Kellin did not, though once again he claimed he did. "I am the one who is to sire the Firstborn," he declared. "Everyone says so."
Dulcie grinned. "Not without a woman!"
Color stained Kellin's face. "Is that supposed to be you?"
She shrugged, twisting hair again. "What else do you suppose they talk about behind that door but inches in front of your face? They will have us betrothed by supper."
Kellin glared at her. "Why to you? Why not to Cluna, or Jennet?"
"They are too old for you," Dulcie said matter-of-factly, "and likely by now they have both set their caps for Blais. I think neither of them wants a boy for a husband."
It stung. "I am nearly eleven."
"And I nearly thirteen." Clearly, Dulcie was undismayed by his youth. "It has to do with the blood, as I said. There is only one bloodline left to get, Kellin—the one bloodline no Cheysuli desires to acknowledge. But how else do they expect to get the Firstborn? It wants Ihlini blood."
He was startled, recalling Corwyth, and Lochiel's designs. "Ihlini!"
"Think about it," Dulcie said impatiently. "They need it from somewhere, from someone who favors the prophecy."
"But not an Ihlini—"
"Kellin." Her tone was exasperated. "That is why my father is proposing you and I wed. To get the Ihlini blood."
"But—" It was preposterous. "You do not have—"
"Aye," Dulcie answered, "I do. We all of us do: Biythe, Cluna, Jennet, and me. Because of our mother."
"But she is Solindish."
Dulcie's tone was freighted with condescension.
"Solinde was the birthplace of Ihlini, Kellin. Remember the stories of how they broke away from the Firstborn and left Homana?"
He did. He had not thought of those stories in years. "Then—" Kellin frowned. He did not like the implication. "Then the Ihlini are not so different from the a'saii."
Dulcie smiled. "Now you begin to understand."
He eyed her assessively. "Can you conjure godfire?"
"Of course not. The Ihlini blood in us goes back more than two hundred years. No arts remain in our House." Dulcie shrugged. "Electra learned a few tricks, but nothing more. Tynstar did not share the Seker's blood with her."
He frowned. "Then why should it matter now?"
"Because no Cheysuli warrior would ever lie down with an Ihlini woman," Dulcie replied. "At least—not a willing one. So they will marry us off and hope for the best ... if for no other reason than to keep the Ihlini from making their own through you."
"Through me?"
Dulcie sighed. "Are you stupid? If the Ihlini caught you and made you lie with an Ihlini woman, there could be a child. It would be the child." She laughed at his expression. "The Ihlini would use you, Kellin, like a prize Cheysuli stud."
Within hours he was full to bursting on kinfolk—and most of them female, at that, full of gossip and laughter—and so to escape, Kellin went to his own chamber and climbed up into his huge bed. He made mountains and hillocks of his coverlet, then planned his own campaigns as Carillon and Donal must have planned them years before, when Homana was at war,
"With Solinde," he muttered. He was not at the moment disposed to like Solinde, since she had managed to produce a twelve-year-old girl who believed he was stupid.
The knock at the door was soft, but persistent.
Kellin, startled from his game, called out crossly for the person to enter.
Aileen came in, not a servant at all. Her hair, rust threaded with silver, was bound in braids around her head with pins that glittered in sunlight. Her green gown was simple but elegant. She wore around her throat a fortune in gold: the mountain cat torque that marked her Brennan's cheysula.
Is that what Dulcie expects from me? Kellin jerked flat his coverlet and slid out of the bed to stand politely. "Aye, granddame?"
"Sit." Aileen waved him back onto the bed, then sat down on the edge herself. "Kellin—"
Whenever he spoke with Aileen he unconsciously echoed the lilt of her accent. He blurted it out all at once before she could finish. " "Tis done, isn't it? You've betrothed us."
Aileen arched reddish brows. "The idea doesn't please you, then?"
"No." He fidgeted, self-conscious; he liked his granddame very much and did not want to upset her, but he felt he had to tell the truth. "I want to choose for myself."
The faintest of creases deepened at the corner of Aileen's eyes. "Aye, of course you do. So did I. So did Brennan. But—"
"But I can't, can I?" he challenged forthrightly. " Tis like Dulcie said: you'll do whatever you want."
