Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (66 page)

 
          
Brennan
sighed. "
Lir
-sickness, in a way.
After all, she is Keely's daughter. Who is to say what needs burn in her
blood?" He looked at his son. "Take her wherever she wishes. She is
Cheysuli, too. Nothing is closed to her."

 
          
Aidan
nodded. "I will tell her to plan for a wedding. Then we will go to
Clankeep."

 
          
"You
might
ask
," Brennan suggested.
"Telling is not always wise."

 
          
Aidan
grinned. "You forget,
jehan
.
There is the
kivarna
between us. She
will know the truth of things the moment we see one another."

 
          
Something
glimmered in Brennan's eyes. "Then I would say it is fortunate you are not
a habitual liar."

 
          
"Nor
any
kind of liar." Aidan crossed
to the door. "I think it is time I put up my own pavilion in Clankeep. As
a gift to the child."

 
          
"No,"
Brennan said quietly, as his son swung open the door. "As a gift to
yourself."

 
          
Aidan
paused, staring. He sensed regret commingled with a desire to alter things of
the past. "
Jehan
?"

 
          
"As
a gift to yourself," Brennan repeated. "You will lose too much in the
years to come. The Lion will swallow you up, as well as the Homanans. It is how
things are, and not necessarily
bad
…
but I might wish for another way, had I to do it again."

 
          
"What
would you change?"

 
          
Brennan's
gesture encompassed the chamber. "This. Walls bind me, Aidan… they bind
every Cheysuli. But I cannot very well order the Lion taken out of the Great
Hall and dragged off to Clankeep, to crouch amidst the trees." Briefly, he
smiled. "The Lion
is
Homana… but
we are more than that. So, when you put up your pavilion, raise it for
yourself. To honor your ancestry. To remind you of what we were."

 
          
In
silence, Aidan nodded. And then he went out the door.

 
          
The
family gathered in the Great Hall: Deirdre and Aileen in embroidered Erinnish
gowns unearthed from their trunks; Ian and Brennan in soft, dyed leather and
clan-worked gold. Others were present as well, powerful Homanan nobles and
others from the clans, but Aidan felt the absences of far too many people:
Niall, Hart and his kin, Keely and Sean, Corin.

 
          
But
there
was
Shona. And as she joined
him at the silver doors to walk the length of the Hall, he knew the absences
filled.

 
          
She
wore green. Rich, Erinnish green, unadorned save for intricate stitching done
in delicate gold; and bright Erinnish emeralds spanning a burgeoning waist,
laced into unbound hair that brushed the hem of her skirts.

 
          
He
took her to the dais, where the priest waited for them. Aidan said his vows
quietly, damping his
kivarna
so he
could last the moment, then listened with great pride as Shona also said the
words. The priest was Homanan, the language was Homanan; in the Old Tongue, and
then in Erinnish, Aidan repeated the vows. And then placed around her throat
the torque of interlocking repeated figures: a raven in liquid flight, a
wolfhound leaping after.

 
          
Shona's
eyes were bright. And then the moment was past; they were, in the eyes of gods
and men, husband and wife,
cheysul
and
cheysula
, Prince and Princess of
Homana.

 
          
Duly
presented by the Mujhar of Homana, Aidan and Shona were free to mingle with the
guests. Shona almost immediately declared her longing to be back in trews and
boots so she could stride about the Great Hall like herself, instead of a
mincing maiden; Aidan informed her he had yet to see her—or
anyone
—mince, and she was obviously no
longer—and had not been for some time—a maiden. Shona flashed him a baleful
glance, but it was ineffective. The
kivarna
told him the truth: she was as moved as he by the knowledge of their future,
bound together forever by something far stronger than vows.

 
          
All
too quickly the women dragged Shona away from him. Aidan found himself
momentarily alone, holding an untouched cup of wine someone had thrust into his
hands. Smiling faintly, he looked across the hall and saw Deirdre, elegant in
her gown, but hideously apart from the frivolity around her. Grief had aged her
in the nearly three months since Niall had died, dulling her hair and etching
shadows beneath her eyes. The flesh of her face was stretched taut over bones
showing a new fragility.

 
          
Aidan
was abruptly assailed by the fear she might soon follow Niall. He knew of men
and women who, left alone after so many years of companionship, dwindled and
died. He had always known her as a strong, spirited woman, conducting herself
with becoming decorum in view of her unofficial status, yet knowing far better
than most how to run a household as large and diverse as Niall's.

 
          
Apprehension
increased. He could not sense her, could not
read
her; it was not a gift he could control. Aidan abruptly
crossed the hall to intercept her as Deirdre moved from candlelight into
shadows.

 
          
"Granddame."
He presented her with the cup of wine, pressing it into rigid fingers. She
thanked him and accepted it, but clutched the cup too tightly. He feared she
might spill the wine. "Granddame," he repeated, "I have been
remiss. I have not seen you lately."

