Free The Last Light of the Sun by Guy Gavriel Kay Page B

naming these woman-scents but it was immediately distracting. He was suddenly aware of the bed. She’d intended that, he knew. He knew her very well.
    Enid looked at the wine cups and the wide-necked flask. “Did he leave any for me?”
    “Not much, I fear. There may be some, and water to mix.”
    Enid shook her head. “I don’t really need.”
    She took the seat her husband had so recently vacated to go out with whichever girl had been waiting for him. In the softer light she was a presence sitting near to him, a scent, a memory of other nights—and other kisses of peace when peace had not been what she’d left behind when she went away. His restraint, not hers, or even Brynn’s, for these two had their own rules in this long marriage and Ceinion had, years ago, been made to understand that. His restraint. A woman very dear.
    “You are tired,” she said after a moment’s scrutiny. “He gets the best of you, coming first, and then I arrive—always hoping—and find …”
    “A man not worthy of you?”
    “A man not susceptible to my diminishing charms. I’m getting old, Ceinion. I think my daughter fell in love tonight.”
    He took a breath. “I’ll say, in sequence, no, and no, and … perhaps.”
    “Let me work that out.” He could see she was amused. “You are finally yielding to me, I am not yet old in your sight, Rhiannon might be in love?”
    There was something about Enid that always made him want to smile. “No, alas, and yes, indeed, and perhaps she is, but the young always are.”
    “And those of us not young? Ceinion, will you not kiss me? It has been a year and more.”
    He did hesitate a moment, for all the old reasons, but then he stood up and came forward to where she sat and kissed her full upon the lips as she lifted her head, and despite his genuine fatigue he was aware of the beating ofhis heart and the swift presence of desire. He stepped back. Read her mischievous expression an instant before she moved a hand and touched his sex through the robe.
    He gasped, heard her laugh as she withdrew her touch.
    “Only exploring, Ceinion. Fear me not. No matter what you say to be kind, there will come a night when I can’t excite you any longer. One of these visits …”
    “The night I die,” he said, and meant it.
    She stopped laughing, made the sign of the sun disk, averting evil.
    Or trying to. They heard a cry from outdoors. Through the window, as he quickly turned, Ceinion saw the arc of a thrown and burning brand.
    Then he saw horsemen in the farmyard and screaming began.
    ALUN THOUGHT HE’D SEEN his brother this way before, if not quite like this. Dai was restless, irritable, and afraid. Gryffeth, staking out the left side of the just-wide-enough bed, made the mistake of complaining about Dai’s pacing in the dark and received a blister-inducing torrent of profanity in return.
    “That wasn’t called for,” Alun said.
    Dai wheeled on him, and Alun, in the middle of the bed (having drawn the short straw), stared back at his brother’s straining, rigid outline through the darkness. “Come to bed, get some sleep. She’ll still be here in the morning.”
    “What are you talking about?” Dai demanded.
    Gryffeth, unwisely, snorted with laughter. Dai took a step towards him. Alun actually thought his brother might strike their cousin. This anger was the part that wasn’t quite as it had been before, whenever Dai had been preoccupied with a girl. That, and the fear.
    “Doesn’t matter,” Alun said quickly. “Listen, if you can’t sleep, there’s sure to be dicing in the hall. Just don’t take all the money and don’t drink too much.”
    “Why are you telling me what to do?”
    “So we can get some rest,” Alun said mildly. “Go with Jad. Win something.”
    Dai hesitated, a taut form across the room. Then, with another flung, distracted curse, he jerked the door open and went out.
    “Wait,” Alun said quietly to Gryffeth. They waited, side by side in the bed.
    The