Crystal Rose

by Bohnhoff, Maya Kaathryn

  “Empty.”

  “A Hillwild fortress is always ready to receive refugees from the holt,” she said. “There was a time when Mertuile could take in all the citizens living outside her gates.”

  “I’ll burn the village to the ground.”

  “You would not be the first to do that.”

  He fumed now. “I have other means of laying siege, Lady. I will not hesitate to use them. Against you, against your followers. I suspect an aislinn siege might be more effective than a physical one. You may have observed my siege engine.” He glanced up at the standard that bore the Chalice and casket.

  “The Osraed Bevol’s crystal, Aiffe?”

  His face stilled. “You call my bluff. Very well. Then know that Ochan’s Crystal is part of what I seek here. Don’t imagine that because that box contains a lesser crystal, I am powerless. As I said, I have resources. I think you know this.”

  She refrained from answering, but waited for him to come to his point.

  He leaned toward her, eyes intent, aidan focused.

  “I want Airleas—at Mertuile and with myself as Regent. Sole Regent. I want you there, as well, to satisfy the people, to ensure Airleas’s cooperation, to be my . . . confidante, my instructor.”

  “To be a trophy.”

  “Ah, more than that, dear Lady. Much more than that. Cyne Colfre was right in thinking you a superb symbol. I would make you a virtual goddess. Your word would be theological law.”

  “My word?”

  He smiled. “When it agrees with mine. When it doesn’t . . .” He shrugged.

  “You would make us figureheads, then—Airleas and I.”

  “I would spare the Cwen, your followers—who, by the way, are suffering greatly in Creiddylad—and your Hillwild protector.” He turned a baleful eye on Catahn, who stood some yards away, watching. “Though I would take great pleasure in ending the nuisance he represents. I would even leave Halig-liath under your control. Of course, the Osraed must not be permitted to obtain the sort of power they’ve traditionally wielded.”

  “For my cooperation and Airleas’s you would do all this.”

  “Aye. For that.”

  “Will your allies agree?”

  “Eventually . . . Let me remind you again, that this will be more than a physical siege. Let me remind you of Iseabal.”

  The chill that Taminy had felt hovering about her now wrapped its frigid arms around her soul. She knew her face betrayed her.

  Feich nodded. “Yes . . . I suspected you knew. Give in now, Lady. Save yourself.”

  “You attack at the wrong point, Regent Feich.”

  “I think not.” He rose. “I know not.”

  He escorted her back to the gates of Hrofceaster, back to their hovering audience, and took his party down the narrow, sloping road to his siege camp.

  oOo

  The fire was warm and, in its glow, Daimhin Feich basked and contemplated his situation, his options, his desires. Lilias Saba was seeing to the last of these, massaging him with scented oils while his mind turned in lazy spirals. He did not doubt that he would force Taminy to capitulate eventually. Then . . . then what?

  He had every intention of making her a spiritual figurehead. She would be able to keep the Osraed under control, quell their rebellious arrogance. More than that, she would become his consort. No doubts had he about that either. Yet now, with his mind floating far afield, he realized he had a longer-term goal at heart—that a son of his sit on the throne of Caraid-land, binding it to the House Feich.

  He saw his options for power in terms of women: A liaison with Lilias Saba would unite Caraid-land and El-Deasach. If he was exceedingly clever he might have two capitols at his command—Creiddylad in the north and Kansbar in the south—capitols his son would hold after him.

  Marriage to Toireasa Malcuim, on the other hand, offered the obvious benefit of consolidating his legal hold over Airleas, and he had no doubt that, through artful Weaving, her barrenness might be cured.

  Yet, neither Lilias nor Toireasa could give him a son like himself—a son with the Gift. He realized his own aidan was a fluke and knew there was no guarantee a woman of little or no talent would bear him a Gifted child. Only one woman could be counted on to do that—Taminy-a-Cuinn, Osmaer.

  He daydreamed of it. Fey son of a fey father and a divinely Wickish mother.

  “I’m pleased my work delights you so.”

