Taminy (49 page)

“Then
serve Cyne Colfre and you will surely serve the people.”

She
pulled her hand from his and rose from the bench. “By remaining silent and
making no claims?”

“Your
actions speak more loudly and convincingly than any words, lady. The sweetness
of your conduct, the mildness of your demeanor ...Do you understand?”

She
nodded, feeling his eyes along her back, flushing again at his regard. “I do
understand, Durweard Feich.”

“Surely,
you can call me Daimhin, dear Taminy, when I have acknowledged my fondness for
you.”

She
flushed more deeply and another unfamiliar tingle rippled through her. “Yes,
Daimhin, I understand.”

He
rose and moved around to stand before her, capturing her hands again, holding
them to his lips and kissing the tips of her fingers. In contact with its
source, the tingle sharpened. He was vibrating with something akin to
exhilaration, his eyes over-bright and dizzying, swarming with an energy that
all but took her breath away.

He
left her alone in the garden, then, to contemplate their conversation—alone, as
she had been all week, except for her crowd-drawing tours with Colfre and her
several visits with Toireasa and Airleas. The Riagan had apologized to her the
night after his escapade, no doubt at the urging of his mother, and had stayed
to ask her questions about the Meri—what She looked like and how She spoke and
what it felt like to touch a person who was made of Light. She did not ask how
he came to know of her claims, but merely answered his questions as best she
could.

Bevol
and Skeet she had not seen except in glimpses. They were not allowed to speak
except in dreams where distance and walls made no difference. But, though that
comforted her, it was not the same as seeing them face to face. Not the same as
feeling Bevol’s strong arms, protective, about her when her sense of isolation
became too keen.

Taminy-Osmaer,
of divine intent, was yet human and young. Loneliness sapped her in a way the
constant parades and healings did not. Indeed, the daily “miracles” she had
been called upon to perform revitalized her. Though she was uncomfortable with
the parading and posturing, uneasy that the adoring crowds now connected her
with the Cyne, it gave her the chance to Weave Healing and she was grateful. It
also gave her the chance to make friends among the people of Creiddylad and its
provinces. Friends she must share with Colfre for the time being.

The
agitation Daimhin Feich had created in her passed as she roamed among the
roses, reminding herself of the garden at Gled Manor. She was absorbed in their
perfume when she heard the sounds of approach and paused, wondering if it was
time for yet another parade of miracles. The Assembly members arrived day by
day, and along with them more common folk who flocked to the city as if it were
a site of Pilgrimage. It was not Ochanshrine they came to see, it was Taminy,
the Wicke of Mertuile. And she, at her Cyne’s bidding would perform for them,
causing them to believe what they had only heard in rumor.

The
Cyne was not alone when he entered the little garden; the Ren Catahn and Desary
Hillwild were with him. Daimhin Feich trailed behind, his expression guarded.
But Catahn’s face held no such wariness, and his daughter’s was eloquent with
relief and joy. Together, they came to Taminy and fell to their knees at her
feet. Both raised hands and she clasped them, palm to palm, fingers entwined.
Her earlier uncertainty fled at their touch.

“My
Lady,” murmured Catahn, his head bowed, “you are safe.”

“I
am in the company of friends,” she said, and could now be sure of it.

Catahn
raised dark amber eyes to her face. “We are yours, Lady. What do you desire of
us?”

Over
the Hillwild’s head, she could see Cyne Colfre’s astonishment turn to glee. He
glanced aslant at Feich, who merely raised his brows. She felt a prickle of
anger. These people were pawns to Colfre—ciphers he would move about to obtain
the sums he wanted. She pushed the anger down and smiled.

“I
have no desire that your coming here hasn’t fulfilled. Only stay with me a
while.”

“Lady,”
said Desary, “I would stay with you forever. Take me as your lady’s maid and
companion. Let me serve you.”

Taminy
looked from one dark face to the other, feeling their devotion as a warm,
living cloak about her. Such devotion awed her to the soul. “I don’t want a
servant, Desary, but I would dearly love a companion and friend.” She raised
her eyes to Colfre. “Cyne Colfre, with your permission ... ?”

Colfre
made a sweeping, gallant gesture, smiling his magnanimity at the three of them.
“Of course. She shall have the chamber adjoining yours. And surely my kinsman,
Catahn, can be persuaded to join us at table for the midday meal?”

