Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (54 page)

 
          
"And
if she had?"

 
          
Corin
looked at Glyn for a long moment. Tears stood in his eyes. "I think,"
he said finally. "I would have, had she asked. Had she
tried
."

 
          
Aidan
looked a final time on the woman in the bed, then turned to go. But Glyn,
rising from her chair, stopped him at the door. Her hands were on his bare left
arm, delaying him. He glanced at her in surprise and saw a deep compassion in
her eyes. She did not have
kivarna
,
perhaps, but her own measure of empathy was plain.

 
          
"Wait,"
Corin said. He rose from the bed.

 
          
Aidan
wanted nothing more than to leave. Glyn's hands on his arm seemed to burn into
his flesh, reminding him how easily he had succumbed to Lillith's power. He had
wanted the Ihlini woman the moment he saw her, and while he believed any man,
in his position, might feel the same, it grated within his soul to know he had
been so malleable.

 
          
"Come
into the corridor." Corin's hand on his shoulder guided Aidan out of the
room as Glyn pulled open the door. She shut it behind them, staying within,
throwing up a barrier between the dead woman in the bed and two men who owed
their lives to her, if not respect and honor and love.

 
          
Aidan,
dreading the question, stared resolutely down the corridor, as if his express
disinterest might dissuade Corin's interest.

 
          
But
if Corin saw the unspoken wish, he did not honor it. His voice was harsh.
"You said Lillith was dead."

 
          
Aidan
shut his teeth. "She is."

 
          
"We
have been fooled before,
harani
, and
to our detri ment. Are you certain—"

 
          
Aidan's
tone was clipped. "Quite certain."

 
          
Corin's
expression was grim. "I hope you will understand if I insist on knowing
how. Lillith has plagued us at all too many years—"

 
          
"I
killed her."

 
          
"
You
—" But Corin broke it off. No
doubt he was recalling his own sister had been responsible for Strahan's death.
He relaxed. "Then we all owe you our gratitude.
Leijhana tu'sai, harani
."

 
          
Aidan
shrugged. What had happened was too personal, too unsettling for him to share
with anyone. He recalled too clearly the power that had risen at
his
command. While he himself had not
laid hands upon her, it had been at his behest that the gods had come to his
aid. She was as dead as if he himself had twisted the chain around her throat
and thrown her from the tower.

 
          
That
sort of power, that sort of
influence
,
terrified him.

 
          
"Aidan—"

 
          
"You
would not understand."

 
          
"I
might." Corin sighed. "I know very well what that woman was. But let
it go. What matters is that she is dead." His gaze went to Aidan's waist,
to the gold threaded through by leather. "Gisella spoke of this. She said
Lillith meant to break it."

 
          
"She
said a great many things." Forboding made him curt. "
Su'fali
, forgive me… there are things
too personal to speak of. Let it suffice that Lillith is dead, and Gisella, and
the chain is whole."

 
          
"And
what Gisella said of you?" Corin's hand clasped a bare arm briefly.
"You know better than to give credence to a madwoman on her deathbed. She
was babbling—talking to gods?" He shook his head. "Let us go down to
the hall. There are preparations to be made—"

 
          
"No."
Aidan felt the apprehension rising. He recalled with distressing clarity that
Gisella had not been the first or only one to tell him he would never hold the
throne. There had been Shaine, then Carillon. Even the gods themselves seemed
to be preparing him for something else, something
more
. And the Lion, time and time again, had repudiated him.

 
          
He
knuckled dampness from his brow. The biting edges of comprehension made him
queasy. "I have to go." He heard himself: a half-choked, unsteady
voice. "Teel is in Erinn. I have been too long without my
lir
."

 
          
"Aidan."
Corin's hand closed on him again. Now his tone was commanding, granting no room
for compassion. "Gisella was mad, and a tool of the Ihlini. Whatever she
said to you, whatever her babbling meant, let none of it bear fruit. She was
mad
."

 
          
Aidan
looked into the steady blue eyes so much like his grandsire's single one. He
wanted to give in and agree, to laugh and jest and suggest they go to the hall,
as Corin wanted, but he could do none of those things. He could find no words
to tell Corin that Gisella had not been babbling.

 
          
That
she was not the first to warn him of his ending.

 
          
That
he was very much afraid.

 
          
«
^
»

 
          
Wolfhounds
gathered around her. Muscles tensed, tails waved, dark eyes brightened
expectantly. Shona held the stick: the dogs were prepared to chase it until she
forfeited the game.

 
          
It
was a good throwing stick: long as her arm, gnarled and rounded, bent just
enough in the middle to distribute the weight properly. It was their favorite,
and hers; toothmarks scored in the wood dated back five generations. Shona
pulled it behind her head and hurled it with all of her strength. An ocean of
dogs gave chase.