The Queen of Homana sighed. " 'Tis true those of royalty have little freedom in matters of marriage."
" 'Tisn't fair," Kellin asserted. "You tell me I will have power when I am grown, but then I am told whom I must marry. That is no power."
"No," she agreed quietly. "I had none, nor Corin, whom I wanted to marry in place of Brennan."
"In place of—grandsire?" It was a completely new thought. "You wanted to marry my su'fali?"
"Aye."
He blinked. "But you were already betrothed to grandsire."
"Aye, so I was. It did not lessen the wanting, Kellin; it was Corin I loved." Her green eyes were kind. "I know this may shock you, but I thought it fair to tell you. You are young, but not so young the truth should be kept from you, even those truths of men and woman."
"But you married grandsire."
"Aye. It was agreed upon before I was born: Niall's oldest son would marry Liam's daughter."
She shrugged, mouth twisted awry. "And so I was born betrothed; it was only later, when Corin came to Erinn, that I realized how binding—and how wrong—the agreement was. I fell in love with Corin and he with me, but he was the stronger person. He said the betrothal must stand, and sailed away to Atvia."
"He married Glyn." He had never seen her—he had seen only Hart of his scattered kin—but he knew of the mute woman Corin had wed.
"Years later, aye. But then I was wed, and a mother, and my future was utterly settled."
Kellin digested all of it. "You are telling me that I should marry Dulcie."
Aileen smiled. "No."
It stilled him a moment. "No?"
"I told them to give you time, both of you time; to let you grow to adulthood. You've been kept close most of your life, Kellin, and we owe you some measure of freedom." An odd expression crossed her face. "The kind of freedom I had once, before coming to Homana."
Relief overflowed. "Leijhana tu'sai, granddame!"
Aileen laughed. "One day marriage will not be such a chore, my lad. That I promise."
"Was it a chore for you?"
The question stopped her. Aileen's eyes filled with memories he could not know, and were not shared with him. "For a very long time, it was," she answered finally. "But not any longer."
"Why?"
"Because when I allowed myself to stop resenting my marriage; when I stopped resenting the Cheysuli tahlmorra that dictated I sleep with Brennan instead of with Corin, I fell in love with your grandsire." Her smile was poignant. "And so now I have a new regret: that I wasted so much time in not loving him."
Kellin could only stare at his grandmother.
There were no words for what he felt; he knew only that he was young, too young after all, to begin to understand the complexities of adulthood.
Something new came into his head. "Did my jehana love my fehan?"
Aileen's mouth softened. "Very much, Kellin.
“Twas a match few people experience."
He nodded dutifully, uncomprehending. "But she died when I was born." He looked searchingly at Aileen. "Is that why he hates me? Is that why he gave me up and went away—because I killed his cheysula?"
Aileen's face drained. "Oh, Kellin, no! Oh, gods, is that what you've been thinking all these years?"
She murmured something more in Erinnish, then caught him into her arms and pulled him close.
"I'll swear on anything you
like that your birth did not kill her, nor did it drive your father away. He gave you up because it was his tahlmorra to do so."
"But you believe he was wrong."
She withdrew a little to look into his face.
"Have you a touch of the kivama, lad? Have you been hiding the truth from us?"
"No," he blurted, intrigued. "What is it?"
"D'ye know what people feel?" She touched her breast. "D'ye know what is in their hearts?"
Perplexed, he frowned. "No. I just saw it in your face."
Aileen relaxed, laughing a little. "Aye, well—'tis a gift and a curse, my lad. Aidan had it in full measure, and Shona—'twould come as no surprise if it manifested in you."
Kellin was bewildered. " 'Twas in your face, granddame—and your voice." And what I heard you say to grandsire once before. But that he would not admit.
Aileen hugged him again briefly, then surrendered him to the bed as she rose and shook out her skirts. "I think he was wrong," she said firmly. "I always have. But I'm a woman, Kellin—and though I'll not swear a man loves his child less, he's not borne that babe in his body. Aidan did as he believed he had to, to please the gods and his tahlmorra. And one day, I promise, you will ask him to his face how he could do such a thing."
He heard the underlying hostility in her tone.
