Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (35 page)

 
          
Blythe
came, as he expected. She came as he put the last of his possessions into his
saddle-packs, and stood just inside the door. Even in her bleakness, he thought
her beautiful.

 
          
Right-handed,
he closed the flap on the saddle-pack and looped the thong loosely through the
buckle. Then he looked at Blythe.

 
          
Her
hands, in skirts, were rigid. He wished he could do the same. "They said—"
She stopped. "They said it does not move."

 
          
"The
hand
moves," he corrected.
"Even the thumb, a little. But the fingers are mostly useless." Aidan
forbore to look. He knew what it was, under the bandages. He had examined it
most carefully when it was clear the healing was done.

 
          
She
lifted her head a little. "Will it make you
kin-wrecked
?"

 
          
It
took everything he had to answer casually, so as not to display the fear.
"Probably."

 
          
Color
flared in her face. "How can you sound like that—as if it makes no
difference? As if you hardly care? You have only to look at my father to know
what it means… the pain he has to live with—all because of a gods-cursed
ancient custom in a race too blind to see that a man can be a man even
if
he lacks a hand—"

 
          
"I
know," he said tightly.

 
          
"Then
how can you stand there and shrug so elegantly, wearing all your gold, when you
know
what they might do—and to the
man who will be Mujhar!"

 
          
"I
know," he said again.

 
          
Tears
glittered. "Know
what
?"

 
          
"How
badly it hurts."

 
          
Blythe
had cut her hair. She clawed at it now; it barely touched her shoulders.
"He told me what you said. That I was not fit to be a Cheysuli. Not worthy
of the taboo."

 
          
"No.
Only a
lirless
man can accept the
death-ritual, or there is no honor in the death."

 
          
"Honor!"
she snapped. "What honor is left to me? I have been
defiled
—"

 
          
Aidan
shook his head. "All you were, was tricked."

 
          
"I
lay with an Ihlini!"

 
          
"Do
you know who he is?"

 
          
Blythe
blinked. "What?"

 
          
"Do
you know who he is? The man you believed was Tevis?"

 
          
Clearly,
she did not have the slightest idea what he meant. "Of course I know who
he is. He told us: Lochiel."

 
          
"Strahan's
son," Aidan said, "who is nephew to Rhiannon, who is our
great-uncle's daughter."

 
          
"What?"
Blythe snapped. "What has this to do with anything?"

 
          
Aidan
shrugged. "I thought I spoke clearly enough."

 
          
"But
none of this makes
sense
—"

 
          
"Does
it not?" He shrugged again. "I thought I had just named off a
generation or two of our birthlines."

 
          
"Aidan—"

 
          
Sympathy
dissipated. "By the gods, Blythe, you are not the first Cheysuli—
or
the first of our line—to lay with an
Ihlini! Ian did it first. Then Brennan, my father… then Keely, my aunt. And
all of them tricked
, Blythe. D'ye hear
what I'm telling you?"

 
          
She
shouted back at him. "Do you expect me to
like
it? Do you expect me to be
proud
?
Do you expect me
not to care
?"

 
          
"No,"
he said softly. "I expect you to survive."

 
          
She
swallowed painfully. "He wanted me for the throne."

 
          
"And
for a son," he told her. "I know, Blythe—I know it hurts to realize
you have been tricked, been
used
… but
it could have been much worse."

 
          
"Worse?"
She was aghast. "He killed a three-day-old baby!"

 
          
"But
not you. Not Dulcie, or the twins. Not your mother or father. Think again,
Blythe… it could have been much worse."

 
          
"He
would have killed us all. You were there. He wanted my father first—"

 
          
"Because
he was discovered." Aidan sighed; he still tired easily. "Had I not
uncovered who he was, Owain's death would have been remarked as a sad, tragic
thing—no true-born heir for Solinde. But Hart made it clear there was an
alternative—
your
child, Blythe… your
son by Tevis of High Crags. Lochiel did not come here planning to murder
everyone for the throne, but to
marry
for the throne."

 
          
Her
lips were pressed flat. "Is that supposed to please me?"

 
          
Aidan
picked up the saddle-pack. "Perhaps not, just now. Perhaps all you can see
is the humiliation you feel because you bedded an Ihlini."

 
          
Anger
flared forth. "Save your compassion, Aidan. You do not know what it was
like."

 
          
"What
it was like?" He threw down the saddle-pack. "I'll tell you, then, so
we'll
both
be knowing about it: you
bedded him willingly. It was probably your idea, so you could be putting an end
to the unwanted suit of an unwanted kinsman come from Homana to find a bride.
And
that
, my highborn Solindish, is
why you're so angry now!"

 
          
Color
peeled away. White-faced, Blythe stared as the tears ran down her face. Her
chin trembled minutely. "I am ashamed," she whispered. "Oh, gods—so
ashamed
!"

 
          
For
the first time since he had arrived, Aidan touched Blythe. And the
kivarna
remained silent.

 
          
"I
know," he said as softly, as she moved into his arms. "
Shansu, meijhana
—I know."

