Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 (46 page)

           
His gaze dwelled on her face.
"Solinde is not entirely ours, anymore. Even in High Crags, men honor the
shapechanger who holds court in Lestra. An Ihlini sworn to the god cannot move
so freely now without taking precautions. He was wise to put it away."

           
My mother's carmined lips
compressed. "That will be changed. We shall rule again, as in the days of
Tynstar and Bellam."

           
Lochiel laughed. "Did you know
them personally?"

           
Color flared in her cheeks; she, as
I, heard the irony. "I know as much of our history as anyone, Lochiel.
Despite my Cheysuli blood!"

           
"Ah, but my blood is
theirs." He smiled. "Tynstar was my grandsire."

           
It silenced her at once. Even among
the Ihlini, who understood his power, Lochiel was different.

           
It was easy to forget how old he
was, and how long-lived his ancestors.

           
I smiled to myself. Tynstar,
Strahan, Lochiel—and now Ginevra. I am their legacy. It was more than she
claimed, and Melusine knew it.

           
"Shall we see if he is
Devin?" My father held the ring in such a way that the light sparked from
it. "If he is an opportunist who decides, upon awakening, he would benefit
from our care, we can take steps now to present him with the lie."

           
I looked at the ring. Light moved
within it sluggishly. Indeed, it did know my father; the blood of the god ran
in his veins, as it did in the veins of all those sworn to Asar-Suti. I as yet
claimed none of it outside of my natural inheritance; I was to drink the cup at
my wedding, to seal my service forever to the Seker.

           
"Will it kill him?" my
mother asked.

           
Lochiel smiled at her, "If he
is not Devin, assuredly." He held the ring. "My gift to you, Melusine—adjudicate
this man."

           
"Wait!" I blurted, and
regretted it at once as my father turned to me.

           
Carmined lips stretched back to
display my mother's white teeth. "No," she said venomously.

           
"He gives you everything—this
he gives to me!"

           
She snatched the ring, bent over the
unconscious man, grasped his left hand and pushed the ring onto his forefinger.
"Burn," Melusine said. "If you are not Devin, let the godfire
devour you!"

           
"You want it to!" I cried.
"By the god himself, I think—" But my accusation died as godfire
flared up from the ring, a clean and livid purple. I fell back a step even as
my mother did, who laughed.

           
"You see?" she said.
"Not Devin at all!"

           
But the burst of flame died. The
hand was un-blemished. Light glowed brilliantly deep in the lifestone's heart.

           
"Ah," Lochiel said.
"A premature assumption."

           
"Then—it is he?" I looked
at the ring upon the hand. "This is Devin."

           
"It appears so. A lifestone is
linked to an Ihlini as a lir is linked to a Cheysuli." For a brief moment
he frowned, looking at Devin. "It is but another parallel . .." But
he let it go. "We will have confirmation when he awakens."

           
I drew in a breath and asked it
carefully. "Then why not heal him instead of relying on normal
means?"

           
Lochiel smiled. "Because even
Devin must learn that he is solely dependent on me for such paltry things as
his life." He extended his hand. My mother took it. "Nurse him well,
Ginevra. There is no better way to judge a man than from the depths of pain. It
is difficult to lie when your world is afire."

           
He led my mother from the room. They
would go to bed, I knew. It made my face bum; I did not understand what need it
was they answered, save there was one, only that they seemed to be, in all ways
such private things are measured, particularly well suited.

           
One of the women blotted away the
blood on Devin's face. Another came forward with a cup.

           
Malenna root, I knew, mixed in with
water. I wanted to protest it, but did not; it was true he needed the fever
purged. If it weakened him too much, I would prevail upon my father to make
certain he survived,

           
My father wanted a child. An heir to
Valgaard, and the legacy of the Ihlini. If I did not marry Devin, we would have
to find someone else whose blood was proper. Why waste the time? The man was
right here.

           
I sat down on a stool and stared at
him. Live, I told him. There is much for you to learn.

           
And as much for me.

           
I had seen my parents' marriage. I
was not so certain I desired the same for myself.

           
I sighed. The Seker grant me the
knowledge I need to make my way in this. I want to serve my father—but I want
to serve me also!

           
The fever broke before dawn. The
malenna root did its work, purging his body of impurities so that the sweat ran
upon his flesh. The worst was done, I thought; now could come the healing. It
would take much time because of the severity of his injuries, but I believed he
would survive.

           
The women my mother had left to tend
him slid sidelong glances at me as they cleaned him. They dared say nothing to
me, though I knew they felt it improper for me to remain in attendance. But he
was my bridegroom; how could they believe I would not be interested in whether
he lived or died?

