Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 05 (29 page)

           
"And take Solinde back from
Homana?" Hart interposed. As they stared, he shook his head. "You
reckon without the Cheysuli, who require this land—or at least the bloodlines
from it."

           
"And do you require me?" Lisa
demanded icily. "The last of Bellam's line, born of the oldest House of
Solinde . . . how could you overlook me?"

           
"How could I?" Hart
grinned. "Not easily, Lady Lisa—no more easily than Dar."

           
She looked from him, to Dar, back
again. And then she laughed, surprising both of them. "And do you think I
would wed either of you?"

           
"Lisa—" Dar began.

           
Still she smiled, though her eyes
remained cool. "No," she said, "I would not. I want no man who
values games over the welfare of Solinde.”

           
"Then I will stop," Dar
said flatly. "I will stop altogether, here and now, no more to waste my
time and wealth in foolish games of chance."

           
Lisa turned to Hart. "What of
you?" she asked. "Will you make me the same promise?"

           
Without hesitating. Hart shook his
head. "No, lady, I will not."

           
Her mouth twisted, briefly ironic.
"Honesty from you, at least, displeasing though it may be." She
looked at Dar. "You are all you have described—strong, loyal, dedicated,
and capable of uniting Solinde. I will indeed require a man with the same
abilities, but I will choose him myself." Coolly, she smiled. "I find
it shameful that Solinde demands a man to rule when a woman could do as
well—and I am deserving of it." She put out a slender hand. "Give me
the ring, Dar. You know it is rightfully mine."

           
He spread eloquent, empty hands.
"Alas, I have left it home."

           
Her tone was very grim.
"Dar—"

           
"Lisa." He cut her off,
"We are old, old friends, and older adversaries in this game of men and
women. You ask for honesty? I give you honesty . . . I give you a truth you may
not like." He glanced at Hart as if regretting his presence, but continued
regardless of it. "The Third Seal is mine, won fairly from a man who did
not know what he risked. He lost. He lost it all, including his only chance to
marry the woman he needs to marry, in order to hold this realm. But I won. I
won. And I keep what I win, regardless of who else might want it... unless they
are willing to pay the price."

           
She was awash in candleglow. In
crimson and gold she set the hall ablaze; rubies glittered in braided hair. But
they could not compete with the determination in her eyes, or her pride. That
and her dignity were palpable.

           
"I am Lisa of Solinde,"
she said evenly. "I can rule without the ring.”

           
"But not without a
Consort." Dar sipped wine; his eyes were alight with inner amusement.
"The lords of Solinde will require a male heir as soon as is humanly
possible, lady, to insure the succession. It seems to me you have need of me as
much as I of you."

           
"But I can take another
man," she reminded him gently, patently unaffected by his challenge.
"Where will that leave you?"

           
"Without," Hart said
succinctly.

           
Dar shook his head. "She will
do what is required. Lisa has pride, integrity, honor . . . and an incredible
sense of duty." He bowed his head in a courteous salute. "In the end,
rather than leaving it to others, she will make the decision herself."

           
"Then leave me to it!" Lisa
said sharply. "Leave me altogether!"

           
Dar bowed. "Aye, my lady. At
once."

           
As the Solindishman left. Hart
looked at Lisa in mild surprise. "A sharp tongue, lady."

           
"With him, I need one." Lisa
took the cup of wine out of Hart's hand and drank down what remained, eyes
aglitter over the rim. Abruptly she pressed the cup back into his hands.
"Dar always makes me angry, which makes me all the angrier."

           
Hart skillfully eased her through
the throng, guiding her slowly toward a quiet comer. "Are you enemies, or
bedmates?"

           
Lisa looked at him sharply.
"Not bedmates," she said dryly. "Nor enemies, to tell the
truth." She sighed and sat down on the padded bench against the wall,
deftly spreading crimson skirts to decorously cover gem-crusted leather
slippers. "Since we were young, there was talk of uniting our houses. It
was believed that Dar could provide Solinde with the strong leadership she
requires."

           
She slanted him a glance from
eloquent eyes. "You know, of course, that we prefer self-rule. We want no
foreign overlord."

           
"I know. And were there no
prophecy, I might be disposed to grant it, once in the position to do so."
Hart shrugged as he sat down beside her. "But I am not, and I am a dutiful
Cheysuli. I serve the prophecy."

