Taminy (48 page)

Taminy
smiled, knowing the Cwen was right. She could well imagine Cyne Colfre arrayed
before a mirror that reflected fantasy instead of reality: a harp, a crown, a
sword. That last, that was the danger in Colfre and it was nothing to smile
over. Taminy sobered.

“Yes,
it is funny, isn’t it? That’s why he married me, you know, in the hope of
producing a golden Malcuim heir. But Airleas is darker than his father, which
I, unable to produce another child, am not allowed to forget.”

A
chill glided down Taminy’s back like a silken runnel of ice water. “Does he
show Airleas that he ... ?”

“Hoped
for something else? Something other than a Hillwild throwback? Oh, yes. Not
viciously, you understand, and not so much verbally as in those tiny, subtle
ways that wound. Colfre did a family portrait of us once. He gave Airleas
Thearl Malcuim’s pale copper hair.”

Taminy
remembered that hair—how bright it had been in the sunny courtyard at
Farewelling. “The Ambre Cyne, they called him,” she murmured, “his hair was so
bright. Poor Airleas.”

“Colfre
is not a forgiving man. He can’t forgive his mother for being Hillwild or his
father for marrying her; he can’t forgive me for giving him a son who’s more
his than mine; and he can’t forgive Airleas for just being Airleas. He named
him, you know—Airleas, ‘a pledge’—to remind me that somehow my pledge to him
was broken.” She looked down at her hands, clutched together in her lap. “To
me, my son is a pledge that someday, when Colfre is gone, he will be Cyne. A
better Cyne than his father ever dreamed of being.” Her mouth twisted wryly and
she raised her eyes to Taminy’s. “No, Colfre has never dreamed of being a good
Cyne, merely a popular and powerful one.”

Taminy
felt a wave of deep compassion for the Cwen of all Caraid-land and wondered at
the confidences she’d revealed. “Why are you sharing all this with me,
mistress?”

The
Cwen studied her a long time before answering. “I don’t know who or what you
are, Taminy-a-Cuinn, but I know you can perform miracles. I hadn’t believed in
miracles until now. I suppose I dare hope you’ll Weave a miracle for me.”
Toireasa rose then, shook out her skirts, and moved across the medallion carpet
to the door.

“Perhaps
I will Weave for you,” Taminy told her. “Or perhaps you’ll perform a miracle of
your own.”

Toireasa’s
smile was ironic. “Oh, I have already tried,” she said, and let herself out.

To what house can a lover go but the house
of his Beloved? Where can he find rest, but in the arms of his heart’s desire?
A lover lives in reunion and dies in separation. His spirit is impatient and
his soul lacks peace. A host of lives he would offer up to travel in the way of
his Love or to lay his head at Her feet.

— from The Song of Ochan

“Why
must you go, Saxan? Why must you? You aren’t a pillar of the Hall. You’ve no
voice there, no duty.” Ardis-a-Nairnecirke flailed at her husband with
haphazard words, her posture defensive. She didn’t want him to take the
downriver road to the capitol. She was afraid, as she had never been before,
that he would come back changed, or not at all. It wasn’t brigands she feared,
or accident; it was this fever running through Caraid-land, a fever that no
longer confined itself to Nairne.

“Who’ll
give lessons on Cirke-dag?” she pleaded. “Who’ll say the blessing and lead the
lays?”

Saxan
did not even look up from his packing. “Ardis,” he said, “I’ve a competent
second in Aelder Culash.”

“That
doesn’t answer me why.”

“I’ve
told you why. I can’t just wait to hear. I want to be there. I’m entitled to be
there. And, yes, I feel a duty to be there.”

“Duty?
To whom, Saxan? For God’s love, it’s out of your hands now.”

He
straightened from his satchel and looked at her. Finally, she thought. But his
eyes had the glaze of someone who does not see what he looks at.

“Out
of my hands,” he repeated. “Yes, I suppose it is. But it’s not out of my
conscience ... or my heart.” His eyes focused on her face, at last. “Don’t you
feel it, Ardis? Didn’t you feel it the first time you saw her?”

Ardis
twitched, a chill passing, ghostly, down her spine. Aingeal kisses, her mother
called that. When she was a little girl, she’d turn quickly on her heel and
kiss the air, hoping to catch the Eibhilin messenger and return its kiss.

Ardis
shook her head. “I felt something, God help me. I don’t know what.”

