Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 04 (20 page)

           
Half-brothers, perhaps, but very
different. Like two pearls from the same oyster: Ime black—" Gisella
opened her right hand and displayed a pearl, a perfect pearl, blue-black in
copper-toned flesh “—the other white. Do you see?" I saw. In the other
palm was displayed the other pearl. White. Aglow against her hand.

           
"Very pretty." I granted
it because I knew they would demand it.

           
Alaric moved around his daughter and
took the pearls from her hands. Inspected them. "Aye," he agreed,
"very pretty. But at their best only when given into a woman’s
keeping." His brown eyes were very steady as he looked at me. "Do you
understand?"

           
"What does she want with
him?" I ignored the implications in Alaric's game of pearls and men.
"What does she do to him?"

           
Alaric, shrugging, smiled.
"Some men keep hounds, some women cats. Lillith keeps men."

           
"You?" I thought it an odd
arrangement: light woman to a king, yet collector of other men.

           
Alaric's eyes glinted. "She
came to Atvia twenty years ago from Solinde. She had grown bored, she said,
with her young half-brother's machinations; she wished to try her own. I saw
her. I wanted her. And when I learned precisely what she was, I gave in gracefully."
His smile grew. "She said she always wanted a tame Cheysuli."

           
"He will die," I said
hoarsely, "or give himself over to death."

           
"Because he lacks his lir?"
Alaric laughed. "I do not think so." He dropped the pearls to the
floor. As they struck, they splashed. And I saw they were only tears.

           
"I must go," Alaric said
brusquely. "There is a feast to oversee—in your honor, my lord Prince of
Homana. Will we see you there?"

           
"Have I a choice?"

           
"Of course," he said
politely. "You may come or not, as you wish." He looked at his
daughter as he put his hand upon the door. "Gisella . . . you know what to
do."

           
"I know what to do," she
said brightly. "I know what to do!"

           
Alaric shut the door.

           
I stood very still in the center of
the room. And then slowly, so slowly, hardly realizing what I did, I righted
the overturned chair and sat down awkwardly, like a man with too little sleep.
My eyes burned as I stared at Gisella.

           
Arms outstretched, she began to spin
in place. "Did Lillith not make me pretty?"

           
I shut my eyes. Oh gods—

           
"Niall!"

           
Oh gods—

           
"Niallll!"

           
"Pretty," I mumbled.
"Aye."

           
"But you are not looking at
me!" Hands were suddenly on my face, peeling my eyelids back. "How
can you see me when your eyes are closed?"

           
I caught her wrists and threw her
hands away from me.

           
I rose even as she protested.
"Bronwyn's daughter, are you? By all the gods of Homana, girl, how could
you turn out like this? Because of Lillith? Because of Alaric? Because you know
no better?"

           
She tried to twist free of my grasp,
but I held her too tightly. Still, I could not help thinking of how she had
reacted to Ian's touch; how she had assumed the shape of a mountain cat as if
to mock his loss of Tasha.

           
"Bronwyn's daughter," I
said again. "You claim the Old Blood, do you? And take on any form at
will?"

           
"When he lets me," she
said, pouting. "He does not let me very often."

           
"Why not? Does Lillith then
lose control?"

           
"Because of what happened to my
mother. My real mother." She tried to twist free again. This time I let
her go.

           
"What happened to your
mother?" I was assailed by sudden suspicion as well as apprehension.
"What happened to Bronwyn, Gisella?"

           
"She died." Bronwyn's
daughter rubbed sore wrists and glared at me from beneath lowered brows.
"She shapechanged, and she died."

           
"Shapechanged! Why? And how did
she die?" Suspicion flared more brightly. "Was it Lillith?"

           
"No. My father." Gisella
shrugged. "He did not mean it. He told me he did not mean it. Because he
had no wish to slay me."

           
"Gisella!" I caught her
upper arms. "Tell me how she died!"

           
"He shot her!" she cried.
"With an arrow! He thought she was a raven!"

