Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (20 page)

 
          
He
blurted something and thrust himself up, clawing into the daylight. Blood and
dirt was spat out; he sucked in lungfuls of air. Links chimed at his belt.

 
          
Links
—? Aidan caught them. And then he
looked at Ian.

 
          
The
aging face was wasted. "I saw it," Ian gasped. "I saw the
lightning
strike
—"

 
          
"No.
No—
su'fali—"

 
          
"I
saw it
—" Ian repeated. "You
lit up like a pyre, and when it died you were gone. When it died, you were
gone
—"

 
          
Aidan
began to tremble. Shock and fatigue were overwhelming. "You would not—you
would not believe—" Dazedly, he laughed. "You would never believe
what happened—"

 
          
"Aidan,
you were
struck
—"

 
          
"You
would never believe what I saw—"

 
          
Ian's
hand clutched Tasha's neck. "You would never believe what
I
saw!"

 
          
Aidan
tried to stifle the laughter. He knew very well he walked much too close to the
edge. "What I saw—what
I
saw—"
He smothered his face with both hands, stretching the skin out of shape.
"Oh, gods—" More laughter. "Oh,
su'fali
, if only I could tell you—" Abruptly he cut it off.
"She said you would be well. She
promised
you would be well."

 
          
"Who—?"
Ian's eyes widened. His silence was absolute.

 
          
Aidan,
on hands and knees, moved to crouch by his kinsman. He ignored the cat's snarl.
"Then
I
am meant to do it—she
left this task for me…"

 
          
Ian
still said nothing.

 
          
"She
said you would be well, so I will have to do it." Grimly, Aidan smiled.
"But I'm
still
not knowing
how."

 
          
"Oh,
gods," Ian murmured. "No wonder they whisper about you—"

 
          
"You
will have to go back,
su'fali
. I am
to go alone."

 
          
Ian
shut his eyes. The
lir
by his side
growled.

 
          
Teel
? Aidan appealed.

 
          
The
raven's tone was amused.
All one must do
is ask
.

 
          
Aidan
asked, and was given.

 
          
«
^
»

 
          
The
city of
Lestra
, unlike Mujhara, was situated on a series
of hills. None rose much higher than its brother or sister, but there were
distinct prominences scattered throughout the city, each capped with clusters
of buildings like curds of souring milk.

 
          
It
gave Lestra a scalloped look, Aidan decided, as he wound his way through the
warren of cobbled streets, each turn more confusing than the last. He asked
directions to the palace several times, each time receiving an answer
distinctly different from the last, and despaired of ever finding his way to
his
su'fali's
home.

 
          
Teel's
contempt was dry.
Shall I find you the
way
?

 
          
It
was, of course, the simplest method of all, except Aidan preferred, at this
point, to find the palace himself. He disliked giving Teel any more reason to
feel superior than was absolutely necessary, as the raven took especial care to
point out Aidan's human shortcomings all too often as it was.

 
          
Except
they seemed to be lost—or
he
seemed
to be lost—and he saw no help for it.

 
          
Aidan
sighed and shifted in the saddle.
All
right. I give in. Go find us the palace
.

 
          
Teel,
perched on the saddlebow, did not leave at once.
You might find it yourself, if you gave up this useless horse. Why you
persist in riding when you have the means to fly
… In the link, Teel sighed.

 
          
I persist in riding because, as I explained
to the Hunter, there is a marvelous freedom in such things. I persist in riding
this
particular horse because, if you
will recall, Ian refused to accept him in place of his own
.

 
          
Teel
ruffled one wing.
Because he went home in
lir-shape, instead. Like any sensible Cheysuli
.

 
          
Aidan
smiled grimly.
I am what you have made me
.

 
          
The
raven demurred.
I made nothing. I bonded,
no more
,
in order to give you the aid
all warriors require
—
though you do, I
will admit, require more than most
. Teel's eye was bright.
Moreover, you are much too stubborn to
accept anyone's guidance, god's or otherwise. You have made yourself
.

 
          
Aloud,
Aidan suggested: "Then render me aid,
lir
:
go find the palace."

 
          
The
raven did, taking much less time than Aidan had hoped, and reported explicit
directions that led Aidan—and his horse—directly to the front gate. Aidan tried
to give his name and title to the guards, but they merely waved him through. He
then tried to find the duty captain—who would, of course, carry word into the
palace, then return with the proper summons—but was yet again waved along.
Bemused, he rode through the outer bailey into the inner one without being
challenged at all. And when, in growing frustration, he tried to pay a horseboy
to carry word into the palace, the boy merely grinned and bowed his head, then
took his horse away after nodding at the front door.

 
          
Teel,
on the nearest wall, suggested Aidan go in.
They
seem a welcoming sort, these Solindish
.

 
          
After
an aimless hesitation, Aidan approached the massive front door.
My su'fali is not Solindish, as you well
know
. He climbed the first flight of steps.
Could you at least send word through the link to Rael? I think it would
be best if
someone
knew we were
coming
.

 
          
Why?

 
          
Common courtesy
. Aidan climbed the
second flight.
As well as a proper
defense… if I were an enemy, I need only walk through the door
.

 
          
You are not, and there is the door.

 
          
Aidan
paused, glancing back.
Are you not coming
in
?

 
          
Later. For now, I prefer the sun.

 
          
So
Aidan left Teel upon the wall, in the warmth of a summer day, and entered,
unannounced, his
su'fali's
unguarded
front door.

