The Betrayal (15 page)

“Beryloni, as you step away from Stonereach, you bring the gift of your craft to your new clan. Gemaron, as you welcome your lady into Steppegard, so you welcome her skill to the benefit of your people.”

Eliani noticed Beryloni's mother brush away a tear. It was not always the female who left her clan to join her partner's, but more often than not it was so.

“Together you carry this gift from Stonereach to Steppegard as the symbol of your union. Let the step you now take be the first of a long journey of prosperity and happiness together. Come forward into your new life.”

Heléri moved back, and together Beryloni and Gemaron stepped over the distaff. The minstrels at once burst into joyous music, and Heléri turned the couple to face the circle.

“Welcome, Gemaron and Beryloni of House Rhomironan!”

Eliani watched intently as Heléri clasped the couple's beribboned hands in her own, for this was the true crux of the ceremony. While the onlookers celebrated, Heléri's hands moved swiftly, unweaving and reweaving the ribbons. The tingle of khi in the air increased. In a few moments the weave had moved from the couple's hands to their forearms, covering them from wrist to elbow as would an archer's brace.

All the colors were present on each arm, their hands were again free, and the beautiful handfasting ribbon was now two ribbons, its shades and glints of silver visible in the weave on each arm, though Heléri had used no blade or tool and Eliani would have sworn nothing had been cut. The woven bands were secured not with knots but with magecraft, and would remain as a mark of the newly handfasted, never to come undone until the couple had reached their new home.

Eliani gave a small nod of satisfaction, glad to have seen the making of this bond, though an echo of heartache reminded her of Davhri's handfasting long before. Heléri, her work finished, glanced up at Eliani with a smile as the couple moved into the circle to lead the first dance.

“My lady, will you dance?”

A stab of dismay struck her as she turned to face Turisan. Of course, on such an occasion she would be expected to dance with him. To do otherwise would excite curiosity and undoubtedly displease her father. She managed to nod.

Turisan started to offer his arm, then turned the gesture into a sweeping bow, making it seem the most natural thing in the world for her to precede him into the circle for the dance. Gemaron and Beryloni already whirled around and around, hands clasped, laughing together. Eliani summoned a smile more gracious than she felt and raised her hand into the air to touch
wrists, but Turisan struck a formal position with his own hand curving gracefully toward hers, separated by a handspan.

High-court style. Very formal, very elegant. Turisan's choosing to dance in this way made Eliani feel both annoyed and relieved. She concentrated on matching his style and releasing her resentment. It would be poor grace to hold the choice of high-court dancing against him, for she knew he had made it out of consideration for her.

I am a beast, she told herself. What a model of hospitality for my house hold and my clan! Our most honored guest is afraid even to speak to me, and thinks I consider a dance with him nothing short of torture.

She could feel his khi through the air between them as though they actually touched. She shivered.

There was much to admire in him—she was perfectly willing to admire him—she merely preferred to keep her thoughts to herself. She hoped he would understand this. To show her goodwill, she sought to begin a conversation.

“You dance with great elegance, my lord.”

“As do you.” Turisan smiled. “Someone once told me you were not graceful in gowns, but I see that it is untrue.”

Eliani remembered their meeting by the Shades. She felt a blush creeping up her neck and glanced away toward the musicians, wondering when they would end her torment.

Turisan watched Eliani's dismay, frustrated that he had caused it. He would not have claimed a dance with her except that it was customary and expected, for she was the lady of the hall and he the ranking guest.

She tried to hide it, holding her head high and smiling politely, but her khi shimmered with distress.
Their dance was marked by stiff formality and inconsequent conversation. He did not approach her again but found himself watching her, a form of self-torture he seemed unable to resist.

She was not only graceful but beautiful in her flowing gown, its cool colors setting off the warmth of her hair. She moved among her guests and kin with all the graciousness that could be desired of a leader of state.

This lady was quite different from the wild thing in dusty leathers he had encountered—was it but four days ago?—and different still from the frightened girl who had fled from him at the Shades. Every time he thought he had begun to understand her, she showed a new face.

With the cool of evening approaching, the revelers moved indoors, filling Felisanin Hall with good spirits and laughter. Turisan joined them and feasted well, knowing he would be traveling hard over the next few days.

After more dances and many toasts, the handfasted couple departed and the hall grew quiet. Some sought their homes, and others settled into conversation over wine and sweet cakes. Turisan stayed until he felt his duty had been satisfied, then slipped away to prepare for his own departure.

He was forestalled by the young cousin of the house, who caught up with him in the hearthroom. His heart leapt with hope that Eliani had sent the boy after him.

“Your pardon, my lord. Lord Felisan desires a private word with you before you go. Will you follow me this way?”

Stifling his disappointment, Turisan accompanied the youth through a private passage that paralleled the hall and emerged directly into the governor's quarters. They entered the sitting room he had visited before, where Felisan stood waiting beside the fire.

“Ah, excellent. Thank you, Curunan.”

The youth left, softly closing the door behind him. Turisan met the governor's gaze, thinking his green eyes were startlingly like Eliani's.

