Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08

by A Tapestry of Lions (v1. 0)

  "What is this?" She touched his chest. "A knife wound, and deep."

  I could not see his body because of the way she held the blankets, but I did not need to look. I knew what was there. The Bluetooth is cruel. "He should have bled to death, but the river sealed it.

  When he warms, it will bleed anew. We shall have to be ready."

  She studied him avidly, marking the- shape of his battered nose, the muddying of his jawline by swollen bruises, the mutiliated left ear. Even his mouth, as if she measured its shape against the way she might desire it to fit her own.

  I drew in a sharp breath. It sickened me to see her behave so.

  She looked on him, and smiled. Then she looked at me. Something dark moved in her eyes. "You may have him."

  It stopped the breath in my chest. That she could suggest such a thing was monstrous. She would give me my bridegroom because he was so badly hurt as to make him unattractive, and therefore unworthy of her interest.

  Revulsion filled me. I looked at the man in the bed, so battered, bruised, and broken. I hope you are handsome. And I hope she chokes on it!

  "Now," she said, "I will order the women in. We will do what we can do ... I must make certain my daughter does not lose the man before the bedding." She said a single word, very quietly—she is, after all, Ihlini—and women came into the chamber.

  They stripped him of bedclothes and began to clean his body, swabbing gouges and scrapes, cleaning the knife wound. He made no sound or movement until they touched his leg, and then he roused.

  The indrawn hiss was hardly audible in the fuss around his bed, but I heard it. The tendons in his neck stood up, hard and rigid, beneath pale flesh.

  My mother put her hand on his brow, pushing away stiffened hair. It was black as my own, and thick, but lacking luster. Sand crusted the pillow.

  "Fever," she said crisply. "Malenna root, then."

  I looked at her sharply. "It will leave him too weak!"

  "You see how he fights the pain. I need him weak, and compliant, so the root may do its work."

  So you can assert your control. But I did not say it.

  With no word spoken, the women melted against the walls, faces downturned. I knew, without looking, my father had come. " 'Sore hurt,' I was told."

  He walked through the door. "The leg must be set."

  "You could heal it," I blurted, then wished I had said nothing; one does not suggest to my father what he can or cannot do.

  My father smiled. "We do not yet know who he is. He could well be Homanan—why waste the Seker's gift on a man who is unworthy?" He gestured. "I will set it by conventional means."

  That meant splints and linen. They were brought, and my father motioned for the women to hold him down. He clasped the bruised ankle, then pulled the bone straight.

  I watched the man who might be Devin, and therefore meant for me. Eyes rolled beneath pale, vein-threaded lids. His head thrashed until one of the woman caught it between her hands and stopped its movement. The tendons stood up again, warping his neck; the battered mouth opened. It split the lip again so that it bled, running down his chin to drip against his neck. It spilled into the creases and stained the pillow.

  Brilliant crimson against the pallor of fragile flesh. Devin's flesh?

  I felt a frisson of nervous anticipation. If he were Devin, he was to be, with me, a means to destroy the prophecy. I could not help but hope he was indeed Devin so that our plans could continue; we were close, too close, my father said, to losing the battle. Kellin, Prince of Homana, need only sire a son and the thing was done. But I smiled as I thought of it. Indeed, he need only sire a son upon a particular woman—but Kellin had proved all too selfish with respect to his conduct. For years my father had laughed to hear of the prince's exploits, saying that so long as Kellin behaved in such a wayward manner he actually aided us, but I knew it could not last. He would have to die, so that we could be certain.

  It seemed a simple task. Kill Kellin of Homana—and produce an Ihlini child blessed by the Seker so we need never concern ourselves with the prophecy ever again.

  The blood ran freely from the split lip. My mother made a sound of disgust. I wanted very badly to take up a clean cloth and blot away the blood, to press it against his lip so he would not lose more, but I dared not be so intimate before my father.

  "There." My father placed the splints on either side of his leg, then bound it tightly with linen.

  The mouth went slack again. His struggle had done more then reopen his lip; now blood flowed sluggishly from his swollen nose.