Saxan
nodded, intent on her now. “But it isn’t evil, is it Ardis? Wouldn’t we know if
it was evil?”

“Would
we?”

“I’ve
begged to know. An aislinn. A sign. An inkling. Anything. I feel something from
Taminy-a-Cuinn, but I’d be the worst kind of liar—and a fool—if I pretended it
was evil.”

“If
an aingeal fans your neck, spin about and kiss it back.”

“What?”

“An
old rhyme. My mother taught it to me ... about those little tickles of-of something
that make you shiver.”

Saxan
smiled and nodded. “I remember that yes. I guess that’s what I’m doing—trying
to return the aingeal’s kiss ... or, perhaps, the Meri’s kiss.”

The
chill Ardis experienced then was cold and unpleasant. “You don’t believe her
Tell, surely? Not you. By the Kiss, I’ve always believed you to be one of the
most steadfast men the Meri had ever chosen.”

He
only looked at her, shouldering his pack. “I hope I am that. I must be that.
And I must know about Taminy-a-Cuinn. Do you understand, Ardis? I must know.”

She
wanted to weep, but knew it would only add to the burden he already carried. “I
understand.”

He
held out his free arm to her. “Then come kiss me good-bye ... Aingeal.”

She
did, and found the affection comforting. They moved out into the upstairs
hallway then, and Ardis called out to Iseabal to come bid her father a good
journey. The girl appeared from behind her bedroom door too quickly and came,
hang-dog, down the hall, her cheeks burnished rose. Ardis didn’t confront her
with her eavesdropping, but merely watched her hug her father’s spare frame and
scurry back to her room.

“She’ll
feel better by and by,” said Saxan and kissed Ardis long and deep. “And so,” he
promised, “will you.”

But
watching him head off toward the river road, Ardis felt the promise to be
empty. As empty as her house was without him.

oOo

“Aine!
Aine-mac-Lorimer!”

“Here!”
The redhead rose from behind a low shrub, brushing leaves from her breeches. “Did
you have trouble getting away?”

“A
little.” Iseabal came the rest of the way into the river glade. Her skirts were
tied up into her sash to ease riding astride, and her dark hair was bound into
a fat plait that hung over one shoulder. “I told mother I was going to the
Sanctuary to pray for father. That way I knew she wouldn’t go looking for me.”
She shifted uneasily. “It didn’t feel good to lie.”

“So
pray on the way to Creiddylad. Where’s your horse?”

Iseabal
gestured over her shoulder. “Tied to a tree back there. “Where’s Phelan?”

“He
went back for Wyvis and Rennie.”

“I
thought they weren’t coming.”

Aine
grinned. “Seems their mam found out about our adventure and thought they ought
to go—not without her, though.”

Iseabal’s
eyes felt as if they’d start from her head. “Mam Lusach is coming too? What about
her shop?”

“She’ll
find someone to run it for her. Don’t worry so.”

Iseabal
gazed into her palm, rubbing the faint, stellate mark there with her thumb. “I
can’t help but worry. I can feel her, calling me. She’s lonely, Aine. And she’s
in danger.”

Aine
sobered. “I know. I feel it too ...” She paused to study the mark in her own
palm. “Have you ever stopped to wonder what we’re becoming?”

Iseabal
shivered, but the chill was a delicious one. “I wonder every moment. But she’s
the cause of it. Whatever we become, we shall be better than we ever were.”

“I
never wanted the Gift,” Aine murmured, then raised her head sharply. “Someone’s
coming.”

It
was Phelan. He had brought the Apothecary, her children, and Orna-mac-Mercer.
All carried faint, star-shaped marks in their palms and a deep loyalty to
Taminy-a-Cuinn in their hearts.

oOo

“The
Cyne has spoken to you about the Assembly, of course.” Daimhin Feich’s smile
came with an offer of tea.

She
accepted the tea and nodded. “Yes, he’s mentioned it several times.”

“He’s
explained, then, that he wishes you to remain silent, and why.”

“Yes.
He wants the Osraed to appear fanatical and ridiculous. And, of course, he
wishes me to be found innocent of heresy.”

“Both
true. For you are innocent and the Osraed are fanatical and ridiculous. But,
there’s a bit more to it than that.”

Feich
sat down next to Taminy on the stone bench she occupied in one of the castle’s
many pocket gardens. For a moment, he said nothing, but let his eyes roam over
her face and hair. Her blush only made him smile more deeply.

