Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (14 page)

 
          
His
kinsman's gaze did not waver. "You know what you know. Now you must deal
with other things: acknowledgment and acceptance. Knowing is not enough."

 
          
Bitterness
rose; engulfed. "I have been very well-tutored. Do you truly think I would
not acknowledge nor accept? Do you think I
could
not?"

 
          
Now
Carillon's eyes were bleak. "We have each of us, in your birthline, done
things we did not desire. Become what we did not want. We each of us chose our
road, always cognizant of the choice… but none of it was easy. The gods gave us
free will. Regardless of tutoring, refusal is always an alternative. The gods
do not strike us dead, unless our time is done."

 
          
The
response was automatic: "If we say no to our
tahlmorras
, the afterworld is denied us."

 
          
Carillion's
tone was steady. "That is a choice, too. Teirnan made it; will you?"

 
          
Aidan
met the eyes of a dead Mujhar, only dimly surprised he could. Such miracles,
now, were expected; they had, each of them, beaten belief into him. "I
have to be what I am."

 
          
Slowly,
Carillon smiled. "Then the gods will be satisfied."

 
          
In
Aidan's hand, gold melted. At last he opened fingers. The chain flowed out of
his hands and into nothingness.

 
          
He
looked up to ask Carillon why. He found himself alone.

 
          
«
^
»

 
          
Aileen
slammed down her goblet. Cider splashed over the rim. "Not so soon!"
she cried, astonishing them all. "I'll not be letting you do it!"

 
          
It
stilled the room instantly. Servants with trays of food and pitchers of cider
stopped dead in their tracks, staring at their angry princess, then cast
furtive glances at one another to see what should or should not be done.

 
          
The
outburst came in the midst of the
midday
meal. It had, heretofore, been an entirely
normal gathering uneventful in the extreme. The Mujhar and all his family—excepting
the absent Aidan—were halfway through the meal.

 
          
Now
it appeared one of them would not finish. Or possibly
two
of them; it was at Brennan she had shouted.

 
          
The
Prince of Homana, frozen in the act of lifting his own goblet to his mouth,
also stared at Aileen. His astonishment rivaled that of the servants who, upon
a subtle signal from Deirdre, melted out of the room. Food and drink could wait
until the storm had blown over.

 
          
Brennan,
thawing at last, quietly put down his goblet. He did not spill his cider.
"I only meant—"

 
          
"I
know
what you meant!" Aileen's
green eyes blazed. "D'ye think I'll sit here all mealy-mouthed and listen
to such drivel?"

 
          
Brennan's
face tightened. "What 'drivel' do you mean? I was discussing our son's
future."

 
          
"Discussing
his
marriage
, ye
skilfin
!" Aileen flattened her hands on the table and leaned
down on braced arms. "I'll not allow it so soon. The boy deserves some
time."

 
          
"The
'boy,' as you call him, is twenty-three years old." Brennan very carefully
did not look in Ian's direction.

 
          
"Twenty-three
years
young
," Aileen snapped.
"The House of Homana is long-lived—he'll be having time for marriage. Let
him have time for himself."

 
          
Now
Brennan did cast a sharp glance around the table. He saw three carefully
neutral expressions, which did not particularly please him. He had expected
support—except from Ian; clearly, they offered none. "
Jehan
," he appealed.

 
          
Niall
lifted both hands in a gesture of abdication. "I married off four of my
five children. This is for you to do."

 
          
Inwardly
Brennan sighed. He looked again at Aileen. "This can be discussed another
time—"

 
          
"You
brought it up," she charged. "Oh, Brennan, d'ye not know what you're
doing? Can ye not see what might happen? D'ye want him to be like us?"

 
          
Brennan
lost his temper. "By all the gods, I love you! I have never kept it a
secret!"

 
          
The
admission was not precisely what any of them had anticipated, least of all
Aileen. She had expected a different issue.

 
          
White-faced,
she glanced at the tactfully averted faces of the Mujhar, his
meijha
, his
rujholli
. Only Brennan looked at her; no, he
glared
at her, with an angry, defiant expression. It belied the
words he had shouted.

 
          
"Not
now," she said weakly, turning toward the door. "Not now; not
here
—"

 
          
Brennan
rounded the table and met her at the door, jerking it open. "Now," he
said grimly. "But I will agree with the 'not here.' Shall we retire to our
apartments and discuss this issue in private?"

 
          
Color
set her afire. What she thought was obvious.

 
          
Brennan
grasped her arm and steered her out of the room, lowering his tone. "That
is not what I meant. I
meant
to
discuss it; nothing less, nothing more. You know very well I would never shame
you that way in front of kin and servants—that is not my way…"

 
          
Aileen
was not placated. "You are a fool!" she snapped, gathering heavy
skirts as he pushed her up the stairs. "You see only whatever it is you
want
to see, being blind to people's
feelings."