Catahn
rose and gifted the Cyne with a formal nod of his head. “I am persuaded, sire,”
he said and returned his gaze to Taminy.

“Delightful!”
Colfre seemed ready to clap his hands. “We’ll leave you to visit. Someone will
fetch you for dinner.” He turned to his Durweard. “Daimhin, to our business?”

Feich
nodded, eyes wandering to the trio on the lush grass of his lord’s garden. Then
he followed the Cyne from sight.

“Lady-”

Catahn
was halfway to his knees again when Taminy arrested him, laughing. “Please,
sir, don’t bow and scrape to me. I meant what I said,” she added, putting an
arm around Desary’s shoulders. “I don’t want servants; I want friends.”

Catahn
straightened, looking wild and dangerous among the Cyne’s well-bred roses. “My
Lady,” he said, “you have them.”

oOo

“Was
that wise, my lord?”

The
Daimhin Feich and his Cyne walked briskly through the corridors of Mertuile en
route to the chambers of the Privy Council.

“What
do you mean, Daimhin? Was what wise?”

“Leaving
them alone together.”

“What—will
they now begin to hatch plots against me?”

“Catahn
has been openly disrespectful to the Throne.”

Colfre
laughed. “You mean he’s been disrespectful to me. His kin got along fine with
my dear, gentle, malleable father.”

“Sire,
the Hillwild have always been rebellious.”

Colfre
shrugged. “When it suits them.”

Daimhin
felt irritation tickle his breast bone. “Sire, you do not give this the serious
attention it deserves.”

Colfre
stopped walking and faced his Durweard upon the inlaid tiles of the castle’s
lower entrance hall, oblivious to the servants and courtiers who came and went
about them, bowing without breaking stride.

“Daimhin,
you amaze me. Didn’t you see what happened in that garden just now? The mighty
Ren Catahn humbled himself before that girl and swore allegiance to her.”

“I
saw, my lord.”

“Then
perhaps you didn’t hear properly. ‘We are yours,’ he said. If he is hers, that
makes him mine. He has pledged his allegiance to Colfre Malcuim with those
impassioned words.” He began walking again, missing the look his Durweard
passed him.

Daimhin
matched his stride. “I wouldn’t be too certain of that, sire. You’re right, the
Hillwild is impassioned. But, I have learned not to trust passion. It tends to
be fickle.”

Colfre
chuckled. “Poor Daimhin. A man who doesn’t trust his passions? Such a sterile
existence. Passion is life, my friend. To feel the blood singing in your ears
because of a fast horse or a beautiful woman or a victory in battle. I paint my
passion. I glory in it. As you should glory in yours.”

“Now,
sire, I said I didn’t trust passion. That doesn’t mean I won’t indulge myself
from time to time. But in this case, my lord, I must surely be expected to keep
a cool head and a steady heart. I am your Durweard, after all.”

“Cool
and steady—not dead, Daimhin. If you are to convince the lady Taminy that you’re
heart over head for her, you can’t be nearly so methodical as you sound at this
moment.”

Feich
smiled wryly. “Please, my lord. I fancy I know how to display properly to a
young woman. Even this young woman, as peculiar as she is.”

“Peculiar?
I’ve heard her called exceptional, magical, rare, even dangerous, but never ‘peculiar.’”

“She
is, though. While most girls her age are thinking of the dances they will
attend and the dresses they will buy, she thinks of Caraid-land and its
spiritual malaise. Her passion is for your people, Cyne Colfre. Her longing is
to heal your urchins and re-educate your Osraed.”

“What?
Can you expect me to believe there is no midge of womanly desire in her? Have
we some sort of unnatural saint on our hands?”

The
tickle in Daimhin Feich’s breast moved southward; he could no longer attribute
it to irritation. “Unnatural ... yes, she is that, in her way. I do sense a
certain ... breathlessness in her when we touch, but it’s an alien thing. One
moment I believe she’s like one of your roses; easily bruised. The next moment,
I’m just as convinced the whole thing is a facade and ... and I shall soon
encounter thorns. Whichever—she is as you said: She does things no seventeen
year old girl should do. She thinks things no seventeen year old girl should
think.”

Colfre
smiled, as if enjoying his Durweard’s unease. “Are you admitting to me, Daimhin
Feich, that you can’t spark some desire in that young breast? Are you making
excuses already?”