“How
lovely you are—rose and gold. Like one of those.” He gestured at the roses that
stood sentinel along the wall. Then, he lowered his eyes and chuckled. “Forgive
me. I was going to say that the Cyne has grown very fond of you. I’ve grown
fond of you in the brief time you’ve been with us. We only advise you to your
own good. Which is to say, for the good of Caraid-land. Cyne Colfre and I are
aware, if no one else is, that the two things are inextricably connected.”

“Yes,
they are.” She let her eyes rise to his.

He
did not break off his gaze. “The Osraed are corrupt.”

“Not
all.”

“No,
but as an institution-”

“As
an institution they have lost sight of their purpose. I’m here to remind them
of it.”

Feich
stared at her. “I’ve never heard you speak like that before, of purposes—theirs
or yours.”

“You’ve
never discussed the Osraed with me before. Not directly.”

“So,
you have a purpose: To remind the Osraed of their purpose.”

“That’s
one of the reasons I’m here, yes.”

Feich’s
brows rose. “There are more?”

She
tilted her head to one side. “I see them, little by little.”

“The
Meri shows you, does She?”

“Yes.”

“And
what else does She show you?”

“Whatever
She wishes me to see.”

He
was silent for a moment, studying her. “I am very loyal to my Cyne,” he said at
last. “Fiercely loyal. Perhaps I try to ... compensate for my forebears.” He
smiled ruefully. “The House Feich is not well known for loyalty.”

That,
Taminy knew, was an understatement. In the long history of Caraid-land, the
Feich were known to be loyal only to the Feich. Whether that put them in league
with the House Malcuim or against it seemed not to matter. Until now, this man
would have her believe. She gazed into Daimhin Feich’s fox-eyes and tried to
read the depth of his loyalty to Colfre Malcuim and his country. It was
difficult, for the man’s inner workings were complex and ever-moving. One thing
was certain; he wanted what Colfre wanted—to weaken the Osraed and to invest
their powers in a new institution. Daimhin Feich would make Colfre Osric, ruler
by Divine Right.

“I
must tell you this,” Feich continued, flushing a little under her gaze, “so you
understand my ... motivation. I believe you can aid my lord in attaining what
he desires and deserves.”

“To
be Osric.”

He
blinked. “Who told you that?”

She
smiled, knowing the smile unnerved him. “You did. Colfre did. Although not so
much with public words as with private thoughts.”

He
laughed. “You toy with me, lady. Unkind of you.”

“I
have no desire to be unkind. Colfre wants to divest the Osraed of their
administrative power and take it upon himself. You want to help him.”

Feich
hesitated, then moved closer to her on the bench, a urgency bristling from him.
“Yes. Yes, Taminy. I do want that. You say, yourself, that the Osraed have
forgotten their purpose. So they have. They’ve become enamored of temporal
leadership and have failed to give spiritual guidance to the people of
Caraid-land. Only when they are forced to concentrate on the spiritual will
they cease to be distracted by the material. Colfre wants what you want,
Taminy—for the Osraed to return to their spiritual duties. For them to look to
you for their charter. The Cyne’s ends and the Meri’s ends are the same. Both
will be served if your innocence is proved.”

He
moved closer still, taking on the expression of an instructive confidant. “When
you are called before the Hall tomorrow, you must present a demure, child-like
picture. The way you dress, the way you stand, the expression on your face, the
tone of your voice when you speak—all will contribute to this picture. Convince
the Assembly that you are that, and all the Osraed accusations will appear as
so much dirty smoke.”

He
paused, eyes downcast, seemingly uncomfortable. When he lifted them again, they
were overflowing with concern. He took her hand in his gently, firmly. “The
Assembly must not see the Taminy-a-Cuinn who proudly announced herself to the
Osraed Body-”

“That
was not pride.” Her voice was firm, if not sharp.

He
floundered momentarily. “Well ... well, then it was purpose. But that
Taminy-a-Cuinn must not speak to the Hall.”

He
looked deeply into her eyes now, his grip on her hand tightening. “Do you wish
to be of service to Caraid-land, Taminy? Does your purpose have a place in it
for that?”

Shivers
of alien alarm raised the hair on her neck and arms, but she kept her eyes on
his and made her voice steady and certain. “The good of Caraid-land is my
ultimate purpose, Durweard Feich. For what other reason could I or my Mistress
care what the Osraed do or do not? The Osraed were to serve this people and
most have forgotten how. Worse, they strive to drag the newly Chosen into
forgetfulness with them.”