  Feich opened his eyes to gaze up into the face of Lilias. He was struck again by her exotic beauty. An embarrassment of riches, he had. It was a shame Caraidin religious law didn’t allow for polygamy. Perhaps he would wed Toireasa then have the Osraed allow for two extra wives. That, indeed, would be the best option of all.

  “Or were you thinking about your Dearg Wicke?” Raven pouted prettily. “I know you will go to her later.”

  Feich reached up to run fingers through her glossy black hair. “Only to Weave, my darling. Only to send aislinn warriors against Hrofceaster.”

  “You believe that will work? That will cause the Sorceress to let loose of your little Cyneric?”

  “I do believe that. Should I not?”

  “There is much power there. In her, in the boy, in the Hillwild. Even that scarecrow of an Osraed who scribbled for them was powerfully Gifted.”

  Bemused, Feich framed her face with his hands and looked deeply into her eyes, probing. “Who told you that?”

  “No one. I sensed it. I’m not without my own aidan, as you call it.”

  “You Weave?”

  She shook her head. “Little. But I See. For many years, I served my father as chief advisor. Only twice did he fail to take my advice. The first time, it cost him a caravan. The second time, it cost him his life.” She shook herself visibly, peeling away the sudden melancholy that clouded her beauty. “Such Sight is a useful talent for a ruler to have.”

  “Indeed. Still, I might teach you to Weave. Yes, I’m sure I could teach you that.”

  “When you are still learning from your Dearg?”

  “‘My Dearg,’ as you call her, is only a focus and a source of energy for my own Weaving. I’ve learned all from her that I can. Now, she is merely a repository of useful energy—like a grain silo or a well.” He chuckled at the image that evoked. “No, Lilias. Coinich Mor can teach me nothing. It is Taminy-Osmaer I must learn from now.”

  Lilias’s brows winged upward. “Only learn? More than that, I wager.”

  He caressed her cheek. “Does this bother you, my love?”

  “Not as long as you answer to my touch. With me, you have no rivals. For your Golden Wicke’s heart, you must compete with the Hillwild Ren.” Her eyes held his with a satin grip that infused him with heat and sent his body, mind and spirit in conflicting directions. “He has her heart, Daimhin. More, I think he touches her spirit, as well.”

  Feich stiffened. “No, but he’d like to, I know. I see the way he looks at her, the way he guards her.”

  “Lusts for her,” added Lilias, mouth curving, eyes glowing.

  He shifted uncomfortably. “As well he might. She is, without doubt, the most beautiful woman in Airdnasheen.”

  Lilias traced his lips with her finger. “Ah, but it’s more than lust, my demon. He loves her. And she, him.”

  “Pah!” He twitched away. “She loves only her Eibhilin Mistress, the Meri. You forget, I know the girl. She cannot be seduced.”

  Lilias laughed, a sound Feich found suddenly and unaccountably annoying. “Not by you, perhaps, but between her and that Hillwild savage there is a bond. I’ve seen it. Felt it.”

  Feich was suddenly in no mood to be petted. Passion dying, he set Lilias away from him. “I must see to my Weaving,” he told her tersely, and rolled up from her soft pallet.

  Affronted, she hissed at him. “You are in love with her, yourself!”

  “I am in love only with the Throne and Circlet,” he returned, seeking his clothing.

  She found it first and threw it at him. “You want her.”
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br />   He gazed at her, even in his impatience, able to admire the way firelight painted shifting scenes on the gleaming bronze of her flesh. “I want many things, Lilias—you among them. But now, I must Weave or I shall not have what I want most—Caraid-land.”

  The Deasach was unappeased. Flipping back her tent flap, she summoned one of her young corsairs and, uncaring of her state of undress, invited him into the tent. If the young man was surprised by this, or embarrassed by Feich’s half-clad presence, he hid it completely, and yielded to his Banarigh’s sudden, fierce advances without comment. Before Feich could even remove himself from the tent, the two were locked in a fervid embrace.

