“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 livid 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 unblemished. 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 burn; 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 blankne
ss.
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 air 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.
The hand dropped to the bed. He was exhausted. “If I knew it once, I have forgotten.”
I dismissed my own rune. It was somewhat discomfiting to discover an Ihlini who could not even form the simplest rune, but not surprising. He would recall it. For the moment his mind was empty of power, of the knowledge of his magic, like a young child. “It will come again.” I paused. “If it does not, be certain I will teach you.”
The lips moved faintly, as if to form a smile. But his eyelids dropped closed. The root was reasserting its control.
I rose quietly. He looked very young and vulnerable. Against his hand the lifestone was black.
Black, not red.
“It will come back,” I said.
At the door, as I lifted the latch, I heard a sound. I turned back and saw the faint glint of green eyes. “Ginevra,” he said, as if to try out the fit of my name within his mouth.
I smiled. “Aye.”
The lids closed again. “Beautiful,” he whispered.
Nonplussed, I did not answer. I did not know if he meant my name, or the woman who bore it.
Then I thought of my mother. I could not help but smile. You gave him to me, I thought. Now let you see what comes of it.
* * *
I went at once to my father. With him was my mother, who sat upon a window seat in my father’s tower chamber and gazed down upon the smoky bestiary before the gates. I thought she was very like the fortress, strong, proud, and fierce. I wished I could like her, but that had died. I knew her heart now, and the knowledge bruised my own.
“He remembers nothing,” I told them. “Not even his name.”
My father stood before a burning tripod brazier. It turned his eyes bronze. He waited.
“I told him. I told him mine as well, and that we are to wed. I told him where he is. But he recalls none of it…not even that he is Ihlini.”
That brought my mother’s head around. Bells tinkled in her hair. “He forgets that?”
I refused to flinch beneath the contempt. “He has been badly injured. It will come back.”
“Did you test him?” my father asked.
I flattened my palms against my skirts and held my hands very still. “What magic he knew is forgotten. Even bel’sha’a. He is a child, my lord father—an infant empty of power.” I took a careful breath, knowing what I said was incredibly important. “If you sought a tool, you could not find a better one. He has nothing on which to rely save what we give him. There are no preconceptions. How better to teach the man how to serve the master than by replacing the old memories with the new?”
Only the faintest glint in his eyes betrayed his interest. I knew I had caught him. Now there was no need for subtlety.
My father smiled. I saw him glance at my mother who watched him with narrowed eyes. Hers, too, are pale brown, though not like his; hers are almost golden except when the
light hits them fully, and then the Cheysuli shows.
“He shall be mine,” Lochiel said.
I put up my chin. It was time I declared myself lest she do it first. “But you will share him with me.”
My father laughed. “I shall do better than that. He shall be your charge until I believe the time is right…you may have the training of him. In all things.”
I could not help the burst of pride in my chest. Never had he bestowed upon me such a gift. It was a mark of his acknowledgment of my blood. He was giving me the opportunity to serve my heritage.
Still, I hesitated. “Are you sure I am worthy?”
He laughed. “You need not fear that you might tarnish the vessel. I will be here for you…I will see what you do. He is meant for the god, Ginevra, as you are. Do you think I would give him immortality only to have you watch him sicken and die the way others do?”
“Lochiel!” my mother cried. “You promise too much.”
“Do I?” His tone was cool. “Do you wish it for you in place of your daughter?”
Color stained her face. “You have never suggested it. Even when I asked—”
He made a subtle gesture with his hand. I had seen it before; I had tried to mimic it desperately because it always silenced my mother. “Melusine,” he said, “you live here on my sufferance.”
Her red lips trembled, then firmed. “I am your wife.”
“That does not make you worthy of the Seker’s favor.”
Her eyes blazed almost yellow. “You promise it to her!”
He stood next to me. His hand was on my shoulder. The fingers crept into my hair, which hung loose to my hips, and I felt the warmth of his flesh through the velvet of my gown. “Ginevra is the flesh of my flesh, the blood of my blood, the bone of my bone,” he said quietly. “Her mind is mine as well. You are none of these things…I used you to get the child, and now I have her.”
“Lochiel!”
His other hand rose. I could see it from the corner of my eye. I looked at my mother because I could look nowhere else. “Melusine,” he said, “I have cared for you. You bore me a child. You suckled Kellin of Homana when I bid you do it. You have served me well. But you surely must see that you and your daughter are destined for different ends.”
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