"But not yet."
Aileen's lips compressed. "Not yet."
After a moment Kellin nodded. It was a familiar refrain. "Well," he said easily, "once I have killed the Lion, he will have to let me see him."
"Oh, Kellin—"
"I will," he declared. "I will kill it. And then I shall go to the Crystal Isle and show jehan the head."
Aileen's mouth, he saw, was filled with all manner of protest. But she made none of them. With tears in her eyes, the Erinnish Queen of Homana left her grandson quite alone.
Eleven
Blais' door was ajar. Candlelight crept from the room into the corridor, slotted between door and jamb; Kellin peeked in carefully, not wanting to discover that Blais was not alone at all, but accompanied by Cluna, or Jennet, or Cluna and Jennet. They had taken up entirely too much of Blais' time, Kellin felt. It was his turn for his cousin's attention.
He paused there in the slot. He saw no female cousins. Only Blais himself, sprawled across the great tester bed with his lir, lovely Tanni, who lay upon her back with legs spread and underparts exposed in elaborate pleasure as Blais stroked belly fur. In that moment she was dog, not wolf; Kellin felt a pang of hope that perhaps he, too, would gain a wolf.
Then again, there was lovely black Sleeta, his grandsire's mountain cat, and Hart's magnificent Rael. There were so many wonderful lir in the world; surely the gods would see to it he gained the perfect one-Blais’ arm moved in slow repetition as he stroked Tanni. He lay on his belly, torso propped up on one elbow. Thick black hair fell forward over his shoulders. He wore no jerkin, only leggings; gold shone dully in candlelight against the bronzing of his flesh.
Someday I will have such gold. Kellin wet his lips. "Blais?"
Blais glanced up. Tanni flopped over on her side and bent her head around to inspect Kellin.
"Aye?" Blais beckoned, smiling. "Come in, come in—we have no secrets, Tanni and I—and if I wanted privacy I would have shut the door."
Kellin slipped through the slot between door and jamb. Linked behind his back, both hands clutched an object. "I have a question."
His cousin's black brows arched. "Aye?"
He sucked in a deep breath. "Are you going back to Solinde with them?"
"Solinde!" Blais sat upright, shaking hair away from his face. "Why would I go to Solinde?"
"Because of—them." Abashed, Kellin stared at the floor.
"Who?" Blais began, and then he cut off the question. "Why do you ask, Kellin?"
Miserably, Kellin looked up to meet Blais' steady gaze. "I saw you," he whispered. "Earlier today, on the sentry-walk."
"Ah." Blais nodded.
"You were kissing Jennet."
"Cluna."
It stopped Kellin's attempt at explanation.
"Cluna? But. I thought—"
Blais laughed. "You were thinking 'twas Jennet I wanted? Well, aye, and so it was—yesterday. Today 'twas Cluna." He shifted into a cross-legged position, one hand tugging gently at Tanni's ear. "You see, Cluna wanted to sample what her rujholla had tasted the day before. They compete in everything." He shrugged, grinning. "I accommodated them both."
Kellin was bewildered. "Then which one will you marry?"
"Marry!" Then Blais laughed. "Gods, Kellin—neither. Were you thinking I would? No. I'll not go to Solinde, and I'm doubting either of them could bear to live at Clankeep. There is too much of Solinde in them." He smiled more warmly at his cousin. "Were you thinking I meant to desert you?"
Without warning tears welled up. Kellin was astonished and ashamed, but there was a thing he had to say. "I have no one left," he explained unsteadily. "Only you. Urchin and Rogan—" He bit into his lip. "There is grandsire and granddame, but it isn't the same. 'Tisn't like true friends; they have to like me. But you , . . well—" he swallowed heavily, spilling it all at once. "I will be Mujhar one day, I would have need of a liege man."
Blais' face was still. Only his eyes were alive in the dark mask: fierce and bright and yellow.
Kellin felt all of his muscles knot up. He'll refuse me—he will say no. He wanted it so badly, and yet he knew it was unlikely. They were years and worlds apart, and very different in nature.
Blais' tone was muted. "I had not expected this."
Panic nearly overwhelmed. "Have I offended you?"
