Kushiel's Justice (36 page)

That was another of the many stories whose details I’d learned from Gilot.

Strange to think, if it hadn’t been for an Illyrian pirate I’d never met, my mother’s scheme might well have succeeded. I’d been a babe of six months’ age; neither Sidonie or Alais had been born. At that time, my aging father was still Ysandre’s heir.

And I . . .

I might be the King of Terre d’Ange by now.

The thought made me shudder.

It made me think, too, about what Dorelei had said of the Maghuin Dhonn; how it might drive one mad to know too much, to see too many possible futures. I was glad my life was free of such burdensome gifts. Merely surviving without doing harm seemed chore enough.

At any rate, I didn’t believe the letter; or at least not wholly. They might have gone to Illyria, but I suspected it was a starting point and not an end. Wherever they were, I suspected, very strongly, it had to do with my theory about whatever they’d been plotting at Stormkeep and the pages of the lost Book of Raziel.

That suspicion, I kept to myself.

If you’ve need of aught,
Phèdre had written,
speak to Ti-Philippe. He knows Montrève’s business. Take the best of care of yourself and Dorelei and the babe-to-come. May Blessed Elua hold and keep you until our swift return
.

Well and so, I thought; Ti-Philippe knows. That was good. He’d been Phèdre’s man since before I was born. Cheerful and irreverent as he was, he was loyal to the bone, and I thought he’d sooner die than divulge her secrets.

It saddened me a bit to think that they wouldn’t be here to attend the birth. It made me feel older, too. I was a man grown, and soon to be a father. It was heartening to know they trusted me to handle it without their assistance. Still, it would have been a comfort to have them here.

Especially after Urist’s discovery.

’Twas a few days after Talorcan had departed. Urist begged a word of me without saying why. His face was grim as he led me across the fields, past the
ollamh
’s stone hut and into the woods. Pale green leaves were budding on the beech trees, the oaks were beginning to bear fuzzy catkins and new undergrowth was sprouting through the loam. For a time, we followed the trail that led to the oak grove and the standing stones, and then Urist turned toward the south. He moved silently in the woods, and I did my best to follow his lead.

“There.” He pointed.

It was an oak tree, flakes of dry bark rubbed off to expose the pale, reddish new layer beneath. I looked closely. There was coarse brown hair snagged in the rough grooves.

“Bear sign,” I murmured.

Urist nodded. “There’s another one, too, with claw marks. Do you want to see it?”

“One’s enough,” I said. “How did you find it?”

“Marec the Thatcher spotted it,” he said. “Hunting squirrels, I reckon. I didn’t ask.” He shrugged. “Could be natural.”

“And it could be one of
them
,” I said. “Post extra sentries on the woods’ edge, and give Marec the reward you promised. Tell him you’ll double it if he spots an actual bear. Preferably of the ordinary den-dwelling, cub-rearing sort.”

Urist gave another nod. “And if it’s not?”

I checked my bindings. They were firm. “Let’s hope it is.”

T
HIRTY-FIVE

I
WAS LOATH TO TELL
Dorelei about the bear sign. She was so near to her term with the babe, I hated to trouble her; and in truth, she’d grown unwontedly moody and irritable in recent days. I didn’t blame her. She did indeed look ready to burst, her feet were swollen, and her back ached somewhat fierce.

I did, though. I’d had a bellyful of keeping secrets from people I cared about in Tiberium, and I reckoned I owed her honesty.

And in the end, it didn’t matter.

When Morwen of the Maghuin Dhonn appeared, she did it openly.

It was late in the afternoon, and I was sitting in the sunlit salon with Dorelei, keeping her company while her mother and the other women embroidered and chattered. Work around Clunderry had resumed after the long, idle months of winter—the cattle had been driven to the farther pastures, and fields were being plowed and manured in preparation for next month’s sowing—but I’d decided to forgo working alongside my people in favor of spending time with my wife.

We were trying to settle on a name for the babe. We’d agreed it should bear an Alban name, but Dorelei thought it should be a name not wholly unfamiliar to the D’Angeline tongue, and I agreed.