 
          
It
was a game she generally enjoyed, laughing aloud and calling encouragement as
the winner then fought off a pack of usurpers, intent on snatching the stick
from his jaws. But today, this morning, she neither laughed nor called out. She
simply threw the stick again and again, methodically, until at last even the
strongest of the pack retired to sprawl on the turf, huge tongue lolling
freely. The stick lay at her feet, where the big male had spat it out.

 
          
She
felt no worse, nor better. Perhaps
she
should have chased the stick.

 
          
"Shona."

 
          
Her
mother. Shona shut her eyes a moment, then turned. "Aye?"

 
          
Keely's
faint smile was neutral. "I thought you would be
glad
to see him go."

 
          
Shona
bent and picked up the stick. "I am."

 
          
"Are
you?"

 
          
"Of
course. We said what there was to say, I'm thinking… what good in beating a dying
horse?"

 
          
Keely
sighed. The wind snatched at braided hair, trying to undo the plait that
dangled over one shoulder. Like her daughter, she wore woolen tunic and trews,
belted with Erinnish copper. "There is something to be said for speaking
your mind honestly, instead of hiding behind diplomatic falsehoods. You are
much like me: you say what you think. But there is a price for such openness,
Shona. That sort of forthrightness makes it difficult to hide your feelings
even when you most want to."

 
          
Shona
hurled the stick. The dogs, still sprawled on turf, merely watched it fly, then
fall. None of them went to fetch it.

 
          
She
made a gesture of futility encompassing dogs and herself. "What am I to
do? I meant to send him from me, brideless… then Corin's summons saved me from
explaining more than I already had: that I'm refusing to surrender control of
my life to something so binding as the
kivarna
.
'Tis n't
fair
." She broke it
off, grimacing bleakly. "But it gives me no choice, now. 'Tis in my blood,
and his… and we've had a taste of it." Glumly, she stared at the dogs.
"Like a newborn pup on a nipple: give me more—and more—and
more
."

 
          
Keely
sighed heavily. "Gods—how could we have foreseen? Your
jehan
and I put off having a child
immediately, because of many things… and when at last we knew I had conceived I
made him promise, if you were a girl, you would have all the advantages a boy
has, growing up—if you wanted them. Among them was free choice in marriage
partner…" Keely's bleak expression mirrored her daughter's. "And now
because of this, that choice is stripped from you."

 
          
Shona
shrugged. "I could still refuse. 'Tis difficult now, but once he's gone
and the memory of the
kivarna
dies
away…" She laughed abruptly. "Perhaps what I'm needing is to find an
islander with
kivarna
. . ." But
that, too, trailed into silence. "No. 'Tis too late. I'm lying if I deny
it." She pressed both hands against her face and scrubbed violently at her
brow. "Agh, what I
should
have
done was go to bed with someone. If I knew what it was already, perhaps I could
fight off this
kivarna
." She
took her hands away and smiled ruefully at her mother. "But right now all
I'm thinking about is how I felt when Aidan touched me. And how I'm wanting
more
."

 
          
"Like
a newborn pup on a nipple." Keely smiled crookedly. "I come from a
race ruled by
tahlmorra
. I am perhaps
not the best person to offer advice. But it seems to me if the gods touched his
blood
and
yours with this 'gift'—and
then brought you together—perhaps there was a reason."

 
          
Shona
snorted inelegantly. "The easy way, I'm thinking—let the gods make the
choice."

 
          
Keely
shook her head. "
You
must make
the choice. And then you must live with it."

 
          
Shona
shook her head. "No. 'Tis n't a question of living with the choice. 'Tis
living with the
man
."

 
          
Keely
looked past her daughter to the wolfhounds, rousing from their rest to fetch
the stick once more. "There are worse to be had than Aidan."

 
          
"And
he
is
half Erinnish." Shona
grinned lopsidedly as she took the stick from the big male. " 'Tis
something in his favor—that, and the hounds like him."

 
          
Keely
signed resignation. "I suppose there are worse ways to judge a man."

 
          
"None
better," Shona said, and hurled the stick skyward.

 
          
Aidan
stepped off the ship onto the docks at Kilore and stopped dead in his tracks.
The
lir
-link meshed even as he sent
the preemptory call to Teel.

 
          
Relief
as the link flared anew washed through him with such abrupt violence he nearly
fell. Trembling, he draped himself against the nearest stack of crates and lost
himself in the reaffirmation, conscious of odd looks from strangers and not
caring in the least. All that mattered was Teel. Only Teel.

 
          
Lir.

 
          
Eyes
snapped open.
Where are you
?

 
          
Here.

 
          
Aidan
looked up intently and saw the dark speck in the sky, rising over the fortress
atop chalky palisades. The smile hooked one corner of his mouth and then both,
widening to a transfixed expression of relief and exhilaration.

 
          
Slowly
the speck enlarged, and wings became visible. Aidan sighed deep contentment.
Muttering his thanks over and over again, he gripped the crate and waited for
the physical contact. As Teel settled onto his left shoulder, Aidan grinned
fatuously into the sunlight.