"Offended! That the Prince of Homana desires me to be his liege man?" Blais shook his head. "No, there is no offense in this—only honor. And I never believed myself worthy of such honor."
"But you are!" Kellin cried. "You saved me from the bear-trap, and the Lion. Your worth is proved. And—and there is no one else I would have."
Blais stared hard at Tanni, as if he feared to give away too much if he looked at Kellin. "There has been no liege man in Homana-Mujhar since Ian died."
"He would approve," Kellin said. "He would say you are worthy."
Blais smiled faintly. "Then how could I refuse?" Levity faded again. He was suddenly very solemn. "I will serve you gladly, my lord."
Kellin sighed. From behind his back he took the knife and showed it to Blais. It was gold and steel, with a rampant lion twisted about the hilt. Its eye was a single ruby. Softly, he said, "There is a ceremony."
Blais rose from the bed, knelt upon the floor, and drew his own Cheysuli long-knife. Without hesitation he placed the blade against the inside of his left wrist and cut into the flesh. "I swear," he said quietly, "by this blood; by my name and honor and lir, that I will serve as liege man to Kellin of Homana as long as he will have me." Blood ran from the knife cut and dripped crimson on the stone floor. "Will you have me, my lord?"
Wonder welled in Kellin's breast. "I will." And then, quoting the words he had learned long ago:
"Y'ja'hai. Tu'jhalla dei. Tahlmorra lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu."
"Ja'hai-na," Blais responded. Then he offered his bloodied knife to his lord and took the other in return.
Kellin looked down upon the Cheysuli weapon with its wolf-head hilt. He felt the tears well up, but he did not care. I am not alone any more.
He awoke sweating near dawn, disoriented and fearful. He felt oppressed, squashed flat by dread. —
Lion—
Kellin wanted to whimper. How could it come to pass? Blais was in the palace. Blais was his liege man. The Lion could not withstand a sworn Cheysuli liege man.
The flesh rose on his bones. "Lion," he murmured. And then, searching for strength, "Tahlmorra lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu."
But the sense of dread increased.
Kellin wanted Blais. Together they might vanquish the beast forever. But to summon Blais meant he had to get out of bed.
Kellin shuddered, biting in
to his bottom lip. He smelled the tang of fear on his flesh and hated himself for it. His scarred ankle ached, though he knew it completely healed.
"Cheysuli," he choked, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. "A warrior, someday." Warriors were brave.
Warriors did what required doing.
From beneath his pillow he took the Cheysuli long-knife bestowed by his liege man. Stiffly, slowly, Kellin slid down from his bed. He wore only a sleeping tunic that reached to mid-thigh; bare toes dug into the stone floor as if he might take root. You have a liege man. He will fend off the. Lion. He clutched the knife in both hands, then crept out of his room into the corridor beyond-False dawn, he thought; even the servants still slept. An ideal time for a lion to stalk the halls.
Kellin chewed his lips painfully, then unclenched his teeth. With the knife as his ward, he moved slowly and deliberately toward the door that was Blais', so far down the corridor as to be a league away.
Kellin pushed open the door. Candlelight from the corridor cressets spilled inside, illuminating the chamber. Kellin saw tousled black hair, the gleam of a Kr-band, and the glint of Tanni's eyes from the foot of the bed where she lay.
"Blais," he said. "Blais—the Lion is come."
Blais sat up at once, one hand reaching for the royal knife at his bedside. His eyes, pupils expanded in darkness, showed a ring of purest yellow around the edges. "Kellin?"
"The Lion." Kellin repeated. "Will you come? We have to kill it."
Blais ran a hand through his hair. He yawned.
"The lion?" And then he came fully awake. "Kellin—" But he cut it off. His expression was masked. "Where is it?"
Kellin gestured with his knife. "Out there. Walking the corridors."
Blais grunted and slid out of bed. He was nude save for lir-gold, but paused long enough to slip on leggings. Barefoot, he patted Tanni and murmured a word in the Old Tongue, Then he smiled at Kellin. "A wolf is no match for a lion."
Kellin felt markedly better as Blais followed him out into the corridor. "A sword might be better," he said, "but I am not old enough yet. Grandsire said."
Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 Page 11
