The bard gave his answer like it was another performance in the hall, when it was only a handful of advisors in the solar. He spread his arms wide. “Your father gave his sons and his life, all for the people of Aderinyth, and I will praise each drop of blood he shed. What does Prince Gruffydd know of sacrifice?”

Sacrifice. The word had echoed in Gryff’s head while he swallowed down the anger, and pushed aside the memory of her face. Finally, he said that the bard’s services were no longer required in his court, and dismissed him. He turned to Rhys, who was much younger but fully trained, and appointed him the new chief bard of the household. It broke with tradition, but he refused to bow to the old ways in all things.

He had chosen well. The young bard Rhys was eager to prove himself, but not so eager that he spoke only flattery. The poems he sang about the old princes praised their wisdom and generosity more than their valor in battle, and spoke more of the alliances made than the discord and strife that had torn Wales apart. He proved a pleasant companion all through the summer.

“Will my lord tell me of that time before he returned to his home and his people?” Rhys asked, not for the first time.

It was his duty to learn everything he could of Gryff’s life and be witness to his reign, so that he could commit it to song. This was the old way a bond was formed between bard and lord, hours spent together advising and reminiscing, ensuring there was no corner of his mind that was a mystery to the poet.

But Gryff had avoided telling him anything beyond the moment when the thieves were slain. He was dimly amazed, almost amused at how easy it was to speak of the things that still disturbed his sleep sometimes. He told the bard of the fire at the abbey, the villainy of Baudry’s men, and even Brother Clement’s death. But then he merely said an armed party had saved him by chance. When prompted for more, he answered that he had soon learned the king would allow him to rule in Aderinyth, and so he had come.

The bard Rhys was no fool for all that he was young, but was careful in how he pressed for more. Now it was the night before Gryff’s betrothed would arrive. They drank too deeply, and when Rhys asked again, the words slipped out.