Free The Breaking Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 1) by Jayne Castel

away. A long pause
stretched between them before the king finally spoke.
    “Very well – you may have the
land.”
    A thrill of victory surged through
Dylan, although he was careful to keep his face neutral. He was aware of the
aura of danger that suddenly crackled around him. Penda had agreed to his terms
but he felt as if he were standing in the center of a frozen lake, upon very
thin ice. One misstep and he would plunge to his death.
    “Thank you, Lord Penda,” he
nodded, rising to his feet to find Rodor still standing behind him.
    If the king looked coldly furious,
Rodor looked fit to explode. His face was contorted with rage, his cheeks
flushed.
    “Your man may have his place
back,” Dylan smiled at Rodor, showing him his teeth. “Now that I have my
answer, I will abuse your hospitality no longer. I shall ready my warriors to
leave with the breaking dawn.”
    Dylan moved away from the long
table, but had only distanced himself a couple of yards when Penda’s cold voice
hailed him.
    “Lord Cynddylan.”
    Dylan turned. “Yes?”
    “You have the land as far east as
Lichfield for now, but do not think it will belong to Powys forever. There will
come a day when Mercia will reclaim its territory – remember that.”
    Dylan inclined his head, and
returned Penda’s gaze. “And there will come a day when Powys does not answer
Mercia’s call – remember that.”
    Dylan turned from the Mercian King
then, and strode from the hall without a backward glance. His hand itched to
reach for his sword, but it awaited him in the entrance way beyond the doors.
All the same, he could feel Mercian stares knifing him between the shoulder
blades and hoped Gwyn was watching his back.
    It was done. He had received the
gift he had been waiting for – now it was time to be gone from Tamworth.
     
     

Chapter
Ten
    Rodor
Makes a Pledge
     
    “The Prince of Powys and his men have departed.”
    Rodor stopped before the heah-setl and fixed
the king with a penetrating stare.
    The king grunted, but did not bother to look his
way.
    Penda leisurely reclined in his high-back wooden
chair, watching his sons play-fight with wooden swords. It was a magnificent
throne – with arm-rests that had been elaborately carved to resemble two dragon
heads.
    “Milord,” Rodor began again. “Are you just going to
let Cynddylan leave?”
    Penda ignored him. His gaze remained upon Paeda and
Wulfhere. The boys were sparring, and the play-fight had suddenly turned
serious. Wulfhere, a year younger than Paeda, was starting to gain the
upper-hand – a move which had caused his older brother to snarl insults at him.
    “Arse-licking little shit,” Paeda spat, his face
red with the effort to keep his brother at bay. “You seek to ingratiate
yourself with fæder . I’ll beat you senseless for this later.”
    “Not if I get you first!’ Wulfhere snarled back,
before clubbing his brother on the side of the head with the blade of his
wooden sword.
    Paeda’s howls echoed up into the rafters.
    The queen rose to her feet, sweeping down from the
high seat to prevent the fight from deteriorating into a bloody brawl.
    “My Lord Penda,” Rodor’s patience had reached
breaking-point. “Cynddylan insulted you, before your entire hall. Will you let
that lie?”
    Those words drew the king’s attention. As Rodor has
suspected, Penda was out of sorts this morning. His face grew taut and his head
swiveled to histhegn.
    “You forget your place, Rodor,” he rumbled. “If he
had truly insulted me, his head would be on a pike outside Tamworth’s gates.”
    “Apologies, Milord,” Rodor bowed his head. “I spoke
hastily out of anger. Cynddylan’s arrogance galls me. He behaves as a base-born
mercenary. His demand was outrageous – surely you do not mean to let Powys rule
as far east as Lichfield?”
    Penda stretched his long legs out before him, and
crossed them at the ankles. He fixed Rodor with a level gaze.
    “I made a pact with Powys. In this instance,