliesin.” Avallach turned his face away. “Who spoke of joining the destiny of our races, of adapting to their ways-who said these things if not you? You gave them lands; you gave them a home.”

Avallach stiffened. “I did not give them my daughter.”

“No,” replied Charis softly. “I did that.”

“I will not have it,” he said through clenched teeth. “I will not! Our blood is pure. You cannot mingle the blood of royal Atlantis with these… these”

“Cymry barbarians?” Charis stepped away from him. “You were the one who said our future lies with them. And you were right; it is true. Every year there are fewer of us. Counting Belyn’s people, we were nearly two thousand strong when we landed on these shores. Now there are only a thousand left. Six children were born last year”

“Six! You see”

“None of them survived the winter! We are dying, Father. If we are to survive it must be with them, for we will die alone.”

“I did not mean” he began and stopped, looking at Charis helplessly. “It need not be this way.”

“There is no other way,” replied Charis firmly. “Our royal Atlantean blood means nothing to us here, Father. You know this; you have said it. Taliesin loves me-he wants us to marry. He has come back for me and I am going to speak to him.”

“If you want to marry, I will find someone-one of our own people. There are many in Belyn’s house who would marry you.”

“Tactfully put, Father,” Charis said wryly, “I might be more grateful were I one of your brood mares.”

“Better that than marriage to-to a Briton! I forbid you to do this,” he growled and raised his fist. “Do you hear? I forbid it!”

Charis went to him and knelt at his feet. She took his hands in her own. “I want this, Father. I want to make him happy.” Saying it to her father made it real to her, and she knew that it was true. Her heart had spoken. “I do love him.”

Avallach lifted a trembling hand to his daughter’s head. She lay her cheek against his knee and he stroked her hair. “You drove me away once, Father,” she said. “Do you remember?”

“I do.” The king made a choking noise in his throat. “And the memory brings me pain.”