Kingmaker's Sword (Rune Blades of Celi) (25 page)

“That may be so,” she said. “But I have to do my best.” She looked into the fire, her expression remote again. “I had thought I would recognize him by the bond. Because I’m to be his
bheancoran
, I had thought we would bond when I saw him, and he would know me just as I knew him.”

“Instead, you find yourself bonded to a savage and a barbarian,” I said. I had been striving for levity, but it fell flat.

She looked up at me, her eyes shadowed, her lips soft and half-parted. “It can’t be a true bond,” she said, then she smiled faintly. “I know what’s happening to us. Do you remember what day this is?”

I had to think about it. It was the day after Vernal Equinox when Cullin and I brought the merchant train into Honandun. How many days, how many sept-nights since then? Enough had happened to fill a year’s worth. When I counted the days, it startled me to discover it was only a season. One season.

“Beltane Eve,” I said in surprise. “Tonight is Beltane Eve.” Beltane Eve, the only night of the year when the Duality split into its male and female aspects to couple by the fires as man and woman to bless the fertility of field and herd. The night when every woman represented the goddess and every man the god.

“Yes,” she said. “I was thinking about what I would be doing if I were home tonight.”

I knew what I would be doing. Dancing between the fires with an eye out for a light-footed and lighthearted lass wishing to offer me her heather-wine. The sudden warmth in my face was not from the heat of the fire.

“What would you be doing,
sheyala
?” I asked, knowing I trod dangerous ground. “How do you celebrate Beltane in Celi?”

She set her chin on her drawn up knees, arms wrapped tightly around her legs. “There’s a procession from the shrine to the oak grove where the fire is waiting to be lighted,” she said quietly. “Then we dance around it.”

“Only one fire?” I asked.

She nodded. “Just the one. Not so in Tyra?”

“No. We light two and dance between them. The women carry goblets of heather-wine to offer to the men they favour.”

“Mead in Celi,” she said. “One sip demands payment of a kiss.”

“And if you offer the whole cup?”

She laughed softly. “The grass is always soft between the oak trees,” she said. “I think it must be the same in Tyra.”

“Aye, it is. And in the morning, the children drive the beasts between the fires, all the horses and cattle and sheep and goats, even the geese and chickens, to ensure an increase.” I laughed. “And there are always a few Beltane babes born around Imbolc.”

“We call them blessed,” she said. “A child who can claim a god for a father and a goddess for a mother.” She drew in a deep breath. “Liam believes Kyffen’s grandson is a child of Beltane.”

“
Sheyala
, do these princes marry their
bheancoran
?” My voice sounded unaccountably hoarse.

“Some do,” she replied. “Kyffen married Demilor.”

“As you might marry this prince.”

She looked up at me gravely. “I might, Kian,” she said. She turned again to watch the fire. “When we find him. If we find him...” Her voice trailed off into silence.

Travelling by
merchant train, the journey from Frendor to Honandun takes a fortnight. We avoided the road as much as possible, but sunset of the tenth day found us on the outskirts of Honandun. Cullin led us through the streets away from the portside inns we normally used, toward the white stone elegance of the Ephir’s palace. The streets here were lined by the sumptuous and expensive walled houses of the nobility and courtiers of Isgard. This was not a district normally frequented by merchant train guards. There was little chance we would be recognized.

Cullin finally stopped at an inn that would be vastly beyond the means of even a merchant train guard heavy with silver and a bonus of gold after a long trip south and back. I took the horses to the stable and flipped two ten-copper bits to the stablemaster who eyed my clothing askance, but did not question my coin.

The inn stood three storeys tall, built of stone and timber, its roof red tile instead of thatch. The windows were glazed casements with leaded patterns of rose, blue, green and yellow glass, and flanked by neatly painted shutters. The sign above the door depicted the Ephir’s crown pierced by the blade of an ornate sword, and the words
Sword and Crown
painted in flowing script beneath it.