“By all rights, if it’s a boy, it should be named after your father,” Breidaia observed.

Dorelei and I exchanged a glance. “I loved him and miss him, Mother, but Gartnach doesn’t fall smoothly from D’Angeline lips,” she said. “Anyway, what if it’s a girl?”

It was at that moment we heard the clamor; running feet and a horn blowing. Kinadius burst into the salon, wild-eyed. “Bear-witch!”

I leapt to my feet. “Where?”

He pointed in the general direction of the woods. “She just . . . she just walked right out of the woods. That woman, the one with the pale eyes.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “Urist is there, dozens of us with weapons drawn, and the
ollamh
, and . . . and Lady Alais.” He licked his lips. “She wants to speak to you, my lord.”

“Alais?” I asked stupidly.

Kinadius shook his head. “The bear-witch,” he whispered. “Says she’s come to offer a bargain.”

I drew a sharp breath. Dorelei levered herself to her feet with difficulty. Her face had turned white, but it was set and determined. “I’m going with you.”

“The hell you are,” I said.

Her eyes flashed. “The hell I
am
!”

“Fine.” I turned to Kinadius. “Get the rest of the garrison.”

He obeyed without a word. It was an imposing delegation that turned out to confront Morwen. If I hadn’t been in a grim mind-set, I might have felt foolish. Morwen stood calmly at the edge of the woods, a few feet behind the carved stone marker that indicated it was
taisgaidh
land. She appeared small and harmless, clad in a coarse brown dress, her feet bare and grimy, but her mist-pale eyes didn’t blink between the tattooed claw marks on her face, and Urist and his lads held her at bay, hunting bows drawn. Firdha was there, looking disturbed, and Alais beside her. The wolfhound Celeste was growling softly deep in her throat.

Morwen ignored them all, ignored the scores of new arrivals, looking past them to meet my eyes. She inclined her head, ignoring Dorelei on my arm. “Prince Imriel.”

“Morwen,” I said. “What do you want?”

“You sought to make a bargain with the Maghuin Dhonn,” she said. “I come to offer one. Will you hear it?”

Dorelei’s fingers dug into my arm. “Speak your piece,” I said tightly.

“It seems the future has chosen its course. I wish to show you a glimpse of what will come,” Morwen said. “In exchange, I will give you the mannekin charm you covet. The Maghuin Dhonn will relinquish all claim on you.”

My heart gave a fierce leap in my breast, but I schooled my features to stone. “Why?”

“You will understand when you see,” she said.

“Why should we trust you?” Dorelei asked. Her brow was damp with sweat, but her voice was cool. “You’ve done us nothing but harm.”

“Have I?” Morwen smiled slightly. “All throughout these endless winter months, you’ve had a husband who loves you to warm your bed, Dorelei mab Breidaia. Can you say of a surety it would have been so without Alban magic to tame his restless heart?”

“No,” Dorelei said steadily. “But I would have welcomed the chance to try.”

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Morwen’s face. “It is too late.”

“Too late for what?” I asked.

“Many things.” The uncertainty vanished. “Knots are undone, the skein is unraveled. If naught changes, only one thread is certain. Will you see it and understand?”

I took a deep breath. “How?”

“Come with me tonight to the standing stones,” Morwen said. “And by the light of the full moon, I will show you.” I made no answer. “The oath of the Maghuin Dhonn stands, Prince Imriel. By all that is holy, I swear I will do you no harm. You may bring your men if you wish. They may not enter the ring, but they may stand outside it and watch.” She read my face. “Once it begins, I will give you the charm. As soon as it ends, you may destroy it. You will be free. Free of all bindings, free of all claims. Free to welcome your son into the world as your own true self.”

“This is a trick,” Dorelei murmured.

“No,” Morwen shifted her gaze and fixed her pale eyes on her. “No trick, little sister. You will be free, too; you and your kinswomen. Free to dream, free to see past the fog that clouds your vision. It is the gift of your bloodline, of blood we share. You hunger for it, do you not?”

