Kushiel's Justice (20 page)

Her scowl eased. “Sister?”

I nodded at the pair of them, tall and loud and exuberant. “What do
you
think?”

Indeed, so it proved. After the initial exchange of greetings, Eamonn called us over to introduce us to Mairead, the elder of his two younger sisters. She was tall and rangy, with an open, friendly face that bore a smattering of golden freckles and a grin to match Eamonn’s.

I liked her immediately; I daresay all of us did. Even Brigitta smiled when Mairead embraced her with uninhibited warmth. “
You’re
the one!” Mairead exclaimed. “Oh, sister! You’ve no idea how long we’ve been waiting to meet you!”

“One half a year, I think,” Brigitta said, careful and precise.

“Is it only that long?” Mairead’s brow wrinkled. “Oh, well, since Eamonn’s letter arrived, I suppose. It seems like longer. We’ve been so worried, waiting and hoping all these months. And he left years before it.” She thumped her brother’s shoulder. “You were gone
so long
! I want to hear all about it. I want to hear all about Terre d’Ange and Tiberium and Skaldia . . . Skaldia! And all these people, your foster-family . . . oh, Dagda Mor, they’re right out of the stories! And Lady Dorelei, you’re very welcome among us . . . Eamonn, what are they all doing here? Oh, Mother’s going to be so pleased. Well, I think, anyway.”

Brigitta looked bemused, having lost the thread of her words long ago.

“Slow down.” Eamonn laughed. “There’s time. And it’s hard for Brigitta to understand when you gabble.”

Mairead thumped him again in indignation. “I don’t gabble!”

“You do,” he informed her.

“
You
do,” she retorted. “You always did. Talk, talk, talk!”

After some bickering and discussion, Eamonn went with Mairead to greet the Dalriada who’d ridden with her and make them welcome at our camp tonight. They were friends of his from childhood, and we heard the roars and shouts drifting across the darkening meadow. A fleeting memory of Sidonie crossed my mind.
He’s just so infernally
loud
!
I pushed the thought away, blowing a few idle notes on Hugues’ flute.

“Well,” I said lightly to Brigitta. “Now you’ve an idea what you’re in for.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I think I will like it.”

Once they had matters settled, Eamonn and Mairead returned. Although it was growing late, we stayed awake for a time. Eamonn was reluctant to tell the tale of his Skaldic courtship of Brigitta, wanting to save it for Innisclan, but he told her about the tribute we bore for the Lady of the Dalriada, and how Queen Ysandre had wished to escort him home in honor.

In turn, Mairead told us that she had been leading a scouting-party.

“You?” Eamonn scoffed fondly.

She elbowed him. “I’m the oldest after Brennan and you, am I not? Brennan rode north, and I rode south. Some clan-holders have complained about calves being taken. There have been rumors of
bears
.” She shook her head. “But we found no bear sign, only your campfires.”

A shudder ran up my spine.

Bears
.

Dorelei glanced at me. “Bears?” she asked cautiously. “Or . . . ?”

“The Old Ones?” Mairead grimaced. “I cannot say. I thought they had no cause to trouble the Dalriada. Mother has long maintained a truce with them. But perhaps we have given them cause. If we have, I do not know what it is. Or perhaps they’re merely curious. Or hungry.”

“Old Ones?” Phèdre murmured. Anyone who didn’t know her would have thought her sleepy. “I don’t know that name.”

“The Old Ones, the Wise Ones.” Mairead made a gesture intended to avert bad luck and nodded at Dorelei. “So we call them to avoid giving offense. Some of them play tricks if not given proper respect. How do the Cullach Gorrym call them?”

“We don’t,” Dorelei said in a tight voice. “If we must speak of them, we call them by name. But it is better if we do not speak of them at all.”

Mairead eyed her. “The Dalriada believe otherwise.”

I cleared my throat. “Kinadius called them bear-witches.”

“Men fear things more than women,” Brigitta observed, paying close attention to the conversation. “Like Lucius and the dead.”

“Perhaps, but Lucius was right, my love,” Eamonn said. “He had reason to fear the dead. Still, we have made our camp beside Brigid’s Well, and I think no harm will come to us here.” He yawned. “My friends, it grows late. Imri, why don’t you give us a song to fill our heads with pleasant dreams as we take to our beds?”