           
"A raven?"

           
"In Atvia they mean
death," she told me. "Ravens are death-omens." She shrugged.
"Everybody shoots them."

           
So Bronwyn tried to flee her Atvian
husband. "Gisella!"

           
I tightened my hands. "What did
he tell you happened?"

           
She twisted to and fro, protesting
ineffectively even as she answered. "He said—he said he only meant to slay
a raven. But it was her ... it was her. ..." She stopped moving. Her eyes
were very clear. "He slew my mother, Niall. While she was carrying
me."

           
"And she fell. . . ."

           
"I was born that day,"
Gisella told me, "before my mother died."

           
I looked into her eyes and saw no
pain, no grief. Only a calm matter-of-factness; only the innocence of a child
repeating what she has been told. What Alaric meant his daughter never to tell.

           
"Gisella," I said gently,
"I am sorry."

           
Her smooth brow creased. "Do
you think it hurt?" she asked. "The fall? I cannot remember any
pain."

           
"No pain," I said,
"not now." I let go of her arms. But Gisella moved in against me,
like a child seeking comfort, so I enfolded her in my arms and gave the child
the comfort she craved. "No pain ever again."

           
Her face was against my neck.
"Sometimes I am afraid."

           
"I will take away the
fear."

           
She murmured something against my
throat. And then she pulled away, laughing, and reached up to clasp my jaw in
both her hands.

           
"Gisella—"

           
"She said you would be
mine—"

           
—and I was falling, falling, even as
I stood there; even as I tried to speak and could not; tried to reach out;
tried to wrench away; tried to break free of the woman who held me trapped
within her hands.

           
Something is in me, something in
me—something—

           
—something indefinable—something
reaching into my mind, my soul, my self—

           
—until there was nothing left—

           
—nothing left—

           
—of Niall at all.

           
"Niall," she whispered,
"we have to go to bed."

           
A torch was put into my hand.
"Light the beacon-fire, Niall. We must warn ships of the dragon's
presence."

           
The dragon. Aye, the dragon, with
his cold breath and endless appetite, swallowing helpless ships.

           
"Light the fire, Niall."

           
The wind gusted. The torch flared,
roared; streamers of flame were snatched from the pitch-soaked rag and shredded
in the air, the cold air; the breath of Alaric's dragon-Or was it Lillith's
dragon?

           
"Light the fire, Niall."

           
I stretched out my arm toward the
cone-shaped stand of faggots. Flame snapped, whipped; yellow flame, pure, clean
yellow, with not the faintest trace of purple.

           
The flames drew my eyes. Transfixed,
I stared. I could not look away.

           
"—or a beacon-fire on the
cliff—" Alaric had said. But I could not remember why.

           
We stood on the dome of the dragon's
skull, wrapped in the dragon's breath. Visible yet intangible, it rose to cloak
us like a mantle, all five of us: Ian, Gisella, Lillith, Alaric, and myself. At
sundown, as daylight spilled out of the sky to be replaced by moonlight. Even
now the platinum plate was visible scudding above the ragged chalky headlands
of the island across the Tail.

           
Erinn. So close. So far.

           
Aerie of the Eagles.

           
"Light the fire, Niall,"
Alaric told me gently.

           
I twitched. Blinked. My eyes were
filled with fire. I could see nothing but the fire.

           
Hands were on my right arm, tugging
me toward the pyre. Slender, feminine hands, but almost masculine in their
demand. "Do it." she said plaintively. "I want to see the
fire."

           
And for her I would do anything.

           
I plunged the torch deep into the
heart of the stack.

           
Kindling snapped, caught, blazed up.
I fell back, shielding my race against the flame.

           
"Fire." she whispered.
"So pretty—"

           
Alaric removed the torch from my
hand. He was smiling, but it was an odd, thoughtful smile, full of secret
knowledge. He stepped to the edge of the promontory and was silhouetted against
the rising moon; laughing, he threw the torch as for as be could into the
darkness beyond.