 
          
"I
want to die," she whispered. "Oh, gods—I want to
die
—"

 
          
He
stroked her ragged hair. "Your parents have lost three children. Are you
wanting to steal another?"

 
          
A
shudder wracked her body. "I want it back the way it was. The way it was
before he came."

 
          
"The
Wheel of Life has turned."

 
          
With
a quiet, deadly vehemence, "Then the gods are very cruel."

 
          
Aidan
looked over her shoulder at the hand that would not work.
"Sometimes," he agreed sadly.

 
          
Thinking
of the Weaver, who let so many die so the Wheel could turn again.

 
          
«
^
»

 
          
He
rode westward, bound for Andemir on the wild coast of
Solinde
battered by the
Idrian
Ocean
. There he would take ship to Kilore, where
the Aerie of Eagles perched upon the white chalk cliffs of Erinn, overlooking
the Dragon's Tail. He had heard much about Kilore from his mother and from Deirdre;
he wondered if it would fit.

 
          
Teel
flew overhead.
Will you not marry the
girl
?

 
          
Aidan
frowned skyward, but thick trees screened the raven. The plains were far
behind; all he could see was forest and the track stretching before him,
sheltered by foliage.
Blythe? No. At
least, not just now. There is the possibility of a child
…
all of us agreed it would be best to wait
.
He paused, thinking of Blythe as she had been, alive with love for Tevis, and
the Blythe he had seen at the last, devastated by Lochiel.
She needs time. The worst thing for her would be to enter into a
marriage just now. She associates me with Lochiel. Once I am back from Erinn,
and if there is no child, then we might think of marriage
.

 
          
Are children not desired?

 
          
Aidan
wondered how he might explain things to a raven, whose understanding of human
things was not always perfect. The
lir
were very wise, but not omniscient.

 
          
Finally
he gave him an answer.
Preferably my own
.

 
          
There is the prophecy
, Teel said
lightly.
Two magic races united
…

 
          
Ruddy
eyebrows ran up under hair.
Are you
saying I
should
marry Blythe, even if
she bears an Ihlini halfling
? It was the last thing he expected a
lir
to advocate.

 
          
Should, or should not
, Teel said,
is your choice to make
.

 
          
As
always. Aidan scowled in the raven's general direction.
Why should that change now
?

 
          
Teel
made no answer to his
lir's
irritation, though smugness thrummed through the link.

 
          
Aidan
thought about it. Two magic races, indeed. How else to merge the bloodlines
than by bedding an Ihlini?

 
          
Inwardly,
he quailed. For Ml he had offered solace to a frightened, angry cousin, he did
not wish what had happened to her to be a thing
he
faced.

 
          
"That
gods-cursed ring," he said suddenly. "I should have gotten it from
him. Somehow. Some way. That gods-cursed ring of my
jehan's
has been the bane of us all."

 
          
He
looked down at his left hand. He wore no rings on it, because he saw no sense
in ornamenting a useless finger. No longer bandaged, the hand was obviously a
hindrance rather than a helpmeet. The fingers had begun to curl as severed
tendons died, but not all equally. The Tooth had sliced through vertically, so
that the cut ran across his palm from fingers to heel. He had partial use of
his thumb, and a bit in the smallest finger, but the other three were too
damaged. Each day they twisted more tightly. Eventually what had been a hand
would become an awkward claw.

 
          
Aidan
tucked the hand into one thigh, trying to ignore it. But his belly squirmed
unpleasantly. The fear he had fought back since learning of his injury rapped
yet again at tightly sealed shields.

 
          
I am not so brave
, he thought hollowly.
All my studied nonchalance when Blythe
shouted at me was nothing but affectation. I
do
care, almost too much—I do not want to be kin-wrecked. I do not want to
be Hart, left outside the clans. I lack his kind of courage
—

 
          
Almost
against his will, he tried to fist the hand. All it did was spasm and send pain
the length of his arm.

 
          
"I
cannot go home," he said aloud. "If I do, they will know—
everyone
will know… and then they will
take my name off the birthlines in Clankeep. A
kin-wrecked
man, I'd be—what kind of Mujhar is that?"

 
          
Lir
, Teel asked,
do you ever plan to stop? Or will you ride through the night
?

 
          
"Through
the night!" Aidan snapped, then cursed himself for a fool. What good would
it do to rail at his
lir
? Teel knew
as well as he how helpless he felt, how frightened he was of being
kin-wrecked
.

 
          
Lir
. Teel again.
The sun is going down
.

 
          
So
it was. The woods were alight with sunset, gilding trunks and trappings. If he
did not stop soon, he would lose all of the light and be left to make camp in
the darkness, in a wood he did not know.

 
          
Aidan
sighed. "All right, fir. Your point has been made. Go off and catch your
meal—I will make a camp."

