Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 05

by A Pride of Princes (v1. 0)

  "Not easy," Aileen said, "but right. I know it was a political thing, the betrothal ... I have no quarrel with that. But I'm saying we need only wed me to Corin in place of Brennan."

  Liam turned idly and walked around the table to the immense fireplace. He stared into the flames, putting his back to them. He wore black hunting leathers and golden spurs; blond hair was tumbled against his shoulders, combed by the wind of his ride. Around him, wolfhounds gathered.

  "Corin is pledged to Atvia."

  It was all Liam said, and to the flames. Corin and Aileen exchanged puzzled glances; she shrugged a little, indicating ignorance of the reason for Liam's odd manner.

  "Aye, to Atvia," she said finally, when it became apparent her father intended to say no more. "But 'twould be a good alliance, my lord . . . 'twould help to forge peace between the realms."

  " Twill be for others to do, when Alaric and I are dead." Liam turned, warming his back, and Corin saw the Lord of Erinn was not as indifferent as he sounded.

  Not indifferent at all. . .he merely waits for the proper time.

  "What would it alter?" Aileen asked. "Brennan and I have never met, nor even exchanged letters. He won't be missing what he never had, nor made any effort to have."

  She gestured. "There is Ellas, Falia, Caledon ... let him have one of their princesses instead of Erinn's only one."

  Liam's eyes flicked to Corin. "D'ye want her, lad?"

  He raised his head. "Aye, my lord, I do.'"

  Liam looked down at his dogs. "I could write Niall," he said absently. "I could write him . . . could be telling him the very things you've told me ... perhaps it could be arranged—" he looked up from his dogs, "—but then 'twould be the end of the prophecy ... the end of the Cheysuli."

  In shock, Corin stared back at him. In despair, he saw the truth in Liam's compassionate eyes. He knew, did Liam; he understood very well. Better than Aileen, who heard only the denial; better even than Corin, who knew a great shame in overlooking the obvious. In nearly betraying his blood.

  "Are ye daft?" Aileen asked. "How could it be the end of anything? And what does a prophecy have to do with us?"

  "Aileen." Corin wanted to touch her, but did not dare it. "Aileen, I have told you of the prophecy . . . how it governs Cheysuli lives."

  "Aye, aye," she said impatiently, "you've told me all about it. Tis a fine, shining thing, Corin, and worthy of dedication, but what has it to do with us?"

  "With you," he said clearly. "The first son you bear Brennan will be another link in the chain, taking us one step closer to fulfillment."

  Aileen shrugged. "And if I bore your son, would it not please the gods as well?"

  Corin slowly shook his head.

  "Why not?" she cried. " 'Tis a son they want, is it not? Then I'll give them that son!"

  "Aileen." Corin drew in a breath, "It comes down to Brennan. It comes down to you. I do not figure in it."

  "And why not?"

  "Because—" he gestured emptily. "Because it has to do with how the blood is mixed. Brennan is Homanan, Solindish and Atvian. You are Erinnish." He sighed. "The prophecy requires—"

  "But you have all those bloodlines, Corin!"

  "But I am not the Prince of Homana!"

  They stared at one another, transfixed by pride, by anger, by anguish. And then Aileen made a gesture of defiance and determination. "Does it matter so much that I wed the Prince of Homana?"

  "Aye," he said wearily. "It all begins with Homana . . . one day it will end with Homana."

  "Aileen." It was Liam, very quiet. "Aileen, has he taught you nothing of the Cheysuli? D'ye see nothing of his pride, his honor, the strength of will that rules his life?" He looked older now, and saddened by what he said. "Niall spent a twelve-month here, and in that time I learned a little of the Cheysuli—enough to respect them and their determination."

  "D'ye not respect me?" she asked. "D'ye not think me capable of judging a man? Why else d'ye think I want him?"

  "Then ask him," Liam said gently. "Look at him and ask him."

  After a moment, Aileen turned to Corin. "D'ye say you're not wanting me?"

