No One's Chosen (20 page)

"I would rather die, Cosain."

Cosain looked away again. He breathed deep and slow.
Crying would not suit him, but she knew it must sting to hear her
say that. He was her father in every way that mattered, they both
knew that.

"Go then." His voice was ragged but accepting. "But
come back."

She kissed him on the forehead. "I will so long as it
is my home and so long as you are my father."

A tear ran down his cheek. Óraithe turned and left
the shop in silence. The sun had set.

The entirety of the rest of the journey to Cnoclean
had been as unworthy of note as the first leg. The rain came and
went, the roads muddied and slow. It had been another two days
riding, not quite what Rianaire had hoped for, but enough that she
could unwind. It was unfortunate, she thought, that there was not
some more lavish way to travel. A rolling inn or, better still, a
mobile brothel. She chuckled to herself at the thought.

Síocháin had been asleep when they finally arrived at
the squat castle that served as home to the Regent of Cnoclean and
its attendant lands. It was some time after noon and the sun did
what it could to poke through a dense, cool haze. Rianaire had kept
her handmaid up to all hours of the night talking about what she'd
like to do while they were in Cnoclean, and where they might stop
on the way back, and whether Síocháin thought she could visit the
river elf lands. She never had, in all her days. The closest she
had been was some small farming village north of Theasín, which sat
just north of the border. She had hoped the trip south would let
her see some new sights, rolling hills and the like, but it was
winter when they had gone. A food shortage had led to some hysteria
and her mother insisted on seeing to it personally. Winter had a
way of making Spéirbaile a boring wash of white on white. The
south, she'd found, was even worse as it tended to lack for the
evergreen trees of the middle north.

She had been so lost in thought about her future
escapes from the requirements of the realm that she had forgotten
to sleep. Indeed, she was still so taken with the matter of how she
might actually bring such a dream to reality that it was the
previously sleeping Síocháin that told her they might wish to leave
the carriage and enter the keep they had ridden so long to see.

Rianaire stepped down from the carriage, a plain
linen cloak around her shoulders and a hood over her head. Travel
meant that washing fell by the wayside and Rianaire was sure she
must've smelt terrible but she would have to make the appropriate
greetings to Aerach. They had been friends and occasional lovers in
her youth. His father was Regent of Cnoclean at the time and she
saw no reason not to pass the honor along to his son. In other
parts of the world she would have been accused of attempting to
create a dynasty, but it had been the way of the northern elves
since anyone could remember. More to the point, Aerach performed
his tasks as Regent dutifully and was powerfully charismatic. Much
more so than his father had been.

There was no main gate to the Cnoclean hold,
curiously enough. It sat at the forefront of the entrance to the
city whose walls were a flat stretch of massive slabs of stone
quarried from the heart of the mountains around them. The walls
were not highest in the province, nor were they of any advanced
make. They had been erected over a dozen generations before by the
ancestors of the northern elves and, by the Sisters, they were
thick. While they stood a fairly average forty feet high, they were
nearly a hundred yards thick. They simply could not be moved by any
machine or magic. Jutting from the top slabs were steel cage
scaffoldings. They were large enough for maybe two full grown elves
abreast and appeared every twenty yards along the rim of the city.
The city had never been breached since the walls had been
completed, but you'd not have known it from the way they built the
keep. It was as dreary an affair, squat, square, and with no large
entryways. The front wall was rich with arrow slits, fifty at the
least. The other walls were not so built for an assault, but saw no
lack of defensible positions. The castle stood at the head of the
city as a challenge to any who could pass the walls. A second
challenge, a taunt. Take it if you think you are able.

It was only a few short steps to the awning that
covered the entrance on the side of the great rectangle of a keep.
The doors swung open as Rianaire neared, Síocháin in tow, and
revealed the wrinkled face of a smiling old woman. She was Tirim,
Aerach's caretaker since he was young and now his attendant. Most
of her teeth had gone and her hair was making to join them, but
still her smile was bright and welcoming.