  My mother smiled to see it. "A most unfortunate accident."

  My father's gaze was on her, steady and unflinching. I could not discern his thoughts. "He will recover," he said, "provided Asar-Suti desires him to." He looked now at me. "I will certainly request it. We need this man."

  I stiffened. "Is it Devin?"

  "They have searched his baggage more closely.

  A pouch contained the ring you sent last year, a cache of ward-stones, and the eagle claw charm against lir intrusion. And—this." He held it up in the light. It was a gold ring set with a deep blood-red stone, nearly black; in its heart light stirred as if roused from sleep. My father smiled. "It knows me."

  "A lifestone!" my mother said, then looked more closely at the man in the bed.

  I shut my teeth together. It makes a difference, does it? You look again to see if he might present a different face.

  "Devin would have one, of course; he is sworn to the Seker." My father's pale brown eyes looked at me over the glinting lifestone. "Unless this man is a thief who stole from Devin, then fell into the water, I think it unlikely he is anyone else."

  My mother frowned. "It is set in a ring. Why would he not wear it?"

  His gaze dwelled on her face. "Solinde is not entirely ours, anymore. Even in High Crags, men honor the shapechanger who holds court in Lestra. An Ihlini sworn to the god cannot move so freely now without taking precautions. He was wise to put it away."

  My mother's carmined lips compressed. "That will be changed. We shall rule again, as in the days of Tynstar and Bellam."

  Lochiel laughed. "Did you know them personally?"

  Color flared in her cheeks; she, as I, heard the irony. "I know as much of our history as anyone, Lochiel. Despite my Cheysuli blood!"

  "Ah, but my blood is theirs." He smiled. "Tynstar was my grandsire."

  It silenced her at once. Even among the Ihlini, who understood his power, Lochiel was different.

  It was easy to forget how old he was, and how long-lived his ancestors.

  I smiled to myself. Tynstar, Strahan, Lochiel—and now Ginevra. I am their legacy. It was more than she claimed, and Melusine knew it.

  "Shall we see if he is Devin?" My father held the ring in such a way that the light sparked from it. "If he is an opportunist who decides, upon awakening, he would benefit from our care, we can take steps now to present him with the lie."

  I looked at the ring. Light moved within it sluggishly. Indeed, it did know my father; the blood of the god ran in his veins, as it did in the veins of all those sworn to Asar-Suti. I as yet claimed none of it outside of my natural inheritance; I was to drink the cup at my wedding, to seal my service forever to the Seker.

  "Will it kill him?" my mother asked.

  Lochiel smiled at her, "If he is not Devin, assuredly." He held the ring. "My gift to you, Melusine—adjudicate this man."

  "Wait!" I blurted, and regretted it at once as my father turned to me.

  Carmined lips stretched back to display my mother's white teeth. "No," she said venomously.

  "He gives you everything—this he gives to me!"

  She snatched the ring, bent over the unconscious man, grasped his left hand and pushed the ring onto his forefinger. "Burn," Melusine said. "If you are not Devin, let the godfire devour you!"

  "You want it to!" I cried. "By the god himself, I think—" But my accusation died as godfire flared up from the ring, a clean and li
vid purple. I fell back a step even as my mother did, who laughed.

  "You see?" she said. "Not Devin at all!"

  But the burst of flame died. The hand was un-blemished. Light glowed brilliantly deep in the lifestone's heart.

  "Ah," Lochiel said. "A premature assumption."

  "Then—it is he?" I looked at the ring upon the hand. "This is Devin."

  "It appears so. A lifestone is linked to an Ihlini as a lir is linked to a Cheysuli." For a brief moment he frowned, looking at Devin. "It is but another parallel . .." But he let it go. "We will have confirmation when he awakens."

  I drew in a breath and asked it carefully. "Then why not heal him instead of relying on normal means?"

  Lochiel smiled. "Because even Devin must learn that he is solely dependent on me for such paltry things as his life." He extended his hand. My mother took it. "Nurse him well, Ginevra. There is no better way to judge a man than from the depths of pain. It is difficult to lie when your world is afire."

