Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 04 (33 page)

           
Her sallow face was suffused with
angry color. Her eyes glittered. I was put in mind, oddly, of my own mother,
when I had seen her angry. The eyes were similar.

           
And I wondered, suddenly, if that
had been the attraction. My mother's eyes were her mother's, and Electra was
notorious for the power of her gaze. If Carillon were susceptible to the color,
it became more understandable how Same had appealed to him.

           
"He was acknowledged by his
father, my lord, when I brought him to Homana-Mujhar."

           
I heard the gasp go up from the
assemblage. No one had expected that; no, perhaps some of them had. Not
everyone looked surprised.

           
A sidelong glance at my father's
face showed the faintest trace of consternation in his expression. Beyond him,
fan frowned blackly at the tabletop. Almost idly, he picked at a blemish with
his thumbnail. But I knew my brother too well; he was also deeply concerned.

           
"And when did you come to
Homana-Mujhar?" my father inquired calmly.

           
Same nodded a little, as if she had
anticipated the question. "You weren't here, my lord. You'd gone to the Crystal
Isle to fetch home the Princess of Homana." She nodded again. "It was
before you wed her. When the only son you claimed was also a bastard, like
mine."

           
I was on my feet at once. "You
go too far," I told her plainly, over the murmurs of the throng.
"Give my brother no insult here."

           
Her dignity manifested itself
subtly, and yet I was aware of its presence. "Then give my son no insult
here, my lord." She took two steps forward; a short, heavy woman, yet
powerful in her pride. "Do you think I don't know Cheysuli custom? Do you
think we put forward my son out of some perverse desire to steal the throne
from you? No, my lord—we only want what's right for him—what's his right,
because he is Carillon's son! Bastard, is he? Aye, he is! And so is that man there!"
She thrust a hand toward Ian. "So is that man who sits at the Mujhar's
side bastard-born, and suffering none because of it, Cheysuli he is, and
therefore not pushed aside because his father never married his mother. And I
say to you—what right have you to push aside my son? What right have you to
refuse him his proper place? Carillon never did!"

           
"What place did Carillon give
him?" my father demanded. "By the gods, woman, nothing was ever said!
Not to me, not to Rowan ... if Carillon promised you a place for your son—a
title or otherwise—no one ever knew it!"

           
"Why would he say so to
you?" she countered. "He had already promised you the throne.
Everyone in Homana knows how the shapechangers serve their prophecy. Perhaps he
thought you or the other Cheysuli would try to harm my son."

           
My father nearly gaped. "You
are mad," he told her, shaking his head slowly from side to side.
"You are mad!”

           
"Am I?" she retorted.
"As mad as the Princess Gisella?"

           
"Enough!” I shouted.
"Woman, you go too far!"

           
"Everyone knows it!" she
cried. "You are wed to a madwoman, my lord. Who can say what manner of
children you will get?"

           
Even my father was on his feet.
"No more," he said.

           
"By the gods, woman, no more!"

           
"Why? Because I speak the
truth? Because I dare speak the truth before all the others?" She whirled,
facing the gathered men. "It's true! All of it! My son was acknowledged by
Carillon, who intended to give him a place. And now when we ask for that place,
the Mujhar denies it to us." Her body vibrated with the intensity of her
emotions, "He fears my son. He fears what it means for the prophecy. But I
say we are Homanan—we need no prophecy. Why not make Homana Homanan
again?"

           
Men were on their feet, trying to
shout her down.

           
Others shouted over them declaring
their support of the woman's son. And all the while I watched in astonishment.

           
Ian pushed back his chair. "I
will fetch the guard."

           
"No." My father caught his
arm as he moved to rise.

           
"Remain here. I do not want you
going near that crowd.”

           
"Jehan—"

           
"I said no."

           
"She is mad," I said
dazedly. "Madder than Gisella."

           
"What sort of man do you want
on the Lion Throne?" the woman was shouting. "A Cheysuli? A Homanan?
The child of Carillon's son? Or the child of mad Gisella?"

           
I looked at Elek. He was smiling. He
watched the woman and smiled, as if he waited for something.

           
Beyond him. Rowan had turned to the
men. I saw his mouth move, but his shout was lost in the tumult. Like him, I
wanted to fetch the guard. But I did not move to try it.

           
"It was a Cheysuli who slew
Carillon!" I heard the woman shout. "A shapechanger slew the Mujhar.
He gave him shapechanger poison!"

           
"Oh gods," I heard my
father exclaim. "How can she know about the tetsu root that he wanted for
his pain?"

           
"Carillon's son should be
Mujhar—Carillon's Homanan son—let the Lion remain Homanan."

           
I saw men draw steel in the midst of
the shouting throng. I heard shouts, curses, threats; I heard the woman's voice
rising over it all like the shrill cry of a hunting hawk.

           
"Let the Lion remain Homanan.”

           
And then, abruptly, a man broke free
of the throng.

           
He darted forward even as I leaped
over the table and onto the floor, trying to turn him aside. But I was late,
hobbled by a poor landing; he thrust, left his knife in the woman's body, and
looked directly at my father. "My lord—that was for you—to prove my
loyalty."