"Ah, Treorai! It has been too long, I fear." Her
voice was scratchy with age but higher pitched than it ought to
have been for her squat frame. The old woman motioned to the
attendants who had opened to door to relieve them of their cloaks.
They did.

"As ever, Tirim. It would seem that running the
entire province takes up more time than I had imagined."

Tirim laughed a ragged old laugh. "As you say,
Treorai. Still, without you there would be no end of trouble for us
smallfolk."

"Curious of Aerach to not meet me himself. Is he at
some business?"

"Ah, Aerach, of course." Her smile
turned to a disappointed frown and she said in a conciliatory
tone
.
"He has been
called away on some business. A mine in the south. It seems there
were some accidents and one of the townsfolk apparently saw fit to
make reparations from the body of one of those who oversaw the
place. Gruesome business, that. I am sad to say it will keep Aerach
for some days yet. We would gladly have you—"

"No, no. I am afraid I came on something of a whim
and cannot afford the wait. Especially if Aerach's business should
run long with the miners." Rianaire wanted so badly to groan aloud.
Her plans had been an escape and the weather had aided her already.
She cursed the Sisters for getting her hopes up that she might
avoid her Binse until the turn of the season was upon them. If
there was no pretense to her whim, she would hear their complaints
all the louder and more often as well. Síocháin would not talk but
some among the guard would fear Spárálaí enough to give him the
truth of their stay in Cnoclean. A bit less freedom for a bit less
of a lecture. It seemed she had not truly escaped her childhood.
Or, at the very least, old habits were hard to break free of.

The pleasantries were kept short, but she assumed
there would be no lack of highborn faces smiling at her in good
time, wishing to please her and beg her pardon and collect every
little conversation bauble they could to flaunt before their peers
when she had gone. Rianaire insisted that Síocháin be nearby and
that a bath be prepared. She was filthy and she wanted to complain
to someone.

The bath was warm and inviting, but bathing in the
western half of Spéirbaile province was a much different custom
than that of the east. There were few rivers in the mountainous
west as the land sloped away from them. This meant fresh water came
nearly exclusively in the form of ice or snow and the coal was to
be sold so that people might eat. Some was spared for the miners
that they might wash themselves, but this neither allowed a full
tub to be heated over and over nor the water thrown out between
bathers. As such it had become the custom to have a somewhat large
bath, which was well insulated and covered when not in use, and a
bucket and some cloths. A bucketful of water was pulled from the
main tub and the person would dip a clean cloth into the bucket
with which to wash themselves. They did this with three or four
cloths and then dumped the bucket over their head to rinse any
lingering dirt from their body. Only then was it acceptable to
enter the tub.

Rianaire sat on a smooth, expertly carved bench of
colorful zebrawood and rubbed the cloths over her breasts. She
couldn't help but inspect the cloths closely and wonder if she was
truly so dirty in her own water. The road had certainly played some
part in her filthy skin but it was likely nothing compared to what
must've come off of a miner after a day among the dust of rocks and
coal. Síocháin dropped the last of her cloths and dumped the bucket
of water over her head. She wasted no time standing and hustling to
the bath. Rianaire couldn't help but watch as Síocháin's small
breasts and round bottom bounced across the room.

"Are you in such a rush?"

Síocháin's reply came flat. "I am. You are free to
enjoy the humid cling of that air all you like."

"This is why you shall never marry, Síocháin."

"You are why I shall never marry." Rianaire's
handmaid dipped under the water and stayed there long enough that
Rianaire figured she might as well finish wiping herself clean. As
Rianaire turned back to her task, Síocháin resurfaced. "You are
sure you wish to return so soon?"

"Wish? Sisters, no. I'd lop off my tit if I thought
it'd buy me another week away from Spárálaí's puckered face. But if
I do not return, it will be all the worse. At least as it stands, I
can insist that it was an opportune time to check that the mines
were in good order. He ought to have a hard enough time arguing
against that so long as it seems near enough the truth."

