Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (27 page)

 
          
Aidan
shed himself and flew. Each time he exulted, as he exulted now, in the magic
that gave him another form and the chance to ride the sky. He could not
comprehend what it was like to be earthbound, tied to the ground with so much
freedom all around, and no chance to know it. Even the other warriors,
gods-gifted all, were trapped by earth-bound
lir
.

 
          
He
had asked his father, once, what it was to be a mountain cat, trying to
understand that a
lir
was a
lir
and none of them better than
another. But he had failed. Brennan's explanation had been salient enough—only
another Cheysuli could fully comprehend the all-encompassing joy of
lir
-shape—but somehow lacking. No man,
Aidan believed, could truly experience freedom without the ability to fly.

 
          
What
was it like for Hart? Once lord of the air, even as Rael: now trapped forever
by the loss of the hand that destroyed his raptor's balance. In human form,
merely hindrance; in
lir
-shape,
absolute prevention. Too much of him was missing.

 
          
Was
it one reason, Aidan wondered, he loved Ilsa so? Did he compensate the loss by
turning to wife and children?

 
          
The
denial was emphatic, much as he longed for its absence. Deep in his soul he
knew nothing could compensate a warrior for losing the gift of
lir
-shape. Rael lived, and therefore
Hart was in no danger of going mad, but the inability to fly must come close to
causing madness. He was whole, and yet not. Aidan could not begin to imagine
what such torture would be like.

 
          
Be grateful
, Teel said.
Do not take for granted what the gods give
you
.

 
          
The
raven, he knew, could be referring to Hart's loss and Aidan's wholeness. But he
might also be referring to the task set for him, mentioned by the Weaver. A
task he could yet refuse.

 
          
He
had not, since arrival, been troubled by dreams of the chain. He wondered if it
had anything to do with holding two of the links. They were real now, tangible
evidence of gods; their presence could mean he did have a task, or that he was
going mad. Even with a
lir
.

 
          
Air
caressed his wings. He adjusted them slightly, dropping down through sky to
enter another layer of the air that carried him. Tiny muscles twitched and
flexed, altering his flight. Beside him, Teel followed.

 
          
If I could share this with Blythe—

 
          
He
cut it off instantly.

 
          
Tevis cannot give her this.

 
          
He
twitched in irritation. Neither could he.

 
          
Why would you want a cheysula who wants
another man?

 
          
Why
did his father?

 
          
It
hurt. It hurt so sharply he stopped breathing.
Lir-
shape, abruptly, was threatened; with effort, he found his
balance.

 
          
Down
, he told Teel.

 
          
Aidan
stumbled on landing because he took back human form more quickly than usual.
Booted feet struck earth and he fell, digging an elbow into turf. For a moment
he held his position, awkward though it was, then rolled over onto his back.
The day was temperate and bright, the turf immensely comfortable. He was sleepy
and disinclined to get up quite yet. So he linked hands across his abdomen and
stayed where he was, casually crossing ankles.

 
          
"I
am a fool," he said aloud. "I set out to look for a wife, and decide
I want the first woman I see. I think nothing of asking, because I have never
needed to ask: I am, everyone tells me, destined to be the Mujhar of
Homana."

 
          
Teel
perched on Aidan's boot toe, saying nothing.

 
          
"She
is beautiful rather than plain, which only sweetens the cookpot. I look at her
and see a woman I would like to take to bed, which makes her more attractive.
And then, in addition, she is a woman I could
like
… a woman I
do
like…"
Aidan sighed deeply. "It is too much to hope for a
cheysula
I could like and love, and a woman who pleasures my bed.
Princes and kings only rarely find such things . . Hart did, with Ilsa, and I
assume Keely as well, from what they say of her… but what room is there for me?
Blythe loves Tevis."

 
          
"
Blythe loves Tevis
." He realized,
as he said the words, the pain was already less. It had been foolish of him to
care so much, even though that care had been more for finding a woman whose
potential
suited him. Blythe would have
been perfect, but Blythe was no longer free. And that, he realized unhappily,
had made him want her so much. Had she been free of Tevis, it might not have
been the same.

 
          
He
had wanted the unattainable, which had made him want her the more.

 
          
Some
men, he knew, would hunt her nonetheless, counting the game much sweeter for
her unwillingness to be caught, and the fillip of competition. But that was not
Aidan's way.

 
          
To
Teel, he grinned sardonic amusement. "I want it simple," he said.
"Of all the royal fledglings hatched in fifty years,
I
may be the most suited to an arranged marriage. And yet I am left
free to choose." He laughed aloud. "How many of my kin would have
traded places with me?"

 
          
But
the amusement faded quickly. He knew at least one: his mother. Left to her own
devices, she would have married Corin. And he, born to them, would have been
heir to Atvia instead of heir to the Lion.

 
          
But I would not have been me. I would have
been
different—
and therefore my
tahlmorra, and the prophecy as well
.

 
          
It
sobered him. Unsettled, Aidan sat up even as Teel lifted from his boot toe. He
had managed, in contemplation, to remind himself of things too great for him to
ignore.