I joined Cullin and Kerri, who were already inside. Men and women, richly dressed in velvets, silks and glossy leathers, occupied most of the tables in the common room that boasted of a polished mosaic tile floor inlaid with copper and brass. Serving girls dressed in neat grey and white gowns, with spotless white aprons embroidered with the sword and crown motif, hurried back and forth between the tables and the kitchens or the bars, carrying trays laden with food or crystal decanters of wine or mead. There was nothing so prosaic as mere ale in this room. A brightly-clad minstrel strumming a lute strolled among the tables and sang bawdily merry songs for the entertainment of the inn’s clientele. Few of them paid him much attention.

The innkeeper wove his way deftly through the tables to meet us. He gave us no welcoming smile as he shrewdly assessed our clothing.

“How may I help you?” he asked in the carefully neutral voice of a man ready to move to either welcome or rejection. “Perhaps you’d be needing directions to more suitable accommodations?”

Kerri wore her trews and tunic, clean now, but rumpled. Cullin and I wore travelling leathers we had purchased the afternoon before from a merchant we found in a small town. They fit reasonably well, but were by no means up to the standards of the clothing worn by the rest of the inn’s patrons. Compared to them, all three of us looked scruffy and unkempt.

Cullin drew himself up to his full height and positively radiated his nobility like heat from a flame. “Is there better in Honandun?” he asked, raising his eyebrow casually.

The innkeeper’s smoothly affluent face grew red. “There is not,” he declared emphatically.

“Then we’ve come to the right place,” Cullin said. “I am Cullin dav Medroch, son of Medroch dav Kian dav Keylan, Clan Laird of Broche Rhuidh of Tyra.” His hand gestured gracefully toward Kerri, then to me. “My lady Kerridwen al Jorddyn, kinswoman to Prince Kyffen of Skai, and my son, Kian. We are here to see the Ephir on a matter of some importance with a message from my father.”

Instantly, the innkeeper’s manner became deferential and respectful. “You are welcome here, my lord,” he said. “Only tell me what you require, and it shall be provided.”

Cullin looked distastefully down at his clothing. “First, three rooms and hot baths in each,” he said. “Then, I think the services of a fuller and a barber for my son and myself.” He smiled. “And I assume you have someone trained as a ladies’ maid for my lady Kerridwen?”

Kerri opened her mouth to protest she needed no such thing, but subsided when I took her arm and squeezed none too gently.

“Of course, my lord,” the innkeeper said smoothly. “I have the perfect girl for the lady, well trained and very discreet. And your meal? Would you prefer to take it down here, or shall I have something to your taste sent up?”

“Sent up, I think,” Cullin said. “We have been travelling for almost a fortnight. It was tiring in the extreme.”

“Of course, my lord,” the innkeeper said. He snapped his fingers and two boys appeared to relieve us of our saddle packs. “I will have Lashia sent to the lady’s room immediately. The boys will see you upstairs. You have but to call and I will have your meal sent up.”

Kerri paused on the stairs and looked at Cullin, a hint of a smile on her mouth. “You do that very well,” she murmured.

Cullin’s smile was beatific. “It’s an art,” he said negligently. “And I was well-schooled.”

***

The next morning after we broke our fast, Cullin summoned a messenger and sent a note to the Ephir. By mid morning, a man wearing royal livery arrived at the inn bearing a formal invitation for the three of us to attend at the palace that evening. Cullin returned a gracious acceptance, then set the whole inn on its ear as he demanded—and got without question—all the services to see us properly ready and on time.

I have never in my life seen such dedicated, frantic scurrying around by so many people. Kerri disappeared into her room amid a bevy of ladies’ maids and seamstresses. My dress kilt and plaid were snatched right out of my hands and spirited away to the fuller. A quietly dignified bootmaker old enough to be my grandfather, sat me down on a velvet upholstered chair in my room and called me “my lord” while he told me why this particular pair of boots and none other would suit my purpose.