I set the flute to my lips and played the first thing that came to mind. It wasn’t until I was well into it that I realized it was the piper’s tune, the one that plagued me. My fingers faltered briefly on the holes, but I kept going. It was a plaintive melody, and yet there was somewhat seductive about it, too. A yearning promise of ease, of bittersweet desire. Around the campfire, my listeners’ faces softened, sinking into private reveries.

The sight filled me with unease, so much so that I stopped playing. Eamonn shook his head like a man waking from a nap and gave another mighty yawn. “Dagda Mor! You’ve gotten good on that thing. Well, bed it is. Come, Mairead, you can share with us.”

I wasn’t tired, not at all.

“I’m sorry, Imriel.” In the tent Dorelei and I shared, she was heavy-lidded and yawning, too. “I know I promised, but can we speak in the morning? We’ve been travelling for a long time, and I’m bone-weary.”

“You weren’t so tired last night,” I reminded her.

“No.” She smiled with remembered pleasure, the sort of smile that makes any woman look beautiful. “And I won’t be at Innisclan, but tonight I am.”

I gave up. “Sleep well, then.”

“Mmm.” Dorelei closed her eyes. “What was that song you played? It was lovely.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “That’s the thing. I keep hearing it in my dreams. That, and a woman’s laughter. Only it’s not in my
dreams
, exactly. It’s that time just before you fall asleep, when you’re not quite one or the other. That’s why I asked if you’d heard aught peculiar. I wanted to tell you about it and what happened today at Brigid’s Well, and to ask . . .” I hesitated. “Well, after what Mairead said, to ask what you know about the Maghuin Dhonn. Because I don’t feel I’m in danger, not exactly, but I don’t feel safe, either. Someone or something is playing tricks on me.”

A faint snore escaped Dorelei’s parted lips.

I sighed.

Wide awake and lonely, I sat cross-legged on my bedroll, twisting Sidonie’s ring around my finger. I was alone in a strange land, and although it was a beautiful land, it seemed not to want me here. I missed my home, and oh, gods! I missed Sidonie. I wished I could talk to her. I wished she was here or I was there.

I wished I could lose myself in her.

For the first time in many days, I lowered the rigid guards I’d erected around my thoughts and let myself think of her.

Ah, Elua! It hurt, but it felt so good, too. I chose a memory of our lovemaking; only one. They were like perfect pearls on a strand, precious and far too few. I pushed away the strangeness and the nagging sense of fear and sank into my memories with a vast sense of comfort and indulgence, playing them over in my mind. Every kiss, every gasp, every thrust was etched there. Sunlight in her hair, the sheen of sweat, the honey-sweet taste of her mouth. It drove everything else away, until I was taut with desire.

Nothing else mattered.

I propped myself on one elbow, stroking my throbbing phallus with my other hand.
Is this what you want?
Another memory; too many, too fast. I was spending them too quickly. I couldn’t stop, though. Faster and faster. Sidonie, wrists straining. Begging. Shuddering over and over as I took her relentlessly, driving her to new heights, plunging to new depths. I stroked myself harder, my testes rising and tightening at the memory.

It came fast and hard. I rolled to one side and hissed between my teeth, my seed spurting onto the ground.

And then it was over. I flopped onto my back and lay panting. Turning my head, I could make out Dorelei’s profile in the dim light of the low-burning campfire that filtered through the tent walls. Sleeping, peaceful and oblivious.

I felt better and worse, all at once. And I felt tired. I’d opened the floodgates and other memories sought to crowd me, tender and importunate and hurtful. I was too tired to fight them, to tired to wrestle them into submission. Instead I fled, seeking refuge in sleep, eased by my body’s languor.

This time, I didn’t hear the pipes.

Only the woman’s laughter.

T
WENTY

I
N THE MORNING
, a handful of Mairead’s riders departed for Innisclan to give warning of our impending arrival. Unencumbered by wagons, they were likely to arrive some hours before us. The young Dalriadan warriors were a loud, merry lot. They’d stayed up late, drinking and boasting with the Cruithne and the D’Angelines, and seemed none the worse for wear. I was glad relations seemed amicable among all parties, and I envied them.