           
I sat upon a stool close to his
side. He fascinated me. I wanted to study him covertly so he need never know. A
man awake is too aware of his pride and the manner of his appearance; I wanted
to know him without such impediments.

           
His breathing sounded heavy in his
chest. The wad of bandage pressed over the knife wound came away soiled with
blood and fluid, but seemed clean enough. It did not stink of infection. It was
a simple wound, if deep; with care he would recover.

           
He stirred and moaned, twisting his
head against the pillow. The oozing of the scrapes on his face had stopped and
his skin had begun to dry, puckering the flesh into a crusted film. The hollows
beneath his eyes were darkened by bruising. Eyelids flickered. His lashes were
as long as mine, and as thick.

           
Incongruous thought; I banished it.
Then summoned it back again as I studied the fit of his swollen nose into the
space between his eyes, beneath arched black eyebrows. He was badly bruised,
aye, but I thought my mother was blind. She could not see beyond the wreckage
wrought by the river to the good bones beneath.

           
I think when you are healed, you
might surprise us all. I drew in a breath. "Devin?"

           
Lids flickered again, then opened.
His eyes were a clear brilliant green, but glazed with weakness.

           
Malenna root, I knew; it would rob
him of his wits for longer than I preferred. I wanted them back.

           
I scraped my stool closer, so he
could see me.

           
His lips were badly swollen and
crusted with dried blood. He moved them, winced, then took more care as he
shaped the words. They—it—was malformed, but clear enough. "Who—?"

           
I smiled. "Ginevra."

           
I waited. I expected him to respond
at once that he was Devin, or to make some indication he knew who I was.
Instead, he touched his mangled bottom lip with an exploratory tongue tip, felt
its state, and withdrew the tongue. Lids closed a moment, then lifted again.

           
"Your name?" I persisted,
desiring verbal confirmation in addition to the lifestone.

           
A faint frown puckered his forehead.
With the hair swept back I could see it was unmarred; the river had spared him
her savagery there, at least.

           
"My leg ..." A hand moved
atop the furred coverlet, as if it would pull the blanket aside.

           
"No." I stopped the hand
with my own- "Your leg is broken, but it has been set." The hand
stilled. I removed mine. "Do you recall what happened?"

           
The forehead puckered again.
"What place is this?"

           
"Valgaard."

           
There was no change of expression in
his eyes.

           
What I saw there was a puzzled
blankness.

           
It had to be the malenna.
"Valgaard," I repeated.

           
He moved his mouth carefully. His
words were imprecise. "What is—Valgaard?"

           
It astounded me. I turned sharply to
one of the women. "How much malenna was he given?"

           
She paled. "No more than usual,
Lady."

           
"Too much," I declared.
"No more—do you hear?"

           
"Aye, Lady." She stared
hard at the floor.

           
He moved slightly, and I looked back
at once.

           
"Why am I here?" he asked.

           
"This is where you are supposed
to be. But you were hurt. There was a fight—you fell into the river." Or
was pushed; how-better to hide a body?

           
"The river?"

           
Indeed, too much root. "The
Bluetooth." I studied him more closely, marking the dullness of his eyes.
More black than green in reflection of the root. "Do you truly recall none
of it? Not even the man who stabbed you?"

           
"I remember—being cold—"
He paused. "—heavy." The eyes closed, then opened. Their clarity was
improved, but not their knowledge. "No more .. ." He stirred.
"—head hurts."

           
"The Bluetooth," I
repeated, beginning to understand. If he had struck his head, which was
entirely likely in the river, he would likely be confused for a day or two.
Combined with the root, it was fortunate he was conscious at all. "It will
come back on its own," I promised. "You will know where you are, and
that you are safe ..." I paused. "Devin."

           
"Is that—I am Devin?"

           
I grinned. "Tell me when you
are certain."

           
He looked at me more closely,
"Who are you?"

           
Your bride, I answered, but could
not say it aloud. "Ginevra."

           
He repeated it after me, rolling the
soft, sibilant first syllable between his teeth an extra moment.

           
His accent was odd, more Homanan
than Solindish, but Devin is a High Crags man, from high up on the border
between the two lands. I had heard the speech before. "How long—?"

           
"You were brought yesterday. My
father sent out a search party since you were so late." I smiled wryly.
"You are valuable. It was of some concern."

           
"Why?" The struggle was in
his eyes. "I remember none of it—"

           
"Hush." I leaned forward.
"Do not tax yourself ... it will come."

