Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (56 page)

 
          
A well-schooled tongue
… But Aidan,
looking from Blais to Shona, forgot his kinsman almost at once.

 
          
"Now,
then." Blais, smiling privately, switched back into Erinnish as he took
the warbow from Shona. "We'll be letting
me
show the boy, while you two take a walk."

 
          
Shona
made no protest. She walked to Aidan, then by him toward the headlands, out
beyond Kilore.

 
          
She
stopped at last, pausing on an overlook above the Dragon's Tail. Wind whipped
them both, dragging at Aidan's hair, but Shona's was safely confined in a
network of complex braids, small ones wrapped around big ones, then joined into
a single thick plait that hung like rope from her head. She still wore trews and
tunic, but the wool was very fine, the pale yellow dye very good, the
embroidery exquisite. Her throat was naked of ornaments. Aidan longed to touch
it, to put a torque upon it in the shape of his own
lir
.

 
          
Or
one perhaps incorporating a wolfhound as well, to show they
shared
the bond.

 
          
Shona's
voice was tight. "I thought you would stay there longer."

 
          
It
was not quite what he had hoped for. "She died yesterday, at midday."

 
          
Shona
shrugged slightly. "I thought you might stay with Corin, for whatever
ceremony is due her." She paused. "She was my granddame, too."

 
          
He
had not thought of it. "Did you ever see her?"

 
          
Shona's
laugh was a blurted, breathy exhalation. "My mother would never let me.
But then, I never asked." At last, she looked at him. Something flickered
in her eyes. " 'Tis sorry I am, Aidan. For you, if not for her… my mother
never allowed me to think of Gisella without thinking of what she did, but
'twas probably different for you. Your father likely didn't hate her so
much."

 
          
"My
father only rarely spoke of her. There was no hatred of her—just an absence of
thought." Discomfited, Aidan shrugged. "Deirdre was there. No one
wanted to dishonor her. So no one mentioned Gisella."

 
          
"And
now the Mujhar is free…" Shona smiled a little. "D'ye think he'll
marry her now, and make her a queen at last?"

 
          
Aidan
laughed. "The moment he hears the news, the Mujhar will summon a
priest." Then the humor died. "No, perhaps not—Gisella
was
the queen, and there are proprieties…"
He sighed. "Deirdre will have to wait. But she has already waited so long,
I doubt this will disturb her."

 
          
"And
Maeve will be a princess, true-born and legitimate." Shona laughed.
"A bit too late for my mother… she said she resented Maeve's bastardy for
a very long time, since it made Keely of Homana something to be prized for
other than she was. She told me if Maeve had been true-born,
she
would have had more freedom."

 
          
"And
likely she would not have married your father, and you would not be here."
Aidan paused. "I am going home to Homana."

 
          
Shona
nodded. "I know."

 
          
"Alone."

 
          
Her
color drained. "
Why
?"

 
          
"Because
I am going to die."

 
          
Anger.
Resentment. Her
kivarna
, and his, was
ablaze. "How can you know?" she snapped. "How can you think such
a thing? And how can you be such a
fool
as to think I will believe you?"

 
          
"Shona—"

 
          
"If
you're not wanting me, say it. Stow this blather about dying, and say it. I'm
not needing lies made up to hide the truth, merely to spare my feelings."
Her brown eyes were nearly black. "D'ye think I can't tell, with the
kivarna
? D'ye think—" And then she
broke off, eyes widening. "By the gods of all the oldfolk, you
do
believe you're to die!"

 
          
Aidan
turned from her. He could not bear to look into her eyes and see the shock, the
comprehension, that reinforced his own. Shona more than any might understand
how he felt, and that doubled comprehension frightened him even more. He could,
when he tried, ignore it, shunting aside the gnawing fear, but Shona brought it
back. Shona deepened it.

 
          
"Aidan."

 
          
He
walked rigidly to the edge of the cliff and stared down at the turbulent sea.

 
          
"Aidan—"
And then she broke off, muttering in swift, disgusted gutter Erinnish he could
only barely understand, because his mother had never taught him.

 
          
"Go
back," he said roughly. "Blais might suit you better."

 
          
The
muttering stopped. Shona's voice was dry. "Blais is sailing with
you." She came up and stood beside him. Wind whistled across the
headlands, curling over the lip of the cliff. "Why are you dying?"
she asked.

 
          
Deep
inside, something knotted. "Because I think I have to."

 
          
"
Have
to! Why? What man
has
to die, except when he's grown
old?"

 
          
He
did not know how to start. "There is this prophecy."

 
          
"I'm
knowing
that
."

 
          
"And
there are gods."

 
          
"That,
too."

 
          
"And
then there is
this
." He gripped
the chain on his belt.