  She would never be beautiful, but he was blinded by her pride; by the brilliance of her spirit. "You showed me what it was to look out of myself to others," he told her gently. "You showed me how to be myself, not judging myself against others, or what others wanted of me. You taught me to be free in spirit if not in body, bowing to necessity, and to accept the latter with grace." He smiled a little. "Lastily, you taught me to love my brother, and for that I am very grateful. Leijhana tu'sai, meijhana . . . but I cannot steal his queen."

  Aileen's face was a white blotch against red hair. Her eyes swam with tears. But she said nothing, nothing at all; she merely turned and walked from the room.

  After a moment, Liam put a large hand on Corin's shoulder and gripped it briefly, then released him. "Until this moment I never regretted what Niall and I did, promising sons and daughters to one another. 'Tis the way of royal houses; the requirements of rank." He picked up Corin's forgotten cup of wine and put it into his hands. "But it seems we dealt too lightly with unborn souls."

  Corin stared into the lukewarm wine. "I came here to tell you my jehan desires the wedding to go forth." He looked at Liam. "Aileen is to make ready for the voyage."

  There was pain in Liam's green eyes, and more than a share of regret. Slowly he reached out and took the cup away. "Go to her, lad. She's a spirited lass, saying what she thinks, and likely she'll have harsh words for you . . . but go. I'll not be making the mistake my father did when Niall was sent from Deirdre. Go to Aileen and say your good-byes. It won't be enough, but at least 'tis something."

  All Corin could do was nod. And then he left the chamber.

  At last he found her on the battlements of the fortress.

  If she cried he could not tell; the wind scrubbed her face clean of everything save the starkness she turned on him.

  Her fingers clutched the brick: The line of her spine was rigid. "Go, Corin. I'm wanting to be alone,"

  "That is a lie," he told her plainly. "What you want is for me to say I was wrong ... to say I'll take you regardless of consequences ... to say I want you badly enough to steal my rujholli's betrothed."

  The mobile mouth was tightly drawn. "But you won't. You don't."

  He stood next to her, turning to stare out at the sea that pounded Erinn's shores. "I want you," he said simply, knowing no other way, no better way, to put it. "If it is not enough that I say it without qualifications, then I am sorry for you. But I know you better, Aileen ... I know you better than anyone save Keely, if in an entirely different sense."

  "Do you?" They were close enough to touch, but neither moved to do it.

  "Aye." The wind carried most of it away, "I know that if I turned my back on my kin, my race, my tahlmorra, eventually you would hate me. Perhaps even tomorrow."

  He turned to her, scraping leather knife sheath against the wind-scoured stone. "There are women in the world who would be pleased to have such sacrifice made in their names, but you are not one of them."

  Her hair was a banner in the wind, whipping back from her face. "No," she said, "I am not . . . but I almost wish I could be."

  A laugh rose from deep inside of Corin, a single gust of sound. "If you were," he told her, "if you were, I could never love you the way I do."

  Aileen swore bitterly and banged the wall with her fist. "Why is it," she cried, "why is it I meddle where I should not? Why is it I took it into my head to ease a man's pain, to show him what it is to know contentment within oneself?" Slowly she shook her head. "If I'd left you alone, never trying to understand you, never trying to ease that pain, we'd not be in this coil!"

  "Why is it you took it into your head to show me that underneath all my childish resentment, I really care for Brennan?" Corin sighed and rubbed aching eyes with rigid fingers. "Well, we have fashioned me into someone I can live with, and now I must live without you."

  "
Brennan," she said bitterly. "Each time I look on him, I will think of you. Even in bed—"

  It was a vision he had purposely pushed aside, and now she brought it back in all its intensity. He could not bear it. "Aileen, stop." He caught her wrists. "Stop. You punish me as well as yourself."

  All the anguish was in her face, but so was her pride. "And when I call him by your name?"

  Corin shook his head. "Aileen, I swear, when you meet Brennan you will understand. You will never mistake him for me. We are so different, so very different . . . temperament, coloring, preferences ... so many other things." He swallowed tightly. "I promise you, Aileen, it will not be an empty marriage."

  She jerked her wrists away. "I might prefer it that way."