My own head felt thick, as though I’d drunk too much wine. Too much emotion, like as not. The boulder of my buried heart shifted and groaned, disturbed from its place of rest far, far beneath the surface of my life.

“Shall we talk now?” Dorelei asked me, clear-eyed and well rested. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay awake.”

I made myself smile at her. “It can wait. I can’t think straight with all this lot around. My head’s a muddle.”

She smiled back at me, dimples flashing. “They are a bit loud.”

No one else was melancholy. It was a fine day, bright and clear, with nary a cloud in sight. All of last night’s concerns were forgotten. No one spoke of Wise Ones, Old Ones, bear-witches, or the Maghuin Dhonn.

And in the bright light of day, that was fine with me.

We made good time, following the tracks of the Dalriada. Before long, we came upon rutted paths and the wagons travelled more smoothly. There were low stone fences marking pastures, and cattle watched us with incurious eyes. The mules pricked their ears, the Bastard pranced beneath me. We sang as we rode. I played Hugues’ flute, although not
that
song.

The air took on a tang of salt. Gulls circled with raucous cries.

From atop a grassy rise, we beheld the land spread below. Innisclan, the vast hall and scattered outlying holdings, the mill and the smithy, the grazing cattle. And beyond, the sea, grey and shining in the afternoon sunlight.

Phèdre reached for Joscelin’s hand. “Oh, love! ’Tis the same!”

“So it is.” He smiled at her. “Do you remember . . . ?”

She flushed. “All too well.”

The whole of Innisclan turned out to meet us. I would have known Eamonn’s mother anywhere. The Lady Grainne of the Dalriada was tall and imposing. Strands of grey dimmed the fire of her red-gold hair and there were lines on her strong face, but her eyes crinkled like her son’s when she smiled.

Eamonn greeted his mother with a sweeping bow, then straightened to receive her embrace, grinning with delight. He introduced Brigitta to her. After that, there was a good deal of exuberant shouting and hugging as various siblings came forward, and then at last, the rest of us were presented.

As Ysandre’s delegate, Phèdre made a graceful speech regarding the tribute we’d brought. The Lady Grainne listened to it with a look of amusement.

“Books!” Her grey-green eyes crinkled. “You always do bring interesting gifts, Phèdre nó Delaunay.”

Phèdre smiled. “This was Eamonn’s choice.”

“We mean to start an academy,” he told his mother. “Brigitta and I.”

She raised red-gold brows. “Very interesting.”

While the Lady’s eldest son Brennan took charge of the tribute-wagons and oversaw the unloading and storage of their cargo and accommodations for our escort, we were ushered into the hall of Innisclan, where a welcoming feast was being laid on the great table. It was a vast space, most of it given over to the hall. As honored guests, we were accorded private chambers; small stone cells scarce large enough to hold a narrow bed.

“It’s
tiny
,” I whispered to Dorelei.

“Hush.” She pressed a finger to my lips. “This isn’t Terre d’Ange.”

As soon as we’d had a chance to wash our hands and faces and change our travel-stained attire, we were summoned to eat. It was a lengthy affair, and a noisy one, too. The Lady’s children talked over one another, eager to hear of Eamonn’s doings and share their own. During the course of the meal, I managed to sort them out. Brennan was the oldest, his mother’s heir. After Eamonn and Mairead came another sister, Caolinn, and then Conor, the youngest at some fifteen years.

Save for Conor, they were all cut from the same cloth, tall and red-headed. He was the quiet, odd one of the lot, with thick black hair and dark, thoughtful eyes out of which he kept stealing covert, fascinated glances at Phèdre. I remembered Eamonn telling me that, except for his sisters, none of them had the same father. As for those fathers, none were in evidence.

Seeing his siblings all together, I could understand better why the Lady Grainne had been sanguine about permitting her second-oldest to wander the earth, footloose and unfettered. There did seem to be an awful lot of them.

Once the meal was finished and the storytelling began, they fell silent, though. Everyone sat rapt while Eamonn related the tale of his courtship of Brigitta. Partway through, Conor rose quietly to retrieve a lap-harp. He held it throughout the telling, head bowed, fingers moving over the strings without touching them.

When it was over, Caolinn sighed. “That’s so romantic!”