 
          
Of
Hunters in the woodlands and Weavers at the loom. And gold links on his belt,
growing heavier by the day.

 
          
Aidan
pressed himself up from the ground. Time he went back to Lestra.

 
          
He
blurred into
lir
-shape.
Time the baby was born, so I can go on to
Erinn
.

 
          
«
^
»

 
          
Aidan
knew it the moment he saw them.
Kivarna
or no, he knew. They gave it away in the tiny intimacies of bedmates: a brief,
burning glance exchanged, a lingering touch, the small alterations in movement.
In Tevis he saw a muted victory, the pride and satisfaction of a man who has
won the woman he wanted; in Blythe, the languid, sensual movements of a woman
now truly a woman, and the soft new warmth in her eyes.

 
          
He
sat down at the common table, troubled, and looked at once to Hart. This was no
time to speak of it—all kin, save for Ilsa and Dulcie, were present at the meal—but
then he was not entirely convinced it was his place to speak of it at all.
Nothing official had been said regarding his potential suit, and therefore
Blythe's virginity did not really concern him as a successor to the Lion. But
as a kinsman, it did.

 
          
With
a flicker of disgust, he reached for cider. Even as a kinsman it was not his
concern; Blythe was a free woman unbound by betrothals and arrangements, as
well as a Cheysuli. It was her parents' place to determine the rightness or
wrongness of her actions, and even then she remained Cheysuli. Hart would be
denying one of the foremost tenets of the clans—that of free choice in
bedpartners—if he protested. And Ilsa had made it plain Tevis met the
requirements for marriage into royalty. They had done nothing wrong, only
precipitated the ceremony.

 
          
Cluna
and Jennet sat down on either side of Aidan. Warily, he kept an eye on both;
they giggled, paid him elaborate courtesies, attempted to play the part—albeit
shared—of chatelaine in lieu in Ilsa, whose place it properly was. In Ilsa's
absence the role fell to Blythe, but her attention to duties was sorely
preempted by Tevis.

 
          
Hart
seemed oblivious to it all, and there was reason, "Ilsa believes the child
could be born tonight or tomorrow—she should know, after six children—so I have
set in motion the preparations for a proper celebration. The gods willing, we
will be swearing homage to a new prince of Solinde before the week is
out."

 
          
Aidan
raised his cup. "Gods willing,
su'fali
."

 
          
Tevis
and Blythe, most conspicuously, did not look at one another.

 
          
Aidan
cleared his throat. "Where is Dulcie?"

 
          
It
was Jennet who answered for her father. "Oh,
she
cannot come to meals yet. She makes too much of a mess."

 
          
"So
do you," Hart said mildly. "You have just spilled jam on your
tunic."

 
          
Jennet,
undismayed, scooped it off with a finger. "When are we going
hawking?" she asked. "I heard you speaking about it last night."

 
          
Hart
sipped cider. "I thought after the meal. I have already ordered the horses
and hawks prepared." He glanced at his eldest. "I do not mean to rob
you of the day, but perhaps it is best if you stayed with your
jehana
. She may have need of you."

 
          
Blythe
opened her mouth as if to protest, but closed it almost immediately. Aidan saw
the glance at Tevis, the dusky color in her face. Had she thought to spend the
day in bed with the man?

 
          
"Not
fair," Cluna put in. "Rael
always
sees the game first, and
always
makes
the first kill."

 
          
Hart
smiled, eyes bright. "Then I will tell Rael not to stoop, and let the rest
of you compete."

 
          
Tevis,
who sat directly across from Aidan, smiled. It was a strangely triumphant
smile, full of subtle nuances and knowledge, but Aidan understood it. As Tevis
met his eyes, he understood it all too well. The competition for Blythe, though
unacknowledged, was over. Whose hawk killed first was of no importance to
Tevis, who had already won the hunt.

 
          
In
silence, Aidan lifted his tankard and slightly inclined his head. Something
flickered briefly in Tevis' eyes—surprise? disbelief?—and then he smiled,
lifted his own tankard and acknowledged the salute. Beneath the table, Aidan
knew, fingers touched, then linked.

 
          
In
Cheysuli leathers, leggings and linen tunics, Cluna and Jennet were towheaded
warriors riding out of the Keep; in this case, the Keep was Lestra. Outdoors,
well free of the confines of the castle—and the preferences of their mother—they
could lose themselves in the freedom of the Cheysuli half of their blood. Both
girls reveled in it, shouting aloud their excitement. Both rode spirited
horses, managing them with ease.

 
          
Hart,
looking after them with Dulcie perched in the saddle before him, smiled as they
rode by Tevis to fall into the lead.

 
          
"They
chafe at walls," Aidan remarked, "though they may not know it
yet."

 
          
Hart
nodded. "The Cheysuli in them. Ilsa often forgets—no one thinks of my
shapechanger blood with blue eyes and Ilsa's hair—but I never do. They are as
Cheysuli as I ever was; they only lack the color."