 
          
Shona
did not answer.

 
          
Aidan
clamped folded arms across his chest, to hold himself together. From head to
foot, a shudder wracked him. "I killed a woman," he hissed,
"without even touching her!"

 
          
She
reached out to him. This time it was Aidan who pulled back, warding away
intimacy.

 
          
"No."
Shona closed cool fingers around his forearm. "You're needing it, Aidan.
Who am I to look away? I'm selfish betimes, when I like, but I'm not cruel. You
need
me, just now… who am I to shut
my eyes to your pain? What reason is good enough?"

 
          
He
could think of one:
kivarna
.

 
          
But
then she touched him and the
kivarna
blazed to life, shocking them both with its intensity, and he was babbling,
telling her what had happened and how, except he did not
know
how, only that it had; only that
he
had, in his idiocy, in his maleness, allowed himself to be lured
and seduced by an Ihlini witch who had done it before, even though he had been
warned against it; an Ihlini sorceress who had seen him, seen his lust, seen a
way to additional power through him, through his body, and through the child he
would give her. He had been warned by Ashra, who was a tool of the gods almost
but not entirely human; had been warned by Carillon himself, and Shaine; had
been warned by Gisella—mad, dying Gisella, claiming she talked to gods—and who
was
he
to argue?
He also
talked to gods, and with them, face-to-face. They told him
things, he said, clinging to her hands so tightly he feared he might crush
them. They told him things, and expected things of him, and he did not think he
had the strength to do what they wanted him to.

 
          
Shona's
voice was uneven. "And what is it you're thinking they want?"

 
          
"
Me to die
." He expelled it
spasmodically. Then squeezed his eyes tight shut. "Gods, Shona, d'ye see?
Do you see what I am? I lay with her even though I had been warned, without
even giving it thought, and when I knew what she was and what she could do—what
she
intended
to do—I killed her. I
called on the gods, and they answered. Because
I asked them to
." He could not stop shaking.

 
          
Shona
stepped closer. He tried to back away, but she held him, slipping close,
wrapping arms around him in a hug intended to offer comfort. And it did, but
something more; something he hoped she would not recognize.

 
          
Her
smoky voice was soothing. "Hush, my lad, my boyo—you're not knowing what
you're saying… you're all bound up inside and out, knotted to death with gods
and dreams and uncertainties… 'tis no wonder you hurt so. D'ye think I can't
feel it, with or without the
kivarna
?"
She sighed heavily. "And you not knowing a thing at all, I'm thinking… ah,
Aidan, how can you be so foolish as to think it's
death
they want? How can you know they don't mean you for something
else?"

 
          
He
gave way and hugged her hard, glad of her closeness, grateful to her for
staying with him, for touching, for talking, for simply being
there
, so he was not so terribly alone.

 
          
He
had been very alone for most of his life, even when in a throng.

 
          
But not with her. Not with
her.
Never alone with Shona
.

 
          
Aidan
clung to her with all his transitory strength. This moment, he needed her very
badly. "Why not for something else?" He threaded fingers into the
complex weavings of her braid. "Because of the dreams, and the things I
have been told…" He was aware, suddenly, how close to the edge of the
blade they walked, so tantalizingly near. If they slipped, if they allowed
their attention to wander, they could be cut. Even killed. "Gods, Shona—don't—"

 
          
"D'ye
think it matters?"

 
          
He
was lost, and knew it. "I cannot take the chance. I will not punish you… I
will not sentence you to a life of loneliness and abstinence… I will not marry
a woman only to die, and make her a prisoner of the
kivarna
—" He pressed her against him, rocking, rocking, trying
to assuage the pain, the longing, the need. "I will not do this to
you."

 
          
"Aidan—"

 
          
He
set her back, lifting a staying hand between them. He pressed air again and
again, keeping her from touching him. "No. No. I am going back. Alone. If
I am to die, I will do it without hurting you."

 
          
"And
if you're
not
?" she shouted.
"What
then
, ye
skilfin
?"

 
          
"No,"
he said. "No." And then turned from her stiffly, striding back toward
Kilore.

 
          
«
^
»

 
          
She
came as he lay awake in the darkness, wracked by self-doubts and contempt. Who
was he to think he was an instrument of the gods, carefully selected for some
specific purpose? Who was
he
to think
himself different from everyone else, when each man and woman alive knew doubts
and fears and confusion?

 
          
But
who was he to deny it when he had proof in the form of a chain of flawless
gold, heavy and substantial?

 
          
Who
was he at
all
?

 
          
She
came, pulling aside the bed hangings, and he knew her instantly.

 
          
He
heard the robe slipped off her shoulders. He slept, as always, with no candle
lighted; he required no illumination. In daylight or in darkness, he would know
her anywhere.