He had no sooner left when a barber and his assistant descended upon me. They shaved me and washed my hair, then trimmed it, tasks I had been fully capable of performing for myself all my life, and I submitted with only a token protest. But when they brought out the tongs, I flatly refused to let them near me, despite their protestations of the dictates of fashion. My hair was perilously close to curling on its own after it was washed. It needed no extraneous attention from a pair of fashion-mad barbers. They finally left, bitterly disappointed, when I offered with heartfelt sincerity to throw the first man to touch my head with those forsaken tongs right out of the window.

I had exactly ten minutes respite to re-plait the braid in my hair before a servant arrived with my neatly pressed, spotless kilt and plaid, carrying a snowy linen shirt across his arm. I looked with distaste at the fountains of frothy lace at throat and wrists. It looked like a year’s worth of precious needle lace if what Gwynna produced was a good measure.

“Not really,” I said in dismay.

“Yes, really,” Cullin said, appearing at the door. He had not, I noticed, escaped the attention of the tongs. “If we are to be barbarians at Court,
ti’rhonai
, then we will be truly magnificent barbarians.” He tossed me a clan badge, plaid brooch and kilt pin, freshly polished to a soft, gleaming sheen. “Here. They left those with me. You’ll need them.”

“Barbarians,” I repeated, eyeing the shirt. “Does that mean I can drink wine from the decanter and leer at the ladies?”

“I believe leering at the ladies comes under the heading of civilized behaviour,” he said gravely. “You’ll have to content yourself with aloof disdain.”

“I’m good at disdain,” I said, considering. “But I’d rather leer.”

“Of course,” he said. “So would we all.” He grinned and left me to my own devices and at the mercy of the servant.

“No swords, my lord,” the servant said apologetically when I made to buckle mine on. “The Ephir allows no weapons in the palace.”

“Wise of him,” I muttered. I felt strangely naked and vulnerable without the sword, but I left it in the room.

The Ephir sent a carriage for us. The footman appeared at the door of the Sword and Crown just as Kerri swept down the stairs in a gown of something that shimmered like moonbeams on water, her hair pulled back off her face, dressed with pearls and bound by gold netting, a dark blue velvet cloak around her bare shoulders. Cullin bowed to her, then offered her his arm. She inclined her head graciously and placed her fingers delicately on his elbow. I trailed out to the carriage in their wake. Cullin and Kerri looked odd without their swords, too. Perhaps we had been too long among bandits and potential enemies.

***

The reception room of the palace was full of people. The velvets, silks, laces and glossy leathers they wore rivalled the priceless tapestry wall hangings in opulence, and their jewels glittered brightly as the crystal, gold and silver under the massed light of hundreds of candles. I noted in passing there must be somewhere in Honandun some very rich chandlers. The ornate throne at the far end of the room near the marble hearth stood conspicuously empty as the heralds announced us. The ripple of conversation abated slightly as people turned their heads to watch us, assessing our importance and deciding just exactly how polite they needed to be.

With Kerri on his arm, Cullin advanced into the room, his grace and poise more than a match for any of his audience. A man separated himself from a knot of people and came to meet us, hand extended in greeting. He was clad in Isgardian trews and jacket in a soft grey, but wore a plaid in bright red, brown and blue pinned over his shoulder. I noted reflectively that the foam of lace at his throat and wrists was even more elaborate than mine. Or Cullin’s. His hair gleamed like polished oak and sprang from his head in tight, lustrous curls. Only the braid by his left temple and his neatly trimmed beard showed silver to betray any indication of age.

“Cullin, my dear boy,” he called ebulliently. “How very good to see you again!”

“Sion, you old reprobate,” Cullin replied, smiling. “It’s been years.” They embraced each other soundly, then Cullin drew Kerri forward. “Sion, I have the honour to present the lady Kerridwen al Jorddyn, kinswoman to Prince Kyffen of Skai. My lady, Sion dav Turboch, Tyran ambassador to the Court of Isgard.”

Sion dav Turboch took Kerri’s hand and bowed over it, raising it briefly to his lips. “I’ve met your father, my lady,” he said, his eyes twinkling merrily. “And I must say that he does not deserve a daughter so beautiful as you. You must favour your lady mother.”