“Why?” Mairead shrugged. “He did a lot of chores, that’s all. There’s naught romantic in chopping wood and hauling water.”

“For love’s sake? Of course there is.” Her sister turned to Conor. “You think so, don’t you?”

Head still bowed, he nodded. “I do.”

“Will you make a song about it, little brother?” Brennan asked with a smile. “He’s very good, you know,” he said to the rest of us. “He can play any tune he’s ever heard, perfect to the note. One of the old bards born anew, like as not.”

Conor’s averted cheek flushed. “Go on!”

“Will you play for us, Conor?” Phèdre asked. “I’d love to hear you.”

His flush deepened, but he nodded again and began to play an Eiran ballad, singing in a low voice.

He
was
good; good enough to play in any salon in Terre d’Ange. Although he sat hunched over his harp, his thin fingers plucked at the strings with graceful precision and the harp’s tone rang out pure and sweet. Gradually, as he played, he sat straighter in the chair. His voice was rough with adolescence, but it held true.

“That was lovely,” Phèdre said when he finished, smiling at him. “Thank you.”

Conor turned beet-red.

“My musical child,” Grainne said fondly. “A gift of his father’s.”

“You should play together.” Under the table, Eamonn nudged my foot. “Imri’s been practicing on the flute this whole way. He’s not bad. Go on, go fetch your flute.”

“Later, mayhap,” I demurred. “You lot must be weary of it.”

“I’m not.” Conor looked directly at me for the first time. “I’d like it very much, Prince Imriel.”

“All right.” I raised my brows. “Will you promise to call me
Imriel
, Prince Conor?”

He smiled and flushed yet again. “I will.”

Elua, I remembered that age! Awkwardness and embarrassment at every turn. Colts’ Years, Joscelin said they called it in the Cassiline Brotherhood.

I fetched Hugues’ flute and put on a solemn face. “Now, this is a D’Angeline song for very special occasions. On our journey, we translated it into Eiran to honor all of you. I’ll play the first verse, and mayhap my lady wife will do the honor of singing for us?” I glanced sidelong at Dorelei, who looked bemused.

As soon as I blew the first few notes, she laughed. I played the song about the little brown goat and Dorelei sang along. Everyone laughed, hearing the verses. Conor grinned, his dark eyes sparkling. At the second verse, he joined us, playing a merry, lively accompaniment. His fingers danced over the strings, embellishing the simple child’s melody in ways I’d never imagined.

“Very nice!” Eamonn applauded.

“You see it’s true,” Brennan said smugly. “He only needed hear it once.”

“Indeed.” I lowered the flute, then paused. “Conor, if I played a tune for you, could you tell me if you’d heard it before?”

He nodded. “Yes, of course.”

I’d only played the opening measure of the mysterious piper’s tune that haunted my nights when Conor turned ashen-pale.

“No!” he said violently. “ ’Tis no tune I’ve ever heard.”

“Conor!” his mother said in surprise. “That’s no call to be rude.”

“Sorry.” He mumbled the apology, then rose abruptly and set his lap-harp on the table. “I’ve got to be gone. Sorry.”

I watched him leave, his narrow shoulders hunched and taut. “Did I offend him somehow, my lady?”

“No.” Grainne sighed. “He’s a broody lad, my youngest. He’s been prone to odd fits these last few years. Pay him no heed, he’ll come around.”

Eamonn nudged me again. “Mayhap
you
could talk to him, Imri. You know a thing or two about brooding.”

“I’ll do that,” I said, ignoring the jibe.

After Conor’s precipitous departure, the conversation turned to bears. Unlike his sister, Brennan’s scouting party had encountered bear signs; tracks that led from a crofter’s pasture into the edge of the forest. There, in the soft loam, they simply ended.

“Made my hair stand on end, it did.” Brennan rubbed the back of his neck, remembering. “It’s
them
, sure enough.”

“What do the Wise Ones want with us?” Eamonn asked, puzzled.

“You’re the one toting cart-loads of wisdom this way,” his older brother retorted. “Mayhap they don’t like its flavor.”

Eamonn looked at his mother. “Do you think it’s true?”

“I don’t know.” Grainne’s face was troubled. “The Dalriada have enjoyed a long truce with the Old Ones.” She glanced involuntarily toward the door. “If they are wroth for this cause or some other, I hope they would speak openly to me.”