 
          
"I
am not being blind to anyone or anything," he retorted, ascending rapidly
to keep up with his angry wife. "What I am is being careful."

 
          
"What
you
are
is being a
skilfin
, as always. You've lost whatever
sense—
and
diplomacy—you might once
have had."

 
          
"Oh?
I have never believed thinking about the future of one's realm—"

 
          
"
'Tisn't your realm
yet
—here, will
this do?" Aileen shoved open a door and watched it slam against the wall.
"Is this sufficiently private?"

 
          
Brennan
advanced through the doorway. "It was a topic of discussion. It was not a
royal decree. I was merely suggesting it might be time we thought of Aidan's
future."

 
          
"Aidan's
future is Aidan's
future
. Let it
remain so, Brennan." Aileen swung to face the doorway. "Give the boy—"
She stopped. "Oh," she said weakly. "Have you heard
everything?"

 
          
Brennan
turned abruptly. Their son stood in the corridor.

 
          
"Enough,"
Aidan said calmly, folding hands behind his back.

 
          
Brennan
frowned. "When did you come home?"

 
          
"Last
night. Late." Aidan's crooked smile was private. "There was something
I had to do… something to be resolved."

 
          
"And
was it?" Aileen asked.

 
          
The
smile became a scowl. "Not entirely," he muttered, then flicked
dismissive fingers as he altered tone and topic. "Am I to be married,
then?"

 
          
Brennan
swung back jerkily and walked directly across the chamber. It was a small room,
no more; a nook for private withdrawal. Not unlike Deirdre's solar, though
lacking amenities. It was little more than a cell, or an awkward, forgotten
corner.

 
          
A
bench was against the wall. Brennan sat down on it. "Your
jehana
and I were discussing it."

 
          
Aidan
arched one eyebrow. "It was a loud—discussion. The servants were talking
about it."

 
          
Aileen's
face flamed. "Your father is being a fool."

 
          
Brennan
sounded tired. "At least I know that word. You have never translated
skilfin
."

 
          
She
had the grace to look abashed. " 'Tis n't a polite term."

 
          
"I
had gathered that." Brennan looked at his son. Aidan did not, he thought,
appear particularly disturbed by the topic. He was, as usual, keeping himself
detached from the emotions he and Aileen battled, as if he feared to share
them. "Well? Will you come in and give us your opinion? It is your future,
as the Princess of Homana has taken great—
and
loud—pains to point out."

 
          
Aidan
smiled lopsidedly. He came through the doorway, lingered idly a moment near his
mother, then drifted farther into the chamber. Brennan thought his expression
odd. There was distance in his eyes; and an eerie
otherwhereness
that Brennan found unsettling.

 
          
"Come
back," Brennan snapped impatiently. "You had best attend this."

 
          
Aidan
glanced sidelong at his father. "I fell off my horse," he said
inconsequentially. Then, smiling wryly, "No—I was
swept
off. It does somewhat make a difference."

 
          
Aileen
made a sound and moved as if to go to him, but a lifted hand kept her back. She
contented herself with a question. "Are ye hurt, then? I thought it was
dirt; 'tis a
bruise
, then, there on
the side of your face."

 
          
Aidan
briefly touched a cheekbone. "A bruise, aye—so it should be." Then,
as if shaking himself, he looked more clearly at his father. "Do you want
me married, then?"

 
          
There
was only the slightest hint of Erinn in the inflection. It made Brennan smile;
his son sounded, on occasion, very like his mother. "I want you content,
though undoubtedly your
jehana
will
not agree that I would consider your feelings."

 
          
"
'Tisn't sounding like it," she muttered.

 
          
Brennan
cleared his throat. "I want you content, Aidan. I want you settled. I want
you less disturbed by whatever it is that disturbs you."

 
          
Aidan
laughed. "And marriage is the answer? With yours as the example?"

 
          
Brennan
nearly gaped. The question had been so
blatant
—and
so keenly on the mark.
As if he reads my
thoughts
…

 
          
Aileen's
face flamed red. "D'ye not care?" she demanded. "He'd have you
wedded and bedded before nightfall, if he could—and all for the Lion, he
says."

 
          
"Well,
perhaps it is." Aidan went over to the bench occupied by his father and
sat down at the other end. He looked tired, worn through, clearly thinking of
something else. "I have no objection."

 
          
The
negligent tone and manner set Aileen's eyes to blazing again. "No
objection, have you? To being pushed this way and that? For being made to take
a wife?"

 
          
Aidan
scowled briefly, then wiped it away instantly. His tone, usually circumspect
and polite, was pitched to cut through them both, as if he knew just where to
aim. "I am not you,
jehana
. I am
not and never have been in love with the wrong person. Nor am I my
jehan
, so badly hurt by an Ihlini
witch's meddling." He cast a glance at Brennan, mouth twisted, as if to
ask his pardon for speaking of private things. "I am not in love at all,
so it really makes no difference."