Dorelei swallowed. “Not enough to trust you.”

The bear-witch shrugged. “Then you will hunger all your life, all of you, for visions that will not come. Imriel is bound to us, and you are bound to him.”

“Only on Alban soil,” I noted.

“Our magic?” Morwen inclined her head. “That is true. But what binds Dorelei mab Breidaia and her kin are ties of love and blood.”

“There are worse things,” I said.

“Than love and blood?” She smiled. “To be sure. But these are gifts meant to be given freely. If they are not, love may be poisoned, and blood may turn bitter as gall. Such is the heritage that runs in your veins. Is that what you wish, Imriel de la Courcel?”

I thought about the terrible sorrow in my father’s face and turned to Firdha. “Daughter of the Grove, what is your counsel?”

The
ollamh
looked stricken. Still, when I called upon her, she squared her shoulders and approached Morwen. She held the gilded oak branch of her office so tightly her knuckles whitened. Urist jerked his head, and the men of the garrison spread out. I beckoned to Alais, who hurried to my side, her fingers locked around Celeste’s collar.

“Where is the talisman?” Firdha asked.

“It is near,” Morwen said calmly. “But you will not find it.”

“Give it unto my keeping, and I will hold it,” Firdha said. “I swear it by the grove.”

Morwen considered; or pretended to. “No,” she said at length. “Not until he has seen. That is the bargain I offer.” She tilted her head. “The price of freedom is knowledge, lady. You ought to know its worth. If Imriel accepts this bargain, he will understand why we made it, and we will be at quits for all time. But I cannot change the terms.”

Firdha studied her for a long, long time. Morwen bore her scrutiny in silence. At last the
ollamh
turned to address me. “Prince Imriel, the choice is yours. But if it is your wish to do this thing, I tell you this. I would not trust in the oath her people have sworn. I would bind her by an oath uttered in her own words, in the ring of standing stones itself. An oath that no harm come to you, nor to any member of your household, with the direst of consequences. With your permission, I would administer it myself.”

“Would you swear such an oath?” I asked Morwen.

Her chin rose. “I will.”

She wasn’t lying, or at least there were no tell-tales. Beyond that, I couldn’t read her. Frustration, yearning, and foreboding warred in me. Beside me, Dorelei was shaking her head, but her face was troubled and unsure. I glanced up at the sun. “I must confer with my wife,” I said to Morwen. “I’ll return at sundown to give you my answer.”

The bear-witch nodded. “So be it.”

With that, she turned her back fearlessly on Urist’s men with their drawn bows, melting into the forest. Urist glanced at me, and I shook my head at him. “Let her go, but post a guard on the woods.”

No one spoke on the walk back to the castle.

I wished I knew what to do.

As the news spread through Clunderry, Dorelei and I retreated to our bedchamber to talk in private. I propped pillows on the bed so she could recline in comfort, then sat on the end with her feet in my lap, rubbing them. Neither of us knew what to say.

“I don’t like it,” Dorelei finally said. “And I
don’t
trust her.”

“Nor do I,” I murmured.

“Good.” She hesitated. “Still . . .”

“What if it’s genuine?” I asked.

Dorelei nodded. “I’ve thought . . . betimes I’ve thought about the blessing they offered. At our wedding. I’ve wondered if we were right to refuse it. If
I
was right. I made that choice, and I’m not sure it was the right one. This choice is yours.”

“But you don’t think I should dare take her bargain,” I said.

“I don’t
know
!” Her voice broke. “No, I don’t, but . . . what comes next, Imriel? That’s the thing. Every time I hope mayhap they’ll leave us in peace, they come back. Charms, tricks, oaths, seductions . . .” She drew a long, shaking breath. “What if this truly did put an end to it?”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” I said wistfully.

“Yes.” Dorelei was trembling. “Hold me, will you?”