  For the moment, he hardly cared what Lilias Saba did in her petty disappointment, but hastened to his own tent to summon Coinich Mor. Tonight she would channel his aidan deep into Hrofceaster where he would strike at its heart.

  oOo

  It was pleasant by the fire. Warm. Taminy sat on the floor before the hearth, forehead resting on her knees. She needed warmth just now—savored it. Hrofceaster had never seemed a cold place to her until now. Now he was camped at her gates. She despaired of being able to read him adequately, of being able to understand what she read. Daimhin Feich wore a thick facade of artful design beneath which nothing was apparent but a constant play of passions. His aidan flowed hot and cold and hot again. She could neither gauge its depth nor its direction. What he would do now . . .

  Something shifted in the atmosphere of the room around her—dark ripples on an aislinn pool. She raised her head from her knees, glancing around. Did that shadow move? Had that curtain shifted? As she turned back to the fire, her eyes and aidan both caught the presence; motes of fire and blood spun in a vortex at the center of the room, struggling to unite.

  Taminy faced it slowly, pulling herself to her knees, putting her back to the fire. As she moved, she described a Wardweave, keeping it tight, close to her, like an aislinn shield. Anger pulsed through the Weave—anger at having even this, her private sanctum, violated. Laying hold of her senses, she willed them to calm, to readiness, for the motes were describing a male form—a form she recognized.

  In a burst of ruddy light and hot exultation, it was complete, and the Daimhin Feich of her nightmares stood before her, gloating. He was bigger than life, more vivid, vibrating with dark vitality. His pale eyes gleamed like the steel of a sword’s blade, his shoulders and chest swelled beneath an aislinn fabric of crimson, and blue fire haloed his head.

  This is how he sees himself, she realized. This is his mirror image.

  “I can see!” the effigy exclaimed. “My God, I can see as if—!” He broke off and stared at her, making her suddenly aware of the state of her dress and she, in futile defense, clutched at the fabric of her soft robe.

  Feich’s image inclined its head. “Lady, as you see, I could not wait to behold you again. There is a matter of some importance I must discuss with you. A proposition I must set before you.”

  She said nothing, having nothing to say.

  “My proposition, simply, is this: That we be allies. No, more than allies. That we be as one. Therefore, I offer you this—that we be wed for the greater good of Caraid-land.”

  She was stricken with the impulse to laugh, but incredulity overcame any amusement. “How would our . . . our marriage work for the good of anyone—even yourself?”

  “I’ll refrain, for the moment, from speaking of my own needs and wants. Let me just say that it would put you in a position of influence and protection, and return you to Creiddylad, where you can best exert that influence. The Caraidin would benefit by your spiritual leadership. You would become . . . a focus.”

  “A figurehead, you mean. Yes, we’ve spoken of this.”

  “As my wife, you would be more than a figurehead.” His smile was at once sweetly patronizing and repulsive. “You might even be Cwen, were you so inclined. And . . . it would guarantee Airleas Malcuim’s continued existence.”

  The blood drained from Taminy’s face, leaving her cheeks chill. “You make Airleas’s life dependent on my capitulation?”

  The aislinn Feich’s teeth gleamed as if moonlit.

  “I prefer to think of it as cooperation. But yes, if you will. Airleas will most assuredly end up in my hands. His survival is now in yours.”

  “You assume much about where Airleas will end up. But, I don’t understand you. You have made your hatred of me clear. How could marriage to me possibly benefit you?”

  The effigy moved closer to her. “First of all, dear Lady, I have never hated you. You drive me to fury, to rage, to violence. Must I explain to you how close to passion those things are? Indeed, they are forms of passion. Second, is this: I will derive many benefits from marriage to you, Taminy-Osmaer. Power, safety, satisfaction. But my chief benefit will be the child you will bear me. A child who will carry the might of our combined Gifts.”

  Taminy came to her feet on a surge of cold, sickening outrage. “What you suggest is impossible. Unthinkable.”

  Feich’s face blanked, a look that was almost distress flickering across it. A smile that was more snarl followed. “What I am suggesting, Lady Osmaer, is your only means of ensuring Airleas’s return to his throne. That is your will, is it not? Is it not the will of your Mistress?”

  “You know it is.”