           
And almost at once he was dead. Elek,
rising up from Same's crumpled body, thrust with his own knife and drove the
man down to the floor.

           
I heard the ring and hiss of steel
from more than a hundred swords and knives. I caught a glimpse of Rowan
battering back an attacker. Gods—they will not slay Rowan—

           
And yet I knew they might.

           
They advanced: a wall of human
flesh. Elek was a target; so, I thought, was I.

           
"Niall, get back!” My father's
voice, shouting over the others.

           
Elek twisted, mouthing obscenities
at me. Others held him, knocking the bloodied knife from his hand. I did not
think he wished to slay me, only to curse me for Same's murder. And yet clearly
the others thought he did. En masse, at least twelve bore him to the ground.

           
"Do not slay him!” I shouted.
"By the gods, do not slay him!"

           
"Rujho—get back!"

           
And then I felt Serri go by me into
the mass of men, snapping at a throat. "'Serri! Serri no—" Gods—they
will say he has gone mad—they will say he must be slain—and then I will be
slain as well— "Serri—no!"

           
I dove after the wolf, trying to
catch him in my arms.

           
All I caught was the tip of his
bristled tail, and then I was down, sprawled on the floor, with stomping boots
too close to my face.

           
Serri—

           
"My lord, get you up.” Someone
caught the back of my jerkin and yanked me to my feet, steadying me even as I
staggered. I felt a knife pressed into my hand. "My lord, arm yourself!"

           
Serri—

           
There was no answer in the link.

           
Hands were on me. I felt something
sharp slice through my jerkin. My belly stung.

           
Someone is trying to gut me like a
fish—

           
"My lord!" I was turned,
shoved, the knife in my hand sank deeply into flesh.

           
"No!" I cried in horror.

           
Elek’s face, mouth gaping in shock
and horror. Blood flowed over my hand. And then he sank down slowly to his
knees until he was lost in the crowd-God.?—say I did not do it—

           
And yet I knew I had.

           
"Serri!" I shouted.
"Serri!"

           
"The prince has slain
him!" someone shouted. "The prince has murdered Elek!"

           
Hands were on me, dragging me back
from the throng.

           
I twisted frenziedly, trying to free
myself, until I heard my brother's voice. "Stop fighting me, rujho, and
let me save your life."

           
"Serri," I said dazedly.
"Oh gods—where is Serri?"

           
Here, came the familiar tone. Lir, I
am well. You need have no fear for me.

           
Ian jerked me down behind the table,
thumping my head into the chair. "Stay down," he said. "Let the
guard do their job."

           
"The guard—?" I sat up
even as Ian tried to shove me back down. And then Serri was in my face.
"Oh gods—lir—"

           
I am well. I am well. Lir, do not
fear for me.

           
His nose was pressed into my throat.
I latched an arm around his neck and hugged as hard as I could. Lir, where did
you go?

           
There was a man who was trying to
slay you. I had to stop him, lir.

           
I heard the ring and clash of steel
on steel, the shouts of the Mujharan Guard. Benches overturned, men cried out,
cursed, petitioned the gods for deliverance even as I had myself.

           
I tried to thrust myself up to peer
over the table, but Ian jerked me down again. "You fool," he said,
glaring.

           
"You did precisely what they
wanted, so they could claim you murdered Elek. Do not give them more
satisfaction. Stay down!"

           
"Where is our jehan?”

           
"Here," he said from
behind me. "I was fetching Rowan out of that mess." He knelt even as
I twisted my head to look. "Are you harmed?"

           
I looked down at myself. Blood
stained my leathers, but none of it was mine. "No. This is all Elek's, I
fear."

           
Behind the Mujhar stood the general.
His fine silk tunic had been torn. But the ringmail beneath was whole.

           
"Almost clear," he
reported. "I think the madness is over."

           
"But for how long?" I
asked in disgust. "Gods, what an ugly thing."

           
"As it was meant to be,"
Rowan agreed. "It was elaborately planned."

           
"Planned?" I stared up at
him as I reached out to touch Serri for reassurance. "Some of it, aye, I
can see it easily enough. But—Same's murder? Elek's?"

           
"How better to divide loyalties
as yet unsecured than by inflaming them with murder?" Rowan shook his head
grimly. "My lord, she was murdered by a man claiming his loyalty to the
Mujhar ... it was made to look as though Donal desired it. But Elek was not
quite careful enough. I saw him speaking to the man in the corridor just before
the audience began."

           
I recalled how he had looked, as if
he waited for something. "So she was sacrificed."

           
"Aye," my father said
grimly. "And so was Elek, though he did not expect it. It makes these
people doubly dangerous. They will slay their own to lay the blame on us."

           
"Gods! Will it work?"

           
"It might," Rowan
answered. "Word of it will get out: that Niall slew Elek, and it will draw
more people to the bastard. The rebels will use it against us all."

           
"How do we stop it?"

           
"We do not," my father
said. "Not physically. We do not dare, on the heels of what has happened
today. All we can do is deny it."