“I will not keep you long, Lord Turisan. I was much occupied this morning or I would have spoken with you then. I believe you should take this with you back to Glenhallow. Your father should see it for himself.”

Felisan produced a small box, which he opened to show Turisan the severed kobalen ear lying in a bed of salt. Turisan remembered Eliani cutting it from the creature's head with a single stroke—their shared dread as they realized that the alben must have made the ring. He nodded gravely as he accepted the box.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I can give you a horse for the first part of your journey, and an escort to your border if you desire it.”

“The horse I will gladly accept. I doubt the escort is necessary, though I thank you for offering it.”

“There could be more kobalen in the forests.”

“If so, I can evade them best alone.” Turisan smiled. “Thank you again for your hospitality. My father did not exaggerate your kindness.”

Felisan clasped arms with him, then drew him into a brief embrace. “In you I see him again, and all our old kinship is reawakened. I look forward most eagerly to our meeting at Glenhallow. Tell Jharan that if I could speak to him, he would tire of me before my arrival.”

Turisan frowned in confusion. “Tell him what?”

Felisan smiled. “An old jest between us. In our youth we strove to acquire mindspeech together.”

Turisan felt a shock, as if icy water had been dashed over him. “You did?”

“Yes, but it was all in vain, though we meditated for days on end and made many offerings to the ældar. I fear that gift may be lost to our kind at last.”

The fire snapped. Turisan glanced over at it.

“Not quite lost.” He had murmured the words half to himself, but when he looked up from the flames, he saw Felisan watching him. “L-Lord Rephanin is said to have the skill.”

“Rephanin, yes. It will be interesting to meet him again.” Felisan tilted his head. “Do you leave to night or in the morning?”

“To night is best, I think. No reason to delay.”

“The horse will be brought to your house at once, then, with provisions for your journey. Strength to the spirits who guard you, Turisan, and may they see you safely home.”

“I thank you.”

They left the room together, Felisan returning to the feast hall. Turisan caught the tapestry as it fell closed behind the governor and held it a little aside for a moment, searching the hall for Eliani.

She was standing by the vast hearth, firelight flickering in her hair as she talked with the two Steppegards who had stood witness to the handfasting. Turisan felt an urge to go to her. He might take formal leave of her, though what he truly wished to do was sweep her into his arms and carry her from the hall.

Did she know? Did she know what their fathers had prayed for? He doubted it, and guessed that to learn it from him would only make her angry.

More than ever he felt that he and Eliani were fated to be together. Their gift could be of enormous service to their people whether or not they faced war. He was so certain of it that he was willing to bind his very life to it, but how could he convince Eliani of his sincerity? How to assure her that she need not fear him? Heléri had said to give her time, and he trusted that lady's judgment better than his own.

He watched Eliani's eyes flash as she laughed at some
jest. Though he yearned to be near her, he remained where he was. If he approached her now, even merely to bid her farewell, it would chase the smiles from her face.

Not now, then, but he would see her again. She would come with her father to the Council in Glen-hallow, and he would talk with her then. In the meantime, he would seek the right words to persuade her.

“Farewell, my lady. Spirits keep you safe.”

Even as he let the tapestry fall, she glanced toward him, though his words had been a whisper. He waited, not daring to breathe, feeling the heat of her gaze through the cloth, hoping she would speak to him. A moment's stillness, then he sensed her turn away.

He closed his eyes. Not yet, then. Not yet, but soon.

He strode down the private passage and out beneath the stars, needing action. He would ride at once for Glenhallow and try not to count the days until the Council convened.

“Departed?”

Eliani stared in surprise at her father, who was straightening an untidy stack of papers. He carried the pages to a shelf, and she followed him.

“Why did you not tell me Lord Turisan was leaving? I would have gone with his escort.”

“He chose to forgo the escort.” Felisan sat down by the last embers of his fire. “Ah, I am tired!”

Eliani stared at him in disbelief. “You let him ride alone?”

“Turisan can look after himself, Eliani. He came here alone and on foot and came to no harm.”

“That was before we knew kobalen had entered our woods!”

Eliani picked up a small log and poked the fire awake with it, then laid it on to burn. Yellow light flared, and she frowned at it, feeling restless.

“We should send a party to make certain he reaches the border safely.”

“It is very late.”

“There are some few yet talking in the hall. I will lead them myself.”

“Eliani—”

“I will be back before morning.”

In the feast hall she found Luruthin, two Steppegards, and Firthan, a cousin of her father. These four pledged to go with her and dispersed to make ready.

Eliani hurried to her chamber to strip off her finery and don her riding leathers. Perhaps she was being overcautious, but even a small possibility of Lord Turisan's coming to harm in Alpinon's woods was unthinkable. She would get no rest until she was assured he had crossed into Southfæld.

Into Southfæld and away from Alpinon. She smiled wryly as she pulled on her boots.

She met the others in the public circle and led them along the south road, then cut through the forest, retracing the path by which she had brought Turisan to Highstone. The full moon was westering, casting long tree shadows. They were nearing her old oak when at last she saw a lone mounted figure ahead.

Turisan had heard them. He turned, then halted and waited for them to come up.