But they came to me for help that night, after all, rather than anyone else. I answered the tentative tapping on my door to find Goewin, for once as pale as her brother, supporting a fainting and battered Lleu. No questions, then; without thinking I caught Lleu in my arms and carried him to my bed as though he were a child of five, not fifteen. As I cut away the shredded remnants of his jacket and shirt I could not help but murmur, "Good God, Princess; what have you done to him? After I spent most of the winter trying to keep him alive, you half kill him in one night."
Goewin stood in the doorway and watched miserably. "We went riding," she said. "I said we should gallop, and I got ahead of him—we had to leap a stream, and he was going too fast to stop. It was dark; he missed the jump and was thrown. I—I couldn’t stop it happening—" Her voice shook. It had been her fault, and she knew it. She knew the limits of Lleu’s skill better than anyone.
"Don’t cry, little Princess," I said. "He’s not dying."
That made her angry. "Little Princess" stung her. She stood in the doorway a moment gazing at me wrathfully, then choked out, "I’ll get you some water." She left the room in a quiet storm, black hair tossing, her hands shut in tight fists.
I lit a lantern. The left sleeve of Lleu’s jacket had been almost sheared off, and I guessed he must have been hurled sideways, landing on the arm and then sliding. One bone was broken cleanly and decisively, beneath skin that was brush-burned raw from shoulder to elbow. "Where else did you hit?" I asked.
Lleu spoke through his teeth. "All that side—I don’t know."
"Your head?"
"No." He lay taut and still, with his eyes closed and his fists clenched. Except for the arm I could see no severe hurt on him, only bruises and scrapes. Goewin came back and without a word set a jug of water by me on the floor, and turned to stir the coals in the brazier until she had coaxed a small fire into flame. After that she perched on the edge of the cot next to Lleu’s head, out of my way. She watched as I examined Lleu’s slender body, more mindful than Lleu himself of my long fingers testing the dark bruises. It wo Shuises. uld have been so easy to hurt him. But I could not forget my own helpless apprehension the summer before, as I lay under your hands, defenseless as Lleu and more desperately wounded.
"Nothing is broken but the arm," I said at length. "Will you help me, Goewin?"
She did help me. She obeyed me, followed my directions and worked with me, but she would not look at my face or speak to me until I reached to the floor for the water jug, and the loose robe I wore slipped down my back. Then with smooth fingers Goewin traced the long, ragged scars across my shoulder blade, pale claw marks; there was such gentleness and pity in her touch. "What made these?" she whispered.
My body is seamed with scars. How is it she saw only those? I murmured, "What made any of them?" and jerked the sleeve back up across my shoulder, wishing that she had neither touched me nor spoken. I bent to clean the abrasions across Lleu’s arm and knew without looking at her that Goewin still stared at me.
"What," she said in an unsteady voice, "have you been doing these past six years that you have gained so many hurts and so much wisdom?"
Lleu lay listening, waiting tense beneath my hand for me to hurt and heal him. Anything I said could frighten him. "I cannot tell you now," I answered Goewin without hesitation. My stiff fingers were steady against Lleu’s broken arm, and I was suddenly grateful for his trust and fear.
Together Goewin and I splinted and bandaged Lleu’s arm, and washed and anointed the scrapes. There was little more we could do for him. "Have you put away your horses?" I asked. Goewin nodded. "Go to bed, then," I said. "Lleu can stay here tonight."
"But where will you—" Goewin began.
"I’ve blankets enough for both of us. There’s no sense in moving him now."
She saw that there was not, but would not be dismissed so abruptly. "I’ll stay till you’re ready," she said, and bent over and kissed her twin. "I’m sorry," she whispered in his ear, not meaning me to hear. "Oh, Lleu, I am so sorry—"
"It wasn’t your fault," Lleu whispered back. "Thank you."
Goewin stayed sitting next to Lleu, and I began to put things away and to spread blankets on the floor for myself. It occurred to me that Lleu’s arm would keep him awake, and I mixed poppy and wine for him. I brought it to the bedside, lifted his head and shoulders gently, and held the bowl to his lips. "Drink."
"What is it?"
"To lessen the pain."
Lleu drank gratefully, and I lowered him again. But I stayed next to him, watching. "It wasn’t Goewin’s fault," Lleu said. "I suggested we go out at night."
It was a silver-washed night of a waxing moon; I could not blame them for wanting to be out in it. "You have received just punishment for so foolhardy a suggestion," I said. "Your sister ought to be punished for encouraging it."
"I probably will be, sir," Goewin said fiercely.
Lleu, lying still with closed eyes, said suddenly, "Medraut."
"Little one?"
"That drink," Lleu saided D; Lleu. "Is it sending me to sleep?"
I watched him without feeling anything, as though I were watching from a distance. "Yes."
"You know he hates to be made to sleep," Goewin said angrily. "You do it on purpose."
"It will be easier for him," I said, now feeling amused at their indignation.
"I hate it," Lleu said, and struggled to sit up.
Lleu enraged: the Bright One. Helpless and splendid. "Lie still, little one; lie still." Goewin’s eyes on me were stony. "Don’t fight."
But Lleu fought. I always underestimate the strength of his will. "You must promise me you’ll not do it again," he said, struggling to stay awake and furious that he could not. "I’d rather be in pain."
"I won’t do it without good cause." Am I that cruel? "I don’t do it now without good cause. You’ll shock your parents well enough tomorrow without having spent a night without sleep."
"Sir, you didn’t even ask him!" Goewin said.
Allied against me.