  He led my mother from the room. They would go to bed, I knew. It made my face bum; I did not understand what need it was they answered, save there was one, only that they seemed to be, in all ways such private things are measured, particularly well suited.

  One of the women blotted away the blood on Devin's face. Another came forward with a cup.

  Malenna root, I knew, mixed in with water. I wanted to protest it, but did not; it was true he needed the fever purged. If it weakened him too much, I would prevail upon my father to make certain he survived,

  My father wanted a child. An heir to Valgaard, and the legacy of the Ihlini. If I did not marry Devin, we would have to find someone else whose blood was proper. Why waste the time? The man was right here.

  I sat down on a stool and stared at him. Live, I told him. There is much for you to learn.

  And as much for me.

  I had seen my parents' marriage. I was not so certain I desired the same for myself.

  I sighed. The Seker grant me the knowledge I need to make my way in this. I want to serve my father—but I want to serve me also!

  Two

  The fever broke before dawn. The malenna root did its work, purging his body of impurities so that the sweat ran upon his flesh. The worst was done, I thought; now could come the healing. It would take much time because of the severity of his injuries, but I believed he would survive.

  The women my mother had left to tend him slid sidelong glances at me as they cleaned him. They dared say nothing to me, though I knew they felt it improper for me to remain in attendance. But he was my bridegroom; how could they believe I would not be interested in whether he lived or died?

  I sat upon a stool close to his side. He fascinated me. I wanted to study him covertly so he need never know. A man awake is too aware of his pride and the manner of his appearance; I wanted to know him without such impediments.

  His breathing sounded heavy in his chest. The wad of bandage pressed over the knife wound came away soiled with blood and fluid, but seemed clean enough. It did not stink of infection. It was a simple wound, if deep; with care he would recover.

  He stirred and moaned, twisting his head against the pillow. The oozing of the scrapes on his face had stopped and his skin had begun to dry, puckering the flesh into a crusted film. The hollows beneath his eyes were darkened by bruising. Eyelids flickered. His lashes were as long as mine, and as thick.

  Incongruous thought; I banished it. Then summoned it back again as I studied the fit of his swollen nose into the space between his eyes, beneath arched black eyebrows. He was badly bruised, aye, but I thought my mother was blind. She could not see beyond the wreckage wrought by the river to the good bones beneath.

  I think when you are healed, you might surprise us all. I drew in a breath. "Devin?"

  Lids flickered again, then opened. His eyes were a clear brilliant green, but glazed with weakness.

  Malenna root, I knew; it would rob him of his wits for longer than I preferred. I wanted them back.

  I scraped my stool closer, so he could see me.

  His lips were badly swollen and crusted with dried blood. He moved them, winced, then took more care as he shaped the words. They—it—was malformed, but clear enough. "Who—?"

  I smiled. "Ginevra."

  I waited. I expected him to respond at once that he was Devin, or to make some indication he knew who I was. Instead, he touched his mangled bottom lip with an exploratory tongue tip, felt its state, and withdrew the tongue. Lids closed a moment, then lifted again.

  "Your name?" I persisted, desiring verbal confirmation in addition to the lifestone.

  A faint frown puckered his forehead. With the hair swept back I could see it was unmarred; the river had spared him her savagery there, at least.

  "My leg ..." A hand moved atop the furred coverlet, as if it would pull the blanket aside.

  "No." I stopped the hand with my own- "Your leg is broken, but it has been set." The hand stilled. I removed mine. "Do you recall what happened?"

  The forehead puckered again. "What place is this?"

  "Valgaard."

  There was no change of expression in his eyes.

  What I saw there was a puzzled blankness.

  It had to be the malenna. "Valgaard," I repeated.

  He moved his mouth carefully. His words were imprecise. "What is—Valgaard?"

  It astounded me. I turned sharply to one of the women. "How much malenna was he given?"

  She paled. "No more than usual, Lady."

  "Too much," I declared. "No more—do you hear?"

  "Aye, Lady." She stared hard at the floor.

  He moved slightly, and I looked back at once.