           
"I should remember."
Dampness glistened on his forehead. He made more sense as consciousness
solidified. "Who am I, that my tardiness is worth a search party?"

           
"Devin of High Crags." I
hope it might light the snuffed candle of his mind.

           
He tried. "No . .."

           
No help for it. It was best simply
to say it. "We are meant to be wed."

           
The candle within lighted, blazing
in his eyes, but the knowledge was not increased. "Wed? When?" His
mouth taxed him badly. "I remember nothing—"

           
I sighed. "Know this, then, so
you need not remain in ignorance. I am Ginevra of the Ihlini, daughter of
Lochiel—and we are meant to wed so we can bring down the Cheysuli." I
stopped short, seeing the expression in his eyes. "The Cheysuli," I
repeated. "Do you recall nothing of them?"

           
"—a word—"

           
"A bad word." I sighed.
"Let it go, Devin. It will come back, and all will be remembered."

           
"Who am I?"

           
"Devin of High Crags." I
smiled. "Like me, you are Ihlini." It was a bond stronger than any,
and he would know it once his mind was restored.

           
He sighed. "Ihlini, Cheysuli ...
nothing but words to me. I could be either and never know it."

           
I laughed. "You would
know," I told him. "Be certain you would know, when you went before
the god."

           
His eyes snapped open. "The
god?"

           
"Asar-Suti." He knew all
of it, but I would tell him regardless. "My father will take you before
the Seker. The god requires your oath. You are to wed Lochiel's daughter, and
Lochiel is the Seker's most beloved servant. It is necessary." I smiled. "There
is no need for you to worry. You are Ihlini. The Seker will know it, just as
your lifestone does."

           
He followed the line of my gaze and
saw the ring upon his hand. He lifted the hand into the au-to study the stone,
saw how his fingers trembled and lowered it again. "I—have no memory of
this ring."

           
That was of concern. He was indeed
badly damaged in his mind if he forgot what a lifestone was.

           
But I dared not tell him that.
"It will come to you."

           
His eyes were slitted.
"You—will have to teach me. I have forgotten it all."

           
"But surely not this." I
drew a rune in the air.

           
It was only a small one; it lacked
the intricacy of my mother's handiwork, but was impressive enough if you have
never seen it—or if one has forgotten what godfire looks like. It glowed livid
purple.

           
He stared at it, transfixed. His
fingers trembled upon the fur. "Can I—do that?"

           
"Once, you must have. It is the
first one we ever learn." I left the rune glowing so he would have a
model. "Try it."

           
He lifted his hand and I saw how
badly it shook.

           
Awkwardly he attempted to sketch the
rune, but his fingers refused to follow the pattern. It was if they had never
learned it.

           
The hand dropped to the bed. He was
exhausted.

           
"If I knew it once, I have
forgotten."

           
I dismissed my own rune. It was
somewhat discomfiting to discover an Ihlini who could not even form the
simplest rune, but not surprising. He would recall it. For the moment his mind
was empty of power, of the knowledge of his magic, like a young child. "It
will come again." I paused. "If it does not, be certain I will teach
you."

           
The lips moved faintly, as if to
form a smile.

           
But his eyelids dropped closed. The
root was reasserting its control.

           
I rose quietly. He looked very young
and vulnerable. Against his hand the lifestone was black.

           
Black, not red.

           
"It will come back," I
said.

           
At the door, as I lifted the latch,
I heard a sound.

           
I turned back and saw the faint
glint of green eyes.

           
"Ginevra," he said, as if
to try out the fit of my name within his mouth.

           
I smiled. "Aye."

           
The lids closed again. "Beautiful,"
he whispered.

           
Nonplussed, I did not answer. I did
not know if he meant my name, or the woman who bore it.

           
Then I thought of my mother. I could
not help but smile. You gave him to me, I thought. Now let you see what comes
of it.

           
I went at once to my father. With
him was my mother, who sat upon a window seat in my father's tower chamber and
gazed down upon the smoky bestiary before the gates. I thought she was very
like the fortress, strong, proud, and fierce. I wished I could like her, but
that had died. I knew her heart now, and the knowledge bruised my own.

           
"He remembers nothing," I
told them. "Not even his name."

           
My father stood before a burning
tripod brazier.

           
It turned his eyes bronze. He
waited.

           
"I told him. I told him mine as
well, and that we are to wed. I told him where he is. But he recalls none of it
... not even that he is Ihlini."

           
That brought my mother's head
around. Bells tinkled in her hair. "He forgets that?"

           
I refused to flinch beneath the
contempt. "He has been badly injured. It will come back."