Cry of Sorrow by Holly Taylor Page A

wish—” he shook his head with a rueful smile. “I wish a lot of things.”
    “Elen is all right, lad,” Talhearn said quietly. “You know the Dewin watch over her, and they say this is so.”
    “She is a prisoner. And I will not rest until she is freed.”
    “The Coranians don’t dare harm her,” Angharad reminded him.
    “As long as she does what she is told,” Lludd retorted.
    “Which she will, as long as they have Regan under their control,” Talhearn said. “Your sister will not endanger her Dewin’s life. Which is the only reason Regan is still alive. They usually kill ‘witches.’“
    “And yet, I think that Regan would rather be dead.”
    Talhearn smiled. “Well, Regan was always a brave lass, but I’m not so sure about her wanting to be dead. I understand that General Talorcan takes good care that Regan is as safe and as comfortable as possible. He is an honorable man—for a Coranian.”
    “General Talorcan is the man who killed my mother,” Lludd said harshly. “Just how honorable can he be?”
    “I would have thought you would leave the black and white judgments to Elen,” Talhearn said mildly. “You know that life is more complicated than that, even though you are only nineteen.”
    Lludd sighed. “When are you leaving to begin the testing?”
    “In just a few days,” Talhearn said. “Emrys and I—”
    “No,” Angharad said sharply. “I will go with you.”
    “Why not Emrys? He’s competent—quite good, really.”
    “But not as good as I am. Do I need to remind you what Anieron said about last week’s meeting at Eiodel? Havgan’s planning something, and you can be sure it will be nasty.”
    “What about Llwyd Cilcoed?” Talhearn asked. “You’re supposed to watch him.”
    “My sister can do it. Eiodar is as fond of Llwyd Cilcoed as I am. Just accept it, old man. I’m sticking to you like bark on a tree.”
    “If you go to Dinmael, try to get a glimpse of Elen,” Lludd urged.
    “Lludd,” Talhearn said gently, “we can’t go near Dinmael. We have to stay out of the settled areas and stick to the forests. The people will bring their children to us.”
    Lludd was silent for a moment. “I know,” he said at last. “It’s just that—”
    “We will free her one day.”
    “Yes,” Lludd said in a grim tone. “We will.”
    E LEN UR O LWEN , Queen of Ederynion, sat stiffly in the elaborate, canopied chair, her head held high. The pearls and silver thread that decorated the canopy gleamed faintly in the torchlight. Her auburn hair was held back from her face by a band of silver stitched with pearls. She wore a gown of pure white, and the silver and pearl torque of Ederynion. Her eyes went to the pearl ring on her hand, the ring her mother had given her the day before the final battle, when Olwen had died. The ring was to be guarded at all costs, for one day, in the fullness of time, it would be claimed in the name of the High King. Not that these fools knew anything about that.
    Darkness pressed outside the windows, vying with the shadows of Iago’s dark brown robe, black hair, and jet-black, tormented eyes. The Druid’s forehead was beaded with sweat as he forged the psychokinetic bonds that kept Elen in her chair.
    Regan, her Dewin, for whose sake she had sacrificed so much, stood across the room, her hands tied behind her, her brown hair loose and tangled. Regan’s face was a mask of contempt as the wyrce-jaga held the dagger to her throat. But there was nothing Elen could do. And so, for what seemed to be the hundredth time, she said, disdainfully, without a trace of the soul-chilling fear she kept locked inside, “I don’t know.”
    “You do,” Guthlac, the Master-wyrce-jaga of Ederynion insisted coldly. “And you will tell us what we want to know or the witch dies.”
    Elen did not even bother to look at Regan. She did not need to see in her friend’s eyes the longing to die and release Elen from this trap. For two years Elen had followed the