Not that he had stayed dead for long.
"We installed new lighting since your last visit." She gestured toward the metal poles, topped with oval-shaped bulbs, which had been placed at regular intervals on the edge of the range. "They operate on photocells that cause the light to come on as soon as night falls."
He scoffed. "Kyn eyes need no such thing. A proper archer should be able to shoot anything with his eyes shut."
"It is for our visitors. Many watching the archery contests wished to try their hand at it, so we make it part of the midday performance." She followed him back to the shooting line. "It always surprises them to learn that they have not the muscle to use our weapons."
He eyed the small, rectangular bows segregated to the wall nearest the entry. "I had wondered why you had collected so many plastic toys. I began to think you were running some manner of archer's nursery here."
Rob never trifled with imitations or modern versions of his weapon of choice, but made his own arrows from billets of sound English poplar, planed by hand until they became the proper thirty-two-sided rods ready to be nocked and barbed. During the jardin wars he had been obliged to use arrowheads made of copper-coated steel; now he favored solid copper. The days of piercing the impossibly tough hides of Kyn enemies were over, but he didn't believe in using a weapon that could not harm its target. He would stop someday, when he regained his trust in the Kyn, which was to say that he would always carry them.
"You still use robins' feathers," Jayr murmured as he placed a dozen arrows into his quiver. "Harlech will only have goose pinion for his."
"Harlech should use goose wings, for he makes his arrows too heavy. That is why they constantly fall short of his mark." Rob took pride in the lightness and balance of his own. He held out a leather brace. "Take down a bow and shoot with me."
"So that you may shame me more than you did the last time I shot targets with you?" She released a short chuckle. "I thank you, my lord, no."
"You know you are a natural with the bow, and one of the few here who can give me any sport," he said, trying to persuade her. "Come, twelve arrows. I will spot you six, if you like."
"I regret that I cannot. I must go now to see to the performance, else the visitors may sack the castle." She aimed as if to go, and then reached out and touched his arm. "I am glad you are here, Lord Locksley. So is my master." She gave him one of her rare half smiles and walked back into the castle.
Glad she was. Glad of his presence. Smiling and laughing with him as a friend. Never knowing, never to know.
Rob turned to raise his bow, pulling the silk string back to his ear and taking aim. He released quickly, maximizing the energy being built up in the still-bending stave, and watching his arrow fly silent and true to bury itself dead center in the smallest of the target circlets. At the same time he plucked another arrow from the quiver and set its nock to the bowstring, drawing and releasing so quickly that the first had not stopped bobbing when the second split it in half.
"Fifty pounds says you cannae do that with your eyes closed," Byrne said from behind him.
Rob had the third arrow already set to his string, and turned to face his friend as he skillfully flipped his longbow and took the shot backward. He didn't have to look to see the result; the sound of the wooden shaft splitting was confirmation enough.
"Fifty pounds, was it?" he inquired politely. "I hope your pockets are deep."
"They will be when you pay me." Byrne pointed at his face. "For you didnae close your eyes."
Rob laughed. "Now who is the thief?"
After he had emptied his quiver and secured his bow and bag, Rob left the archer's range with Byrne and walked down a stone-set path into the castle's formal gardens. A prodigious amount of flowers still bloomed, thanks to the warmth of central Florida's climate, and the pathways were lined with potted poinsettias in honor of the season.
"Cyprien called. He attends this year," Byrne said in his usual abrupt fashion.
"I would have thought Michael still billing and cooing with his sygkenis." Rob halted to pluck a rambling white rose from a cluster at the end of a long, thorny cane nodding in the breeze. It reminded him of Jayr's ridiculous costume. "'Twas said that she suffered some injuries at Richard's hand. She is well enough to make the journey?"
"Apparently so." Byrne looked out at the setting sun. "I had words with Korvel after the thing was done. From his account the lass had a difficult time of it, but kept her head. Even when his scent bespelled her."
"She resisted Korvel's scent? She must be the only woman on earth who has." Impressed, Rob tucked the rose's stem in his pocket. "Cyprien is to be envied." He saw Byrne's expression tighten with distaste. "What is it? Have you some grievance with the seigneur?"
"I'm giving up the Realm, Rob," Byrne said. "I've asked Cyprien to choose my successor during his visit."
Rob stared at his friend. "You have perhaps lost your mind since this morning?"