Rianaire finished scrubbing herself and tossed the
cloth aside. She dumped the water over her head and was somewhat
disappointed to find it had cooled somewhat. Such a custom was a
poor substitute for a hot bath filled with fresh water. Were Tine's
fire not so volatile a magic, she would have ordered all elves
capable of its use to learn it. The north would certainly benefit
from the skill in the dead of Bais, even in the west. It would be
of little use in villages where there were none that could attune
to the Sisters' magics. Rianaire walked to the large stone tub
while she turned the thoughts over in her mind.

"What do you think of baths heated by magic,
Síocháin?" she asked as she entered the welcoming heat of the
water.

"It could be well suited to boiling whole pigs."

"I meant for bathing people."

"Cannibalism is—"

"Oh, bah!" Rianaire playfully slapped water in
Síocháin's direction.

"You know what the fire is like. Do you not remember
how you struggled? And that was under the watch of a Temple
Údar."

"Still," Rianaire protested, "it would be nice."

Síocháin said nothing. That was as close to agreement
as she liked to offer.

The large tub was a welcome change from the much
smaller tubs of the west. It had been an hour, maybe more, since
she slipped into the warm, rejuvenating waters. Rianaire wanted the
bath to carry on forever, but soon enough the light would fade and
they would be called to sup with whatever nobility was at hand. It
would be more a chore than pleasantry and another reason to make
for Spéirbaile in the morning. She'd so much rather have spent the
meal looking forward to Aerach's cock inside her and Síocháin's
lips against hers. She allowed herself the groan she'd held back
before. It did little to help. Neither did a lazy fondle of
Síocháin's breasts, which only aroused a lazy glance from her
companion.

The bath ended not long after the half-hearted
groping, both women dressing themselves in robes. The rooms they
would use were adjoining and sat across the hall from the bath. The
stone floor was bracing as they exited the sticky heat of the bath.
The overcast had done little to raise the temperature and stone was
not quick to heat in the halls of the keep as it was. Rianaire
could imagine how welcome the feeling might've been in a sweltering
heat as she hopped onto a sheepskin rug that adorned the floor of
her room. Even the cushion of fur was cold when she landed upon it,
though it warmed quickly enough.

There were no windows in the room, and the walls were
smooth stone, as was the way of much of the keep. To make up for
this, art had been placed in abundance on all the walls. Cnoclean
was not renowned for its artists and Rianaire could see why. Most
were simple paintings of the landscape around them. A few had been
so wistful as to paint the odd duck or deer. At least, Rianaire
assumed them to be ducks and deer. It was still more than Aerach's
father had bothered with. She remembered Cnoclean as a cold, dull
place but it had warmed with life and color more and more each time
she came.

Taste in art notwithstanding, the room was more than
pleasant. The attendants of the castle were not ignorant of the
fact that it was a colder Saol than was welcome and had prepared
more furs and rugs than were necessary. The bed was wide and plush.
Not that it would see proper use.

A knock at the door meant the beginning of an evening
of people bowing and curtsying and calling her a title rather than
her name. Síocháin dressed herself in a slim green dress of crushed
velvet with embroidered leaves about the bottom of the skirt and
the oversized cuffs. The bodice was tight but made the slim elf's
subtle curves all the more obvious. It was one of Rianaire's
favorites. Síocháin had dressed and turned to do the same for
Rianaire.

"Do you mean to seduce me?" Rianaire's eyes were
predatory, watching as Síocháin pulled the dress up around her
hips. It was a dress of heavy purple silk with a swooping bodice
that emphasized her breasts.

"I do not." Síocháin leaned close and breathed hot
onto her neck, then slid behind her to button the dress.

Rianaire shuddered. "She means to torture me," she
thought. The buttons came together, giving beautiful shape to
Rianaire's form. The purple silk of the bodice spiraled onto the
skirt and blended to a heavy black silk. When the last of them was
done, Síocháin left Rianaire alone in the room, panting.