“You mean you truly do deal with them?” Dorelei asked, startled.

“I do,” the Lady of the Dalriada said firmly. “There are two sides to every story, young Cruithne. Even theirs. And if the Old Ones hunger, I do not begrudge them a few cattle. Much that was theirs has been lost to them.”

“So you don’t reckon them malevolent?” I asked.

“Malevolent?” Grainne gave me a curious look. “No. Capricious, yes, but not malevolent.” She shook her head. “But this is a joyous occasion. Let us speak of more pleasant matters. Tell me,” she asked Eamonn with a smile. “How did you find your father? Is he well?”

Thus, the moment passed.

I wanted to hear more about the Maghuin Dhonn and mayhap discuss my own experiences, but the Lady Grainne had made her wishes clear, and I reckoned it could wait. I was beginning to think she might be the best person to discuss this with, since she seemed to know more about the Maghuin Dhonn than anyone else had thus far admitted. And if it was bear-witches haunting me, whatever it was they wanted, they’d made no move to reveal themselves during our long journey across Alba. Now that we were ensconced in the hall of Innisclan itself, I doubted that would change.

In that, I was mistaken.

That night, Dorelei and I made love in the narrow bed we shared in our tiny chamber, forgetting all notion of serious conversation. There had been
uisghe
served by the end of the evening, and we were both a little drunk and ardent, laughing over the contortions required to keep from falling off the bed. It was sweet and foolish and pleasant, and I fell asleep afterward untouched by melancholy, with no piper’s tune or woman’s laughter echoing in my dreams.

I did dream, though.

I dreamed of making love to Sidonie.

It was a vivid, piercing dream, more intense by far than the memories I’d indulged in the other night. I could feel her, taste her, hear her voice in my ear. It shocked me into unwelcome wakefulness, groaning with regret and unfulfilled desire as the strands of the dream slipped through the fingers of my awareness. My rigid phallus ached, and so did my heart.

Pipes, and a woman’s laughter.

“Come here.”

The words tied a knot around my will and drew me. At times I’d felt what it was like to stand outside myself and see into another person; to see the good and bad in them, the fault-lines on their soul. I had seen how cruelty could be used, and chosen not to use it. Now it was as though I stood outside myself and watched
me
, helpless and dismayed.

Without the slightest intent of doing so, I rose in silence, donning my clothes. I left my sword-belt where it lay. The piper’s tune beckoned, filled with yearning and promise. I glanced at Dorelei, sleeping peacefully. I left our bedchamber.

The great hall of Innisclan was quiet and mostly empty. A few of the Lady’s men were sleeping there; guards, drunk on
uisghe
. I passed them by. My feet moved with no conscious volition. I didn’t want to go wherever I was going. I just . . . did.

In a distant part of my awareness, with every step, I felt certain I would stop. I meant to stop. And when I didn’t, the distant part of me thought I would open my mouth and cry out for help. One shout would wake the household. One shout would bring Joscelin from the bedchamber he shared with Phèdre, sword at the ready.

And I just . . . didn’t.

Instead, I kept walking. I didn’t want to, but I did. As though I moved in a waking dream, I followed the summons, followed the tug on my heart, followed the piper’s tune. Somewhere inside, I was shivering with fear, but I couldn’t stop. I unbarred the door and walked into the night. There was a full moon, small and distant, silvering the Alban landscape. And there, beneath it, was a small, distant figure.

A woman.

I walked toward her. She stood beside one of the low stone fences. I saw moonlight glint on the silver pipe she lowered from her lips as I drew near. Whatever charm bound me, it eased somewhat as the melody faded. I took a sharp breath and came back to myself, smelling loam and musk and fermented berries, feeling fear give way to anger.

“Lady.” The word emerged, harsh and raw. “Who are you?”

The woman peered at me. She was small and dark, with coarse black hair and pale, pale eyes. Her cheekbones were high and broad and there were marks on her face; woad tattoos. A pair of claws bracketed her eyes. “You may call me Morwen.”

“Morwen.” I clenched my fists. “What do you want of me?”

“I’m not sure yet.” She studied me. “You were careless, you know.”