  “Now you know my will—to possess you. I realize now that has been at the root of my thoughts since . . .”

  “Since I refused you.”

  The effigy’s expression darkened. “Don’t provoke me, Taminy. Not now that you’re within my reach. Not now that your young disciples and your beloved little Cyneric and your Hillwild Ren are within my reach.” He cocked his head to one side, his eyes bright slits. “I assume you care for your dog-faithful Hillwild. I assume you realize how the cur dotes on you. How he wants you. But he will not have you. I will.”

  A spark of pure anger flared in Taminy’s breast—a flame of outrage that licked, like a hot tongue, at her soul. “You assume much about your power, Regent.”

  He spread aislinn hands and moved toward her with steady steps. “I am here. Do I not seem substantial to you? Would a touch prove my power?”

  In the back of her mind, the hatred gained substance and power; it coiled, straining to be unleashed, to destroy him utterly. She considered it, fleetingly, a swift slash of fury—surely that’s all it would take. He couldn’t possibly be as strong as he believed himself. Someone so evil could never be that strong. She hefted the hatred as a sword, felt its weight and balance, looked into the aislinn Feich’s pale eyes, prepared to strike.

  The impulse died in a choking surge of panic; Taminy cowered before it—before her own hatred. “Be gone!”

  She edged backward, holding up a hand, restrained, the killing inyx clutched in it like a ball of flame. Feich watched the hand rise; was that fear in his eyes? Had he read her impulse to destroy him? Did he read her present shame? She let the destructive Weave unravel, leaving only the simple Shieldweave.

  He laughed. “You’ll have to do better than that, my dear. I am stronger than you imagine.”

  “Leave me!” she told him, voice low, reining in rage. “If you’d have an answer from me, leave me!”

  “I’d have more than an answer.” He took another step, crowding her.

  In the instant Taminy’s shoulder pressed into the stone of the hearth mantle, in the instant fury threatened to engulf her, the door of her room thundered and flew open. In its black maw, Catahn poised, sword in hand.

  In a heart’s beat he was in the room, face ashen, eyes struggling to take in what they saw. The false Feich turned, shedding bits of his aislinn stuff upon the floor to melt like fiery snow. With a roar of outrage, Catahn wielded his sword in a singing arc through the ephemeral figure. The blade passed clean through in a shower of sparks, the image exploding into a thousand fragments of gleaming, riotous laughter.

  Feich was gone, leaving only an echo and an after-image of ruddy flame.

  “Tami
ny!” Catahn crossed the room to her in two strides, dropping his sword to pull her into his arms. “Lady! Dear God, how did he come to be here? Has he grown that strong? What did he say to you?”

  She drew away from him, straightening her robe, willing herself to calm and self-possession.

  “In a moment,” she said, turning her face to the fire. “In a moment, I’ll tell you. Just now I need to pray. Wait for me here,” she added, and withdrew to her bed chamber.

  oOo

  It was more than a moment before she came to him where he paced, back and forth, back and forth across her parlor. She told him, in a voice like icy water what Daimhin Feich had demanded of her.

  Cold rage clawed at his gut. Cold rage and a desire to hack Daimhin Feich’s smile from his face with a dull blade. How dare he contemplate marriage to Taminy? How dare he suggest that there could ever be a bond of any kind between them? That she should bear his child?

  She was watching him. Watching him clench and unclench his fists, fight to control the breath that wanted to come out in a roar. Words flew from his mouth before he could drag them back: “You should be no man’s wife!”

  She was silent for a long moment and, when she spoke, her words jolted him. “Why should I not? Can I not be loved?”

  He sucked breath into his lungs. “Loved, yes. Adored. Obeyed. But wanted, never! To tie you in such a profane bond—!”

  “How, profane? The Spirit made us this way—male, female, capable of generating new life through our union. He asks only that that union be one of love.”

  “You’ll get no love from Feich. He desires only to conquer and possess. There is no love in that man. None.”

  “No. But there is love in another.”

  “What are you saying? Of whom do you speak?”

  “What man loves me, Catahn? What man puts me before life itself? What man’s life is tangled in mine so that we might never untwine?”