“Please, please, do not send me away again. Let me go to him freely, so that I may return freely. Do not put this between us.”

“Charis, you leave me no choice.”

She raised her head. Avallach’s lips were pressed into a firm line, but his hand was soft against her hair. “There is always a choice, Father-if we want it.”

He looked away. “This is more bitter to me than death.”

“No,” Charis said sharply. “You do not mean it. You cannot bind me to you with false feeling.”

“There is no falsehood in me!” he cried. “Our line has remained pure for a thousand generations.”

“Atlantis is lost; it is gone and will never be again. But I am alive, Father. Alive! And I cannot live in a world that has died. Our so illustrious line will end here-is that what you want?”

“There are others… our own people.”

“Where are they? Let them come forward and declare for me as Taliesin has done.” She gripped his hands very hard as if willing him to understand. “There is no one, Father.”

“Wait but a little. Perhaps you will change your mind.”

“How long would you have me wait? How many seasons have passed since we came to Ynys Prydein? How many more must pass?”

“Your place is here, among your own people,” Avallach insisted.

“I am dying here.” Charis lifted her hand and put it against her father’s cheek. He stared at her stubbornly. “Every day I die a little, Father. If I stayed I would become like Annubi- which is worse than death. I grieve for Annubi, but I will not become like him.”

Avallach stiffened and rose to his feet. “And I say you shall not leave. I swear by my life that you will not!” He stormed from the room.

Charis listened to his heavy footfall fade. Now what? she wondered. I cannot go like this. I will not. I must find a way to soften Avallach’s heart. Taliesin will understand. Oh, but he is waiting-I must take word to him.

She went at once to the stable where a groom met her at the stable door. “We have caught but one small rat today, Princess Charis. How is the merlin?”

“He is well, but I did not come about his food.”

“Oh?”

“I need a horse at once.”

The groom’s placid smile faded. “Do not ask me, Princess Charis. I cannot allow you to have a horse.”

“The king?”

“He said you were not to have the gray or any other mount.”

“I see,” said Charis, glancing around quickly. “What is that horse being readied there?”

“Why, that is mine, Princess,” answered the groom. “I am going out to the foaling in the meadows beyond the marsh.”

“Then you can take word for me.”

“At once, Princess.”

“Good. This message is for Taliesin.”

“The barbarian harper?”

“The Briton bard,” Charis replied firmly. “Tell him… Ah, tell him I am prevented from meeting him. Say that Aval-lach must be reconciled. Tell him to return to his people and that I will send word to him there. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Princess. Where will I find the bard?”

“He waits in the apple grove,” she said. “It will not take you out of your way.”

The groom nodded once and hurried off to finish saddling his horse.

Morgian waited until the groom reached the gates and then stepped from the shadows to hail him. “Here!” she called, running after. “Wait!”

The youth reined up. “Princess Morgian.”

“Charis has changed her mind,” she explained, moving to the horse’s head. “I am to take the message.”

The groom glanced back at the palace. “Well…”

“She thought better of her plan,” Morgian went on hurriedly, “and asked me to take the message.” She smiled and entwined her fingers in the horse’s mane. “Some things are better dealt with by a woman.”

“That is true,” allowed the groom slowly. “Perhaps I should”

“Give me the horse. Princess Charis does not wish her message to be delayed even a moment.” Morgian smiled again and reached for the reins.

The stablehand swung himself down and helped Morgian into the saddle. “You may go back to your duties now,” she told him. “I will return to Charis as soon as I have done as she asked.” She flicked the reins and started down the track.

Sitting beneath the bough of an apple tree, Taliesin heard the hoofbeats of a horse coming up the track from the causeway. He stood and went to the grove entrance to meet the rider.

“Morgian!” he said in surprise as she came up, looking beyond her for the one he had hoped to see.

Morgian noticed his glance and said, “She is not coming, Taliesin. She sent me to tell you.”

Taliesin walked slowly toward her. “What did she tell you?” The young woman looked away. “She must have told you something. What did she say?”

“She will not come”

“Tell me!” Taliesin’s voice boomed in the peaceful grove. “Tell me,” he repeated more softly.

Morgian’s face wrinkled with distaste, as if the words she was about to speak were bitter in her mouth. “Charis said, ‘Go to him, Morgian. I cannot. I do not love him, but he will not listen. He will make me go with him. I am weak and I would go-and hate myself for going. We are not meant to be together. My place is here with my father. Tell him I will not come.’ “ Morgian paused and looked Taliesin in the eye, as if defying him to disBelieve her. “That is what she said, and the telling brings me no pleasure.”

“I see,” replied Taliesin. He regarded the young woman carefully. There was no way of telling whether what she said was true. The words she spoke sounded like those Charis might say. But hearing them from Morgian’s lips…

“Will you reply to her?” asked Morgian.

“Yes, tell her I will not leave until she comes to tell me herself. I will not force her to go with me-if that is her fear-but I will hear it for myself from her and no one else.”

“She will not come.”

“Just tell her. I will wait at the shrine of the Savior God.”

“Very well.” Morgian nodded, turned the horse, and started away. A few paces along she called over her shoulder, “How long will you wait, Taliesin?”

“Until Charis comes to tell me herself.” He turned abruptly and started for his horse. He did not see Morgian’s cool smile as she watched him swing into the saddle and ride away.

It was nearing twilight when Morgian slipped unseen into the palace. The torches and rushlights had not been lit and the corridors lay in deep shadow. She hurried along, her sandals slapping the smooth stone, her red-trimmed cloak billowing behind her as she flew up the steps leading to a small upper room. Reaching the door she stretched her hand toward it, and a voice from inside said, “You may enter, Morgian.” With a quick, backward glance, she entered.

The room was dark, steeped in twilight and the rancid smell of spent incense. Objects appeared as dim, insubstantial shadows heaped one on another-a lighted candle might banish them all and reveal an empty chamber.

“Where have you been?”

“I lingered at the orchard for a while. I wanted to see about the apples.”

“Did you do as I told you?”

“Of course.” Morgiaa’s fingers fumbled on the table before her. “Let me bring a light… It is so dark.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he would wait,” replied Morgian impatiently. “Please, it is dark. Let me fetch a light.”

“In a moment, child. After you have told me all.”

She sighed and sat down in a chair beside the table. “I rode to the shrine and met him at the stream. You should have seen the disappointment fill his eyes when he saw that Charis was not coming. But I gave away nothing. I told him Charis would not come, that she did not love him and feared that he would make her go with him, that she wished to stay here in the palace.”

“And?”

“And the singer said he would wait until Charis came to tell him herself. I told him she would not come, but he said he would wait. He told me to tell her this.”

There was a long silence and Morgian became impatient. She leaned forward and reached out toward the shadow before her. “I have told you all. Let roe bring the light.”