 
          
Deirdre's
smile was gentle. "You have had much to contend with of late. A new title,
new honor, new wife… and soon a new child." Briefly green eyes brightened.
"You'll be seeing what your grandsire and father have had to contend with
all these years: a proud Erinnish woman with the freedom and facility to speak
her own mind."

 
          
She
had lost much of her Erinnish lilt over the years spent in Homana, but he heard
the underlying echoes of Aileen and Shona in her tone. Suddenly he was fiercely
proud of the island realm—and the Aerie—for rearing proud, strong women. And
for sharing them with Cheysuli.

 
          
He
took one of her hands and kissed it. "You outshine them all today."

 
          
She
smiled again; this time it touched her eyes. "How gentle you are, Aidan… I
forget how little you resemble Niall's children in temperament."

 
          
"Gentle!"
It was not how he would characterize himself. He was not certain he liked it.

 
          
"I
think it must be the
kivarna
in you.
You understand too well how other people feel, how the slights can hurt.
Brennan was always much more reticent to say anything without thinking it over—the
diplomat in him!—but Hart and Corin and Keely always said whatever they wished
whenever
they wished to say it, and
suffered the consequences." Deirdre smiled. " 'Tis a trait of Erinn,
as well… Aileen and I both share it—
and
Shona, no doubt!—though not so much as Niall's children." Her eyes were
very kind. "But you have always been different. From the very first. And I
have always been grateful for it."

 
          
It
was not what he had expected. "Why?"

 
          
"Because
this House is made of warriors." Slender shoulders moved in a shrug.
"I do not complain—the world is large enough for all manner of men. Niall
raised his sons for a purpose: to be strong and fierce and determined, no
matter what they faced, because they would face much." She smoothed back
from his brow an errant auburn forelock. "You, too, are a warrior, Aidan…
but there is more in you than that. You serve your prophecy with less
fierceness and more dignity. You do not think of wars with the Ihlini or a
treaty with Caledon or a betrothal with this land or that. You think about
people, instead. They are
human
to
you, instead of sticks in a fortune-game." Her gaze was intent. "That
is important, Aidan. You are not so bound, so driven—be who you are, not what
the others are."

 
          
After
a moment, he smiled. "I think I am more bound by the prophecy than anyone
here, granddame."

 
          
She
sighed and removed her hand, cradling the cup once more. "There is more to
life than that."

 
          
"It
is
life."

 
          
Deirdre
looked away from him a moment, gazing across the crowded hall toward the Lion.
"You are all of you so different."

 
          
"Granddame—?"

 
          
"You
Cheysuli." She looked back. "There are times, I'm thinking, you lack
any freedom at all."

 
          
"The
gods gave us self-rule, granddame."

 
          
"Did
they?" Her smile was bittersweet. "If that is true, follow your own
intuition. Do not let the history of your ancestors warp you from your path."

 
          
She
sounded uncommonly like the Hunter, or Ashra, or any of the oddities he had met
in the past year. "What do you mean?"

 
          
"The
Cheysuli are so supremely certain that their way is the true way that it is
leaving little room for anyone else in the world. 'Tis an insular and arrogant
race, because it has had to be." She raised a finger as he began to nod.
"But no longer. Now you can loosen the shackles and
breathe
."

 
          
"Granddame—"

 
          
"D'ye
think I judge too harshly because I am Erinnish? That I could not
understand?" Deirdre shook her head. "But I do, Aidan. Far better
than anyone thinks. I lived with a Cheysuli warrior for more than forty years.
I helped raise three more of them—four, if you count Keely with her fir-gifts—and
yet a fifth when you were born. Oh, I know, Aidan. I know you very well."

 
          
The
summation hurt. "And do you find us lacking?"

 
          
Deirdre's
tone was gentle. "Not lacking. Bound. Too bound by customs. There is so
little change in the clans… change is
healthy
,
Aidan!"

 
          
His
hand dropped to the links at his belt. Change was within him, he knew. Why else
would gods speak to him? Why else would they set him a task he had yet to
understand? Everyone said he was different. Was he
so
different he would alter the traditions of his race?

 
          
The
response was instinctive, denial as much as truth. "Too much change can
hurt."

 
          
Deirdre's
hand was cool on his arm. "Nothing is done well if it is done too quickly.
But you are less inclined than most to act without thinking. Even Brennan sees
himself bound by tradition… I think you will be a different kind of Mujhar when
you ascend the Lion. And I think it will be good."

 
          
Aidan's
smile was lopsided. "You give my
jehan
short shrift."

 
          
Deirdre
laughed. "Brennan will do well enough; probably better than most. He has
waited for this all of his life. And he is what Homana requires
now
, but not always." Her green
eyes were very warm. "Your turn will come, Aidan. When it does, use
it."

 
          
«
^
»

 
          
They
knelt side by side upon the blue ice-bear pelt from across the Bluetooth River.
The
shar tahl
looked back at them,
black brows knitted. "Why did you come to
me
? I am only one… also the youngest and newest in Clankeep."
He studied them both. "You have the right, of course—I am fully
acknowledged as a
shar tahl
—but I
thought you might go to another."