           
I watched it fall, spinning,
spinning, shedding light and smoke and flame.

           
“That for Shea of Erinn.” His words
were thick with a joyous satisfaction.

           
"And Deirdre,” Gisella said
sharply. "Deirdre, too."

           
Alaric turned. For a frozen moment
he looked only at his daughter, seeing the fixed, feral stare of her yellow
eyes, and then he stepped away from the edge to wrap her in his arms. He
embraced her tightly, cradling her bead against his shoulder. In the light of
the blazing beacon-fire I saw the glint of tears in his eyes. "No
more," he told her softly, rocking her in his arms. "No more Deirdre,
my lovely girl; my beautiful, fragile sparrow. No more threat to your
happiness. That I promise you."

           
"When will the baby come?"
she asked. "When will my baby come?"

           
"Six months," he told her
gently. "In six months you will hold your baby."

           
Her hands slipped down to touch her
belly, splaying across heavy skirts. And then she broke away from her rather
and threw out her arms. Spinning, spinning, she tipped back her bead and let
the black hair spill out into the wind, whipping, whipping, as she whirled atop
the dome of the dragon's skull.

           
"A baby!" she cried.
"A baby of my own. . . ."

           
"Niall," Above the howl of
the wind, I heard the other woman. "It is time for you to go home."

           
In the bright light of the roaring
flames, I saw Lillith with my brother. She did not touch him; she did not have
to. She had only to be near him, and he was lost.

           
Lost.

           
But in his grieving eyes I saw a
reflection of myself. The man came to me as I stood on the dock, prepared to
board the ship. He looked familiar, but I did not know him at once. "My
lord," he said, in a smooth, cultured baritone, "I am to sail with
you. As envoy to your father's court, and as companion to the princess."
When I said nothing, he smiled. "My name is Varien. Do you not remember
me?"

           
And then, of course, I did. "I
thought you drowned," I told him. "I thought you swallowed by the
dragon."

           
"No, my lord." So polite,
so sincere, so much in control of his emotions; t envied him. "The Lady
Lillith saw to it I survived."

           
"She is generous," I said
simply. "She kept my brother from drowning, as well."

           
"And you?"

           
"No." I shook my head.
"No. I washed ashore . . . I think it was near Rondule. That is where they
found me."

           
"Of course, my lord. I
recall." He gestured gracefully toward the ramp. "Shall you board?
Everything is prepared. Even your brother waits."

           
"Ian?" I looked at Varien
sharply. "I thought Lillith was keeping him."

           
"No, my lord. She has what she
wants from your brother. Ian goes home with you."

           
Alaric stood on the dock and hugged
his grieving daughter. "Do not cry," he told her. "Do not fret,
Gisella. You go to become a queen."

           
"But I want to stay here with
you!"

           
"I know. But now your place is
with your husband, not your father."

           
"But I will miss you so!"

           
"No more than I will miss
you."

           
She clung to him a moment longer as
if she would never let him go, then abruptly pulled back to look up at him
expectantly. "Will he give me other babies?"

           
Alaric smiled and stroked her
windblown raven hair.

           
"He will give you all you
want."

           
She reached up to kiss him. And then
she boarded the ship.

           
"A gift," Lillith told me,
"to see you safely home."

           
And she put something in my hands.

           
I looked. A tooth. A smooth white
tooth, thick at one end, narrow and curved at the other. A dog's tooth, or a
wolfs. It was set into a cap and hook of gold, which depended from a thong.

           
"Wear it," she said, smiling.
"Wear it and think of me.”

           
I put the thong around my neck.

           
The sea is an endless place, a place
in the world where time nearly stops and all a man knows is patience. I had
found what little I had of it, rationed it well, and managed to keep myself
whole. But for Ian, I could not say the same. He stood at the rail near the
prow of the ship, staring eastward, ever eastward, toward Homana. In two months
I had watched him dwindle to a shadow, hardly a man at all. Physically he was
present, but elsewhere he was not, Homana, for me, is home. For Ian it is his
death.