"More that I seek to preserve my sanity." Garnet-bright hair turned to blood in the last glitter of sunlight as Byrne faced him. "You saw with your own eyes last night. Had you not dragged me back, I would have gone over. I wanted to rip out their young throats and bathe myself in their blood."
"Truly?" Rob folded his arms. He knew how paranoid Byrne was about his affliction, but he saw no reason to coddle him. "You suppose I would have stood aside and allowed it?"
"Their throats, and yours," Byrne continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "And Jayr's."
The Darkyn never made casual threats. Silence filled the air with undreamed nightmares, all of them carved by a flesh-hungry battle-ax. But Locksley knew Byrne's heart, and his strength of conviction. It had not been a simple thing to stand by and watch his friend battle his unseen enemy, but Rob had never once doubted who would come out the victor.
"You were not on your guard," Rob argued, "and you did not lose control of yourself."
"This time. What of the next? What if there is no one to pull me back?" He rubbed a hand over his face. "What if there is no one who can stop me?"
Rob had intimate knowledge of Byrne that few Kyn possessed, and understood the strength it took to carry his terrible burden. "How often are you attacked by stupidly ambitious humans? The Realm protects you." Something occurred to him. "This is why you're giving up the Realm? Because of last night?"
"Centuries it has been locked inside me, seething and waiting," Byrne said flatly. "I live with it. I accept it. But I cannae defeat it, and it will never leave me. For some time I have felt my grip on it slipping. Alone, away from humans and Kyn, I wouldnae fear it as I do now."
"So you would give up your home and your people?" Rob flung out his arm. "This place, these men mean everything to you, Aedan, and you to them. They have served you well—by God, they would go to the cross for you—and now you mean to abandon them? To become a hermit? No, you cannot do it. We shall find another way to deal with this."
The Scot's voice became a growl. "D'ya think I havenae tried? There is nothing more I can do."
"Cyprien's leech found a cure for Richard," Rob pointed out. "You are not so different."
"Richard wasnae an animal in his human life." Twilight made Byrne's tattoos look black. "I was."
"You were a man of our time. Times have changed, and so have you." When Byrne didn't reply, Rob drew back and saw the absolute misery on his friend's face. Friendship and something less noble snarled inside him. "Very well. Whom have you put forth as prospects for your replacement?"
"I will ask Cyprien to select the next lord from those who prevail during the tournament," Byrne said. "My men wouldnae respect anyone less."
"Not even me?" Rob returned his startled look with a placid smile. "I have great fondness for your domain, your possessions, and your people. If you mean to toss them all away, I would have them for myself."
Byrne regarded the horizon. "One jardin is not enough for you?"
"If Cyprien designates me, I will combine yours with mine and bring them all under my rule," he told him. "Jayr can act in my place when I am in Atlanta." And he would put his men in place to watch over her, unless… "I presume you are not taking her with you to whatever godforsaken retreat you have planned?"
"'Twould defeat the purpose of the thing if I did." Byrne sounded relieved and, oddly, angry now. "When she learns of Cyprien's choice, she'll stay here and make her oath to the new lord."
"God in heaven, man, you haven't told her?" When he shook his head, Rob's fist clenched. "How could you keep this from her?" He couldn't mask the jealousy in his voice when he added, "She gave herself to you. She lives for you."
"She'll know soon enough, and she'll live for herself." The sound of trumpets drew Byrne's attention to the castle. "That's the signal for the end of the last performance. I'm to make an appearance at this feast." He drew from his surcoat a spiked circle of bejeweled gold, which he fit over the top of his head. "Robin—"
"Go play monarch," Rob told him. "I must plan my strategy for winning your kingdom, Your Highness."
Rob waited until his friend had left before he took the white rose from his pocket. He lifted it to his nose, breathing in its sweet scent, and then dropped it to the slate.
I wanted to rip out their young throats and bathe myself in their blood… their throats, and yours… and Jayr's.
Aedan mac Byrne could deny himself the world to safeguard it, but others would be made to suffer.
That would not do.
Rob brought his heel down upon the delicate bloom and slowly ground it into pulp.
Jayr rode in with the procession from the jousting field, playing the role of squire to Harlech's lord. Once they had dismounted, she draped a fur-lined mantle over his shoulders and handed off his lance and sword to a waiting attendant.