“She’s
a zealot, sire. Zealots tend to be single-minded in their purpose.”

“A
zealot? Is that all she is?” asked Colfre, echoing Daimhin’s inner-most
thoughts. “What was it you called her—’a fire-slinging hellion?’ I’ve never
seen mere zeal sling that kind of fire.”

“All
right, then, she’s a Gifted zealot or a Wicke, just as the Osraed suspect. But,
she has her own purposes, sire. Her own agenda.”

“Of
course she does. And it’s up to us to bring those purposes into alignment with our
own.” Colfre put a hand on his Durweard’s shoulder. “Daimhin, she’s a woman.
Or, if you please, a zealot in a woman’s body. Given the right temptation, that
body will betray her. She vibrates the air she moves through. Or can’t you feel
that?”

Daimhin
laughed. “Oh, I feel it.”

“Well,
then. She can’t be unaware of that. Nor can she be immune to its effects if we
are not.”

Daimhin
shook his head, puzzled. “That doesn’t necessarily follow ... . My lord, can
this be the same girl about which you expressed such religious concern only
days ago?”

They
had reached the council chamber and stopped before its closed doors. Colfre
turned to face his Durweard. “Daimhin, tell me, do you believe Taminy-a-Cuinn
is divine?”

Feich
blinked. “You’re serious.”

“My
question is a serious one, yes.”

“Then,
no. I don’t believe it.”

“Then
do you believe she is the human expression of the Meri’s powers as latent in
the Osmaer?”

“I’m
not sure what that means, so I can hardly claim belief in it. I’m not a
religious man, as you well know.”

“Well,
then, do you believe she is a being who—how can I put it—could in any way
threaten your existence?”

“Politically,
perhaps.”

“Spiritually?”

“No,
I don’t believe that either. I’m not even sure what ‘spiritually’ means—if it
means anything at all.”

“Well
then, you have nothing to fear from her. You have no reason not to view her as
a desirable, obtainable, politically important young woman over whom you find
it expedient to gain control. I must trust you to use your own judgment and not
to violate my best interests. I can have no effect on your beliefs, Daimhin.
Nor can you have any effect on mine.”

Feich
grimaced. “Meaning,” he said, “that if I were to ... engender her wrath instead
of her love and she did turn out to be divine or at least divinely powerful,
you could stand clear beneath the awning of your own piety and bemoan my fate.”
He shook his head. “Oh, sire, I wouldn’t be so certain. It seems to me you lose
out no matter what happens.”

“How
so?”

“Well,
consider the opportunity—if she is not divine, you’ll have no joy of her. I
will. If she is divine, she has already peeked into the darkest recesses of
your heart and will know that I’m only an amoral agent doing your bidding.”

Colfre
flushed to the roots of his hair. “You don’t have to do anything,” he murmured,
glancing about as if suddenly aware of their surroundings. “I did not command
you to seduce her, if that’s what you’re about. All I’ve asked of you, Durweard
Feich, is that you help me obtain the girl’s friendship and endorsement.”

“Is
her endorsement that important?”

“My
friend, it is critical. Why do you doubt it?”

“Perhaps
because I’m not sure that controlling her will be as easy as you think.”

“I
don’t care how easy it is—or is not. She is our best and only tool for completely
breaking the Osraed grip on Caraid-land. I can’t put off the Hall’s business
indefinitely—not without an impelling reason that the people will support.
Whether the Hall comes apart over this issue or whether they condone her or
whether they condemn her, I will win the control the Throne should have—should
always have had—if she stands with me. The majority of Osraed in the Hall are
Tradists. They have always been my allies, but in this matter ...” He shook his
head. “The damned fools resist change and prattle about covenants and divine
will. Osraed Ealad-hach will arrive in Creiddylad tonight. Tomorrow, he’ll
bring charges against Taminy. Every Tradist eye in the Hall will be on him.
They will take him seriously simply because he has lead them for so long.”

“You
fear he’ll rally them?”

“I’ve
given him no time for that, but he may confuse them, divide them against me.
Then again, he may make such a fool of himself that none of them will want to
associate themselves with his views. We’re going to fill the public galleries
with Taminy’s worshippers, Daimhin. That is the crowd poor old Ealad-hach will
play to. If he gets support from his cronies, louder voices will drown it out.”
Colfre smiled and inclined his head toward the double doors of the council
chamber. His Durweard moved swiftly to open them.