I set her feet down gently and shifted to the head of the bed to enfold Dorelei in my arms from behind. She leaned back against me, resting her head on my shoulder. I laid my right hand on her straining belly and felt the babe kick. “Oof!”

She made an effort to smile. “That was a strong one.”

“Little Gartnach is restless,” I said.

That made her laugh. “You know, I did have a thought. Isn’t it odd how things occur to you at the strangest times? My father’s mother died in childbirth, and he grew up bearing his father’s name. Gartnach mab Aniel.”

“Aniel,” I mused.

“It nearly sounds D’Angeline, doesn’t it?” she said.

“Anael is one of Blessed Elua’s Companions,” I said. “And Phèdre’s lord and mentor was named Anafiel Delaunay.”

Dorelei folded her fingers over mine. “So he’d be named for both our families.”

“And if it’s a girl?” I asked. “Anielle?”

“Anielle.” She tasted the word. “It’s not an Alban name, but it almost could be. And it could be D’Angeline, too. It’s pretty, don’t you think?”

“I do,” I said.

“Aniel, Anielle.” A smile curved her brown cheek. “I like it.”

I tried to peer around her to see her dimples. “It could be twins, you know.”

“It feels like it.” Dorelei twisted awkwardly in my arms. “Imri . . . I do want you to be free. I want it more than anything for you. For us. For the babe. Whatever the future holds, I’d have you face it as a free man.”

“And you, too.” I stroked her face. “The bear-witch was right about that. You’re bound as surely as I am, only in a different way.”

“Love and blood, and the fog that clouds my vision.” She smiled wryly. “ ’Tis true. It’s like a great dark cloud hanging over me, Imriel. I’d breathe easier if I were free of it. To dream once more, to face the woods without fear . . . mayhap it’s worth the risk.”

We regarded one another.

“Firdha would administer the oath,” I said softly.

“And Urist and his men would be there to keep watch,” Dorelei said.

“So.” I tightened my arms around her. “Is it decided?”

“Yes.” She swallowed. “Are you frightened of what you might see?”

I shook my head. “All knowledge is worth having.”

So it was decided, right or wrong; and I felt better for having the decision made. Dorelei and I descended into the great hall together and informed our household of the decision. Everyone nodded gravely. I pulled Urist aside to discuss the matter of an escort. We settled on three dozen men under his command, enough to encompass the ring of stones. It would leave the garrison short-handed, but Urist reckoned it was worth the risk.

“I fear the Old Ones more than a cattle-raid,” he said grimly.

We had an early supper, keeping a wary eye on the lowering sun. I didn’t eat much. I felt strange and lightheaded, drunk on the prospect of freedom. Ah, Elua! To face each new day without the eternal litany of checking my bindings, to be free of the damp, smothering blanket that lay over my soul, to be
myself
. . .

It would be glorious.

The sun was hanging low over the western woods when the
ollamh
Firdha cleared her throat and declared it was growing late. Urist had assembled his men. They were all ready, swords at their belts, hunting bows slung over their shoulders. I took arm, too. Dorelei insisted on doing it herself. Alais helped, kneeling to buckle my old rhinoceros-hide sword-belt around my waist.

“Be careful, Imri,” she whispered.

“I will, villain.” I kissed her cheek when she rose. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Alais sniffled. “Don’t call me that!”

I extended my arms, and Dorelei slid the vambraces over my forearms, one after the other, taking care not to tangle my yarn bindings. “May all the gods of Alba and the
diadh-anam
of the Cullach Gorrym be with you,” she murmured, buckling them in place. She looked up at me, her eyes bright with tears. “Oh, Imri! Come home safe and free.”

I hugged her, feeling the swell of her belly pressed between us. “I will, love,” I promised. “I promise.” I stooped, then, and kissed her belly. “Both of you.”

Dorelei laughed through her tears. “Keep your promise, Imriel de la Courcel!”

I straightened and smiled at her, bent to kiss her lips. “I always do.”

She clung to me for a moment, then let me go.

“ ’Tis time,” Urist said quietly.

I nodded. “Let’s go.”