  "Why am I here?" he asked.

  "This is where you are supposed to be. But you were hurt. There was a fight—you fell into the river." Or was pushed; how-better to hide a body?

  "The river?"

  Indeed, too much root. "The Bluetooth." I studied him more closely, marking the dullness of his eyes. More black than green in reflection of the root. "Do you truly recall none of it? Not even the man who stabbed you?"

  "I remember—being cold—" He paused. "—heavy." The eyes closed, then opened. Their clarity was improved, but not their knowledge. "No more .. ." He stirred. "—head hurts."

  "The Bluetooth," I repeated, beginning to understand. If he had struck his head, which was entirely likely in the river, he would likely be confused for a day or two. Combined with the root, it was fortunate he was conscious at all. "It will come back on its own," I promised. "You will know where you are, and that you are safe ..." I paused. "Devin."

  "Is that—I am Devin?"

  I grinned. "Tell me when you are certain."

  He looked at me more closely, "Who are you?"

  Your bride, I answered, but could not say it aloud. "Ginevra."

  He repeated it after me, rolling the soft, sibilant first syllable between his teeth an extra moment.

  His accent was odd, more Homanan than Solindish, but Devin is a High Crags man, from high up on the border between the two lands. I had heard the speech before. "How long—?"

  "You were brought yesterday. My father sent out a search party since you were so late." I smiled wryly. "You are valuable. It was of some concern."

  "Why?" The struggle was in his eyes. "I remember none of it—"

  "Hush." I leaned forward. "Do not tax yourself ... it will come."

  "I should remember." Dampness glistened on his forehead. He made more sense as consciousness solidified. "Who am I, that my tardiness is worth a search party?"

  "Devin of High Crags." I hope it might light the snuffed candle of his mind.

  He tried. "No . .."

  No help for it. It was best simply to say it. "We are meant to be wed."

  The candle within lighted, blazing in his eyes, but the knowledge was not increased. "Wed? When?" His mouth taxed him badly. "I remember nothing—"

  I sighed. "Know this, then, so you need not remain in ignorance.
I am Ginevra of the Ihlini, daughter of Lochiel—and we are meant to wed so we can bring down the Cheysuli." I stopped short, seeing the expression in his eyes. "The Cheysuli," I repeated. "Do you recall nothing of them?"

  "—a word—"

  "A bad word." I sighed. "Let it go, Devin. It will come back, and all will be remembered."

  "Who am I?"

  "Devin of High Crags." I smiled. "Like me, you are Ihlini." It was a bond stronger than any, and he would know it once his mind was restored.

  He sighed. "Ihlini, Cheysuli ... nothing but words to me. I could be either and never know it."

  I laughed. "You would know," I told him. "Be certain you would know, when you went before the god."

  His eyes snapped open. "The god?"

  "Asar-Suti." He knew all of it, but I would tell him regardless. "My father will take you before the Seker. The god requires your oath. You are to wed Lochiel's daughter, and Lochiel is the Seker's most beloved servant. It is necessary." I smiled. "There is no need for you to worry. You are Ihlini. The Seker will know it, just as your lifestone does."

  He followed the line of my gaze and saw the ring upon his hand. He lifted the hand into the au-to study the stone, saw how his fingers trembled and lowered it again. "I—have no memory of this ring."

  That was of concern. He was indeed badly damaged in his mind if he forgot what a lifestone was.

  But I dared not tell him that. "It will come to you."

  His eyes were slitted. "You—will have to teach me. I have forgotten it all."

  "But surely not this." I drew a rune in the air.

  It was only a small one; it lacked the intricacy of my mother's handiwork, but was impressive enough if you have never seen it—or if one has forgotten what godfire looks like. It glowed livid purple.

  He stared at it, transfixed. His fingers trembled upon the fur. "Can I—do that?"

  "Once, you must have. It is the first one we ever learn." I left the rune glowing so he would have a model. "Try it."

  He lifted his hand and I saw how badly it shook.

  Awkwardly he attempted to sketch the rune, but his fingers refused to follow the pattern. It was if they had never learned it.