Daughter of the Sea

XX: Song

"He did," she conceded. "It has occurred to me that this—whatever it is—is what he sought. And if it is, I wish I knew where he'd heard of it. There's nothing of the name in any legends that I know."

Curiosity flickered within him, a quickening, like the rustle in a clump of grass that draws the hunter's eye. He read over the lines again, sinking into them, their mystery a twinkling path that pulled at him seductively. "Did you notice this? The wording specifies that the ring is forbidden to the people of Llyr. It says nothing about anyone else."

Angharad blinked, looking rather owlish in her surprise, and took the parchment back from him. "How did I not...." She read silently for a moment, and he tried not to be distracted by how charming she was, winding a long red-gold strand of hair around her finger, one puzzled dimple creasing the corner of her mouth. "How odd. Not that it makes a difference, really; if we don't have a reason to go I'd hardly think anyone else would either. But I suppose if it's taken literally..."

"The Folk take everything literally," Geraint remarked. "It's one of their most charming and irritating qualities."

"And you know this from experience?" Angharad returned, raising an eyebrow.

Geraint grinned. "Stories, my love, always stories. You could fill volumes with tales of the Folk, and their pattern is as clear as these lines." He tapped the parchment. "They will exploit every unspoken condition, dodge the spirit of an agreement while fulfilling it to the letter, and turn any arrangement to their advantage with indisputable logic. It's why it's so perilous to deal with them, if you do it with any thought of deceit. If these are the terms they agreed to, they will abide by them, but it doesn't make them less dangerous." He studied her face, a trace of anxiety pulling at him. "What are you thinking of doing?"

Angharad hesitated. "I don't know, exactly. But somehow, I've got to communicate with them. Something to do with this." She gestured to the pendant dangling below her throat. "My jewel has been behaving strangely, and this morning it was in my dream."

"A new one?"

"Mmm." She related it to him, in vivid detail, and he stared at the parchment to hide his alarm at the calamity it seemed to foreshadow. "So you see," she concluded, "this gem is certainly magic, but it's never been active before, and that it should become so now, with everything else that's happening...perhaps it's coincidence, or perhaps not. But the Folk might be able to tell us, as they gave it to Mother, and Pentre Gwyllion is the only way of contacting them that we know. Actually..." She reached behind her neck to fumble with her silver chain, and to his surprise, removed it. "Speaking of this. I want you to keep it here, safe, for me."

The silver crescent dangled in the air from the chain, the gem throwing slivered fragments of rainbow light upon the blanket. Geraint looked at it with some disquiet. "Keep it? Why? Don't you always wear it - as a symbol of your identity?"

"Yes," Angharad said soberly, "but I have another. This one was given me at my ascendance ceremony, but before that I had a plain one with no gem. I shall go back to wearing it for a time." She looked troubled. "Achren will be here any day, and it seems prudent to keep it hidden from her, as far away as we can - at least until we know something of its nature, and whether she could even use it. Eilwen and Arianrhod are in agreement and...well, I thought of you."

He took it gingerly. The metal was still warm from her skin. "I can hide it somewhere. What should I do if it...um...behaves strangely?"

She bit her lip. "I hope it won't, for you. I've worn it so long I suspect it's connected to me, and should stay quiet when separated. But keep your eye on it, and let me know if anything strange happens."