 
          
But
once he had settled on a sheltering thicket of saplings, Aidan discovered how
he had taken for granted things such as two whole hands. It was nearly
impossible to unsaddle his horse, and he realized it was the first of many
things he would be unable to do well one-handed. The acknowledgment came
painfully. At first he tried to ignore it and go on as he always did; in the
end, completely defeated, he swore at intricate buckles done up for him in
Lestra, cursing thoughtless horseboys; then humiliation followed. So much
depended on
two
hands, on
eight
fingers and two thumbs; he offered
one of the latter and only four of the former.

 
          
He
could not undo the final buckle. Frustration welled up. Its power stunned even
Aidan. "Is this some kind of test?" he shouted, staring up at the
tree-screened sky. "Or merely ironic coincidence, something worth laughing
about?"

 
          
There
was no answer save the clattering of gear from a horse only half unpacked.
Aidan's ruined hand dropped away from the trappings as he leaned against the
horse, brow pressed into saddle. Frustration and fear and futility were
suddenly overwhelming. He felt very much as he had facing the Lion as a child,
railing at a chain that existed only in dreams.

 
          
"Why?"
he murmured into leather. "Why did it happen to
me
? What did I do to deserve this?" He knew, even as he asked
them, the questions were unworthy. They were also selfish and petulent, but at
that moment he did not care. He was angry and very frightened, and very much a
child.

 
          
Aidan
squeezed his eyes closed. "Oh, gods—I will be
kin-wrecked
… I will have to go before Clan Council and tell them
what happened, and display my infirmity…" Humiliation writhed deep in the
pit of his belly. "They will do all the things they did to Hart—" He
sucked in a deep, noisy breath, trying to ward away panic. "Unless—unless
I
insist
… I am not Hart, who was
meant for Solinde… I will be Prince of Homana, and one day Mujhar—if I
insist
they change the custom—"
Aidan pressed himself from the horse, new resolve hardening. "I will
insist. I
will
. How can they deny me?
One day I will be
Mujhar
—"

 
          
But
even as he said it, Aidan felt the infant resolve waver.

 
          
To
stand before Clan Council and denounce one of the oldest traditions of his race
was not a thing he wanted to do. His father had asked, had petitioned; had
even, he had been told, shouted at Clan Council, but it had changed nothing.
Even for the Mujhar's middle son, the tradition could not be altered. Too many
things had been changed. Now the older warriors, abetted by
shar tahls
, hung on to the old customs
to keep new ones at bay.

 
          
"Fools,"
Aidan said aloud. "Blind, arrogant fools… what use is it to waste a
warrior now? We are no longer hunted, no longer at war… they would do better,
all those
shar tahls
, to look to the
future instead of to the past."

 
          
The
horse shook his head. Still saddled, he was unhappy. It renewed Aidan's anger.
"Fools, all of them… had I any influence, I would change things."

 
          
Teel's
tone was severe.
Questioning your
tahlmorra
?

 
          
Was hunting so bad you are back already
?
Aidan abruptly drew his long-knife and cut the strap in two. "Why not
question?" he asked aloud. "If they did not mean us to, they would
not have given us words with which to ask them."

 
          
Cutting that will not help you when you pack
the gear tomorrow.

 
          
No.
Anger spilled away. "Too late," Aidan muttered, dragging saddle and
packs free. Teel was right, of course. Teel was usually right.

 
          
But then if you went in lir-shape, buckles
would not matter.

 
          
Aidan
stopped moving. He had been afraid to ask; now he knew he had to. "Do I
still have recourse to
lir
-shape?"

 
          
You did not
lose
the hand. It merely changed its shape
.

 
          
The
answer made him weak with realization. He released a gusty breath, mixing
laughter with heartfelt relief. "
Leijhana
tu'sai
, for that."

 
          
Teel
uttered a croak.
And for other things as
well
.

 
          
Aidan
grinned and settled the gear, then tended to the horse. He felt better already,
knowing he still could fly. Being
kin-wrecked
was bad enough, but not being able to fly—

 
          
Aidan
put it out of his mind. Instead he thought of his grandsire, Niall, who lacked
an eye. He bore scars worse than Aidan's. No one called
him
half-man, or a failure. All knew better.

 
          
If
he could become like Niall—

 
          
"So,"
he said aloud, "if I do not think myself crippled, I will not
be
crippled."

 
          
Much better
, Teel remarked.
You are bearable now
.

 
          
Aidan
knelt to lay a fire. "
Leijhana
tu'sai
, again." Couched in exquisite dryness.

 
          
Fix enough for two.

 
          
Aidan
stopped moving stones, peering through twilight at the raven-shaped shadow
perched in a nearby tree. "Was hunting
that
bad?"

 
          
Not for me—for him.

 
          
Aidan
dropped the rock and spun, moving from knees to feet in one quick motion. He
hand was on his long-knife, but he forbore to draw it.

 
          
"Wise,"
the man applauded. "At least you are not overhasty."

 
          
The
prickles died from his flesh. "If you do this often,
someone
will be."

 
          
"Oh,
no… I think not. The others do not hear me as a man. They hear me as the wind,
or an animal, or something else offering no threat. You see?"