  All the pain rose up. "Do you think I want that?" he cried. "Do you think I want to spend my life knowing you hate every moment with my rujholli, when there is nothing for me to do? No, Aileen. I would sooner believe you content enough than living your life in sorrow, lost in some futile hope that someday I might come. It would twist you, twist me ... it would destroy any hope of happiness for either one of us."

  "So," she said, "you tell me to go to Homana and wed your brother ... to be his wife and bear his children . . . to be everything to him that I want to be to you."

  "Aye," he said harshly. "That is what I tell you."

  She drew in a deep, unsteady breath. "You are a hard man," she said, "and I wish I could soften you. But in doing it, I would destroy the thing I love."

  "Aileen—"

  She thrust up a silencing hand. "No more," she said. "No more from you, I say. And now I must go ... 'tis time I began to pack."

  He watched her go. And when she was gone, when he stood alone on the battlements, he slid slowly down the stone to sit with legs drawn up, staring blindly at his knees.

  Later, Liam came to him in his chambers. "Come out with me, lad. Now."

  "Out with you—?"

  But Liam did not answer. He motioned Corin to follow him out of the chamber and immediately left it, dogs trailing in his wake, and after a moment Corin went as well.

  They left Kilore entirely, riding across the headlands with an escort of giant dogs, and also Kiri, a blotch of rust and black against emerald turf. Liam said nothing at all of his intentions, nor what he expected of Corin; he merely rode, wrapping himself in silence, and Corin rode with him.

  At last Liam halted. Before them was a grassy tor, swelling out of the turf, and Corin saw a crude stone altar on its crest. He thought they might dismount and go up to it, but Liam remained in the saddle. In his eyes was the opacity of memories recalled.

  " Tis of the cileann, this place," he said finally. "The oldfolk of Erinn, born of ages past. The tor is sacred, blessed with ancient magic . . . can ye not feel it, lad?"

  "Aye, my lord. I do."

  Liam looked at the tor. " Twas where I took Niall when he went out of Erinn to Atvia . . . leaving my sister behind."

  Pain rose; he would leave Liam's daughter behind.

  Thinking: You forget, my lord. Niall left her, but Deirdre came to him later. I cannot hope for the same.

  "I was angry, lad ... angry with Niall, with Deirdre—angry with myself." Liam grimaced. "I thought it a waste, that a man such as your father had to bow to the dictates of his fate and trade Deirdre for Gisella. I saw what was between them as clearly as I see the thing between you and Aileen. And I cursed it, and them, and myself, because I knew I would have to end it." He fell silent a moment, and the wind teased his hair. "Lad, 'twas no easier for me then than it is now. And I understand it no better. But I know it must be done. Niall taught me that much, and you have reminded me."

  The horse stomped under Corin, who soothed it absently. "I am nothing like my jehan. I wish I might be, that I could offer her better; or that I was firstborn, so I would be more like Brennan—" He broke off. "But even then, I could offer her nothing."

  "And you're a blind man, lad." Liam turned his horse. "Come, then. One day you will be king in Alaric's place; we must speak now of trade and treaties, while we have the time."

  Silently Corin followed, while the wind blew down the tor.

  Five

  She was, he thought, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The power of her allure touched him as it touched all men, nearly engulfing his wits. But he knew better. He knew her: Lillith of the Ihlini, sister to Strahan himself.

  Corin drew in a steadying breath as he dismounted in front of the palace steps. A boy took his horse. Alone, afoot, afraid, he faced the sorceress.

  She stood at the very top of the steps. She watched him. And she smiled. "You are well come to Rondule."

  "Am I?" He made himself mount the first step.

  "But of course. Are you not the Crown Prince of Atvia?"

  A second step. "That is for Alaric to say."

  "But of course." Still Lillith smiled. "If Alaric can."

  Corin paused, then forced himself to climb. "An odd thing to say."

  "Not when you have seen him." She wore blue, deep, rich blue, girdled with silver and pearls. Large, irregular pearls, some creamy, some gray, some black, with a tinge of silver-blue. More threaded the weave of her braid.

  Closer, ever closer, until he could see the silver tips of her nails; the kohl-smudged lids. The eerie youthfumess of features and form.

  This woman seduced my su'fali.