           
Waves slapped the sides of the ship.
Timbers creaked.

           
Canvas billowed, cracked taut. I
heard the song of a ship under sail.

           
Midsummer, nearly. But it would be
another month before we were home. I thought we would miss the

           
Summerfair in Mujhara. It would be
the first time since I could remember. The first time for either of us.

           
Us.

           
Slowly I crossed the deck. Though I
knew he heard me, he did not turn. He stood at the rail and clutched it, dark
hands locked around the wood. Two months since we had set sail. His hair had
grown to cover his ears; to cover the mark of his shame. To hide the naked ear.

           
Even now, free of Lillith, he left
off Cheysuli leathers and wore Atvian garb instead, much as I did: low boots,
snug trews and a full-sleeved linen shirt, billowing in the salt-breeze.

           
I settled a hand on his shoulder.
"Ian—"

           
"No."

           
"Rujho—"

           
"No."

           
"At least do me the courtesy of
allowing me to share your company while you yet live," I snapped.
"Gods, rujho, you will be gone from me soon enough. Why do you already
leave?"

           
He turned so sharply I fell back a
step. "I did not leave—it was you!" He clamped a hand around my arm.

           
His eyes were filled with despair-
"Gods, Niall—do you even know what you have done? What they have done to
you? Or should I say: what she has done to you, since it takes a Cheysuli to do
what the girl has done."

           
"It was to you." I was precise
in my amazement. "It was Lillith—"

           
"Aye," he said harshly.
"Lillith. And who was it for you?"

           
"I," she said. "It
was I."

           
I turned. "Gisella!"

           
"It was," she said.
"Lillith told me I could do it. She said I should. Otherwise you would
never lie down with me." Hands cupped belly protectively. "And then
there would be no baby."

           
Already the child showed. Gisella
was slender, too slender; she did not carry the baby well. Though only five
months along, she was huge. Ungainly. Wearied of the weight. The summer warmth
was crueler to her than to others; though she wore a tKin linen gown with
sleeves cut off, I saw the dampness of perspiration soiling the fabric. A fine
sheen filmed face and arms, already bumed darker by the sun. She had tied her
heavy hair back, but strands of it crept loose to straggle down the sides of
her face.

           
She looked at Ian- "I am
Cheysuli. I know a few Cheysuli customs—those they have let me learn."
Much of her intensity had vanished, replaced with a weary vacancy. She seemed
to have tired of what they had told her she must say and do. "Without a
lir, you die."

           
"There is a ritual
involved," he said; roundabout agreement.

           
"But you die." Yellow eyes
met yellow eyes. "I think Niall would not like that. I think I will give
you your lir."

           
Ian laughed. I could not.

           
Quick tears filled Gisella's eyes.
"Do you think I lie? Do you think I would lie to you?"

           
He opened his mouth to answer at
once. I knew what he would tell her. Aye, Gisella, you lie. I think you would
lie to me. But he shut his mouth and said nothing, because we both knew she
could not help it. She was incapable of knowing the difference.

           
The tears spilled over. A low moan
issued from a trembling mouth, and then she spun and ran away. Thinking of the
baby, I started to follow; Ian jerked me back.

           
"Let her go. Like a child, she
means to cry. And then she will fall asleep, and the world will be right when
she wakes."

           
I wrenched free of his hand.
"How can you be so cold?

           
There was a time you might have been
the one to offer comfort."

           
"To Gisella?" he asked.
"No. She has a taint about her. The smell of an Ihlini."

           
"Tricks," I said.
"Lillith only taught her tricks. She has no Ihlini powers."

           
"Tricks," Ian mocked.
"Aye. The sort of tricks Tynstar taught Electra." He looked at me
intently and shook his head. "But what does it matter if she knows a few
Ihlini tricks? She has done enough damage to you with the gifts the gods gave
us."