 
          
It
was not, Aidan soon discovered, guarded any better inside than out. He stopped
inside the front door, lingered politely a moment as he waited for servants to
come running; when no one at all came, even walking, Aidan at last gave up. He
headed down the first hall he could find.

 
          
No
one appeared to ask him who he was or what he wanted. Disgruntled, he began
opening heavy carved doors. All the rooms were empty.
If I were bent on assassination, surely I would succeed
. He boomed
shut yet another door and turned again into the hall.
Then again, perhaps not—I cannot find anyone to kill
!

 
          
Sound
interrupted disgust. Aidan stopped walking at once, listening expectantly,
hoping for someone at last who might be able to guide him to living bodies, or
at least tell him the way.

 
          
Echoes
threaded corridors. Over Aidan's head arched wooden spans in scalloped,
elaborate beamwork, drooping from ancient stone. The immensity of the palace
dwarfed and warped the sound, distorting clarity.

 
          
I could die in here
, Aidan thought in
wry disgust.
I could starve to death on
this very spot, and all anyone would find would be my dessicated corpse
—

 
          
A
voice. A young, childish voice, raised to a note of possessive authority. He
could not make out the words, but recognized the tone. Someone was put out.

 
          
And
then the words came clear. "It was
me
he made eyes at, Cluna! Not you! He did not even
look
at you!"

 
          
"You!"
scoffed a second voice, very like the first. "Why would he look at you
when
I
am there? You only
wish
he would look at you!"

 
          
Aidan,
smiling, folded arms across his chest, found the nearest pillar to lean
against, and waited.

 
          
"It
is
me
he likes, not you! He gives me
sweets whenever he can."

 
          
"Sweets
are no way to judge a man. Words are how you judge—"

 
          
"But
you
never give him a chance to speak,
Cluna! How would you know what he says?"

 
          
"Oh,
Jennet, just because he was polite to you does not mean he really cares. He was
only being kind—"

 
          
"Kind
to
you
," Jennet rejoined.
"While, as for me—"

 
          
But
they came around the corner and into Aidan's hall. Seeing him, they stopped.

 
          
"Oh,"
said one.

 
          
"Ummm,"
said the other.

 
          
Aidan
merely smiled.

 
          
They
scrutinized him closely, marking clothing and ornamentation, especially the
lir-
gold on his arms. Clearly he was
more than a servant, while something less than what he was, if using Homanan
rank. They had learned, even as he had, how to judge others by subtleties,
trained not to jump to conclusions when the conclusion might offend.

 
          
Which
told him who they were, even though he already knew.

 
          
"
China
and Jennet," he said. "Which of
you is which?"

 
          
Two
sets of blue eyes glinted. "Whichever we choose to be."

 
          
"Ah."
Aidan nodded. "A riddle, then, is it? I am to guess?"

 
          
Two
heads nodded. Expectantly, they waited.

 
          
They
were identical. Both fair-haired, blue-eyed, a little plump, with a sturdy
femininity. One wore violet-dyed skirts and tunic, pale hair tied back in a
matching ribbon with gem-weighted ends now straggling down her back much as
loosened hair did; the other similar garments—and tattered ribbon—in pale blue,
but the colors told him nothing. He did not know the girls and therefore could
not judge the small things, such as a lift of the chin, a tilt of the head, the
level set of small shoulders, but there was no need to judge. For the first
time in his life, Aidan used his Erinnish
kivarna
to answer specific needs.

 
          
"You,"
he said to the one in violet, "are Jennet. And you, of course, are
China
."

 
          
Identical
mouths dropped open. It was Cluna, in blue, who spoke. "
No one
has gotten us right. Not on first
meeting!"

 
          
Jennet
assessed him closely. "How did you do it?"

 
          
"Easily,"
he answered. "To the stranger, you look very much the same. But two people
are never truly one. You think differently, feel differently… you want
different things."

 
          
They
stared. First at him, then at one another. Then once more at him. Cluna shook
her head. "No one else thinks so."

 
          
Aidan
shrugged. "Because no one else is truly twin-born, not as you are. Even
your
jehan
is different—twin-born,
aye, but he and my
jehan
are quite
dissimiliar in appearance and temperament. No one
expects
them to be the same. But they do expect it of you, and so
neither of you is given the leave to be individual."

 
          
"He
knows
!" Cluna gasped.

 
          
Jennet
reassessed him. "Your
lir
is
telling you that."

 
          
Aidan
laughed. "No, my
lir
is at this
moment perched outside in the sun."

 
          
Blue
eyes narrowed as she absently tugged her tangled ribbon. "Then how
can
you know?"

 
          
He
forbore to explain the gift. "I understand feelings," he said,
thinking it enough. "Now, as for you—"

 
          
"Are
you
Aidan
?" Cluna asked.

 
          
Jennet
cut off his answer. "He
cannot
be Aidan," she declared, flipping violet ribbon behind a shoulder.
"Aidan is very sickly. Everyone says. He is not expected to live."

 
          
It
was a sobering summation. Aidan eyed both girls a moment, then sighed faintly.
"There was a time I was sickly," he agreed. "There was even a
time they feared I might die. But not anymore."

 
          
Jennet
lifted pale, inquisitive brows. "Well, then," she began, "who
are you going to marry?"

 
          
Cluna
was horrified. "Jennet, you cannot ask him that!"

 
          
"Why
not? It is a fair question, I think." Jennet twined a lock of fallen hair
around one finger. "We are thirteen now and there has been talk of
betrothing us into this kingdom or that. Even Homana has been mentioned."