  Corin looked at her as he climbed. He began to understand how. Lirless, Ian had stood no chance. Her power was manifest.

  Lillilh smiled, "I see you have brought your lir"

  Someone, something, touched an icy fingertip to his spine. He did not like the way Lillith looked at Kiri. To change the subject, he said, "My jehan sent word I was coming."

  "No," Lillith said. "I already knew."

  He stopped short. He was but three steps below her.

  She was young, he saw, genuinely young. Not older. Not age, masquerading as youth. He had only to compare her to Aileen to know that the sorcery was powerful indeed.

  It did more than lend her the illusion of youth and beauty, it gave her both in full measure. The Seker was an unstinting god.

  Oddly, he recalled Boyne's story. The tale of a sorcerer become god. The memory made him shiver.

  Lillith smiled. Calmly she stood at the top of the steps, giving nothing away of her power, but showing it all the same. "There is no doubt who sired you."

  He had heard it before. He and Keely had both inherited Niall's coloring—blue eyes, tawny hair, fair skin—and a resemblance in facial structure, but neither claimed his frame. Keely was tall for a woman, but nothing more; he himself was considered short for his Cheysuli heritage, being less than six feet. Brennan and Hart both topped him by a handspan.

  "And no doubt who sired you."

  Lillith laughed. "And did you know Tynstar well?"

  "Only by reputation."

  "With him, that is all that is needed."

  Her tone was a trifle cooler, her black eyes more assessive; Corin disliked intensely the sensation of being judged. It was bad enough when his father did it; worse when done by an Ihlini. "Lillith—"

  "Come in," she said abruptly. "There are matters to discuss, and better places to discuss them."

  He wanted to refuse her, to leave her and go somewhere she could not touch him, even with her eyes. But an innate sense of self-preservation and a desire to play the game very carefully kept him from blurting it out.

  This was Atvia, not Homana. Lillith had been Alaric's light woman for a very long time, and was Ihlini to boot; her influence would be well established by now. Until he knew better how things stood, it was not his place to quibble.

  At least until reason is plainly given. He followed Lillith in silence.

  She took him to a private chamber within the heart of the palace. The servants they passed bowed quickly to Lillith, but watched him with curious eyes. He wondered how Lillith had known he was coming; he wondered if she had not, and simply said she had. Mostly, he w
ondered how he would manage to last the year.

  "Here." Lillith indicated a carved, high-backed chair.

  The room was shadowed, lacking windows, illuminated only by candleracks. Most were unlit, like the fireplace.

  It dulled the colors of the tapestries and robbed the room of welcome.

  He sat down. Kiri took her place by his feet, sitting rigidly in front of his legs. She watched the woman intently as Lillith poured wine.

  Corin shook his head as the cup was offered. Lillith did not withdraw it. "A fool will often go thirsty."

  "But at least the fool will live."

  Briefly she looked at Kiri. She smiled. "You are a fool, Corin. Why should I stoop to poison when I have other means? And why, for that matter, should I desire to take your life? You are more useful to me alive."

  "Useful?" Lillith still held out the cup; he stared at her over the rim.

  She did not answer at once. Instead, she gazed thoughtfully at the cup she held, as if troubled by his refusal. She lifted it to her own lips, sipped distinctly so he could see she did indeed drink the wine. And then, idly—as if it were no more than an afterthought—she tipped the cup over and poured out the wine.

  Corin jerked back into the depths of the chair, trying to avoid the torrent. Even Kiri dodged aside. But there was no need. In midair, as the wine spilled out of the cup, it turned into coils of lavender smoke.

  "One need not concern oneself with unwanted residue," Lillith said obscurely, and threw the cup to Corin.

  He caught it, as she meant him to, and then cursed himself for following her lead. He leaned over the side of the chair to put the cup down on the floor; as he did, stretching out his arm, the cup began to change.

  Aghast, he jerked his hand away. But the cup followed. In his hand the silver melted, reformed, braceleted his flesh. Cursing, he tried to fling the silver away, but it had formed a rigid cuff around his wrist. A seamless, shining shackle.

  "I will be very plain," Lillith said quietly. "If I wanted you, I would take you. There is nothing you could do."