           
"Why?" she asked bluntly.
"If it does not please you, turn your back on it."

           
"Because I aspire to the
afterworld." Hart grinned and leaned back against the wall, stretching out
long legs. "Out of character, she is thinking. A man who wagers the Third
Seal of Solinde could not possibly concern himself with what happens after
death." Then, more solemnly, "But I do. Every Cheysuli does. The gods
have given us a place here in the world, and promise a better one when we are
dead." He smiled wryly. "We need only be faithful children."

           
"Faithful to a daydream dreamed
too many years ago."

           
But Lisa's smile removed the sting
of the words. "So, you serve your prophecy in hopes of reward after death.
It seems such a futile thing . . . and perhaps a little childish."

           
"I am not a child."

           
Lisa looked at him a long moment.
"No. I think you are not."

           
He gazed out at the people: at those
who danced; who clustered to mutter of politics; who advocated rebellion and
the taking of his life. "We are an old race," he said finally.
"Thousands and thousands of years. We are children of the gods: it is what
Cheysuli means." Still he stared, though his vision blurred and he saw
only colors and candlelight. "The Homanans tried to slay us all, to
annihilate us entirely, in a purge that lasted decades . . . the Ihlini have done
it again and again, through sorcery, plague, intrigue. So many centuries of
hatred, prejudice, fear ... so many years of being the hunted, not knowing if
we would survive." He blinked and turned his head to look at Lisa.
"We survived because of the gods. Because of the afterworld. Because of
the prophecy." Silently he turned a spread-fingered hand palm-up.
"All of it shapes our lives. Without it, we would perish."

           
She said nothing for a long moment,
seemingly unable, And then she shook her head. Rubies glistened in her hair.
"How is it a man—a Cheysuli—who is so dedicated to this prophecy can risk
himself in a game?"

           
Hart laughed; it was a single burst
of sound. "Because I cannot help it."

           
Lisa frowned. "Cannot?"
She shrugged. "I say, simply stop."

           
" 'Simply stop,' " he
echoed, and grinned to himself.

           
"If you pride yourself on the
discipline of the Cheysuli—"

           
"I pride myself on
nothing." Abruptly he rose to tower over her. "Lady, we speak of
private things. Let us dance instead."

           
Lisa rose also, but disdained to
take his outstretched hand. "No," she said coolly. "I think I
would rather not." She turned to go, took four steps, turned back so
abruptly rich skirts swung against the floor. Golden girdle chimed. "Dar
has the right of it," she warned with infinite distinctness. "In the
end, regardless of how I feel, I will do what is best for the realm,"

           
Hart watched her rigid back as she
slipped into the crowd and was lost. He was more than a little stunned by her
sudden retreat—no, it was not a retreat. She had simply left him; he was not a
man much accustomed to women leaving him.

           
Not accustomed to it at all.
Morosely, he searched for her in the throng. Had she gone to Dar? Possibly. He
thought it entirely possible—until Dar himself approached.

           
He carried two silver cups in his
hands and offered one to Hart. "I swear, there is no poison. It would
cheat me of my wager."

           
Hart, still stinging from Lisa's
rebuke, slanted her foremost suitor a black scowl. "No doubt the bet is
against me."

           
Dar grinned. "Not entirely,
though it does involve you." He tipped his head in the direction of the
departed Lisa. "Shall we drink to the lady, my lord, and to her unerring
tongue?"

           
Reluctantly, Hart smiled. And then
he laughed ruefully. "Aye, she has that. And uses it on us both."

           
They clanged cups and drank; the
wine was dry, hearty, powerful. Hart liked it very much.

           
"The lady has used it on me for
many years," Dar remarked. "It is time she had a new target, though
not a permanent one." His smile offered a challenge. "Are you
interested in my wager?"

           
"And if I said I was not?"

           
"You would be a liar, and I
think you are not that." Dar smoothed a lock of sandy hair away from his
eyes.

           
"For all we are Cheysuli and
Solindish—and rivals to one another—I think we are much alike," he said
lightly.

           
"Once, had a man suggested
that, I would have slain him outright; Cheysuli and Solindish? But I am a man
for realities if nothing else; you are here, you intend to stay here, and—short
of having you slain—there is little to do about it."

           
Hart grunted. "You might still
try."

           
"To slay you?" Dar shook
his head. "I think not. I think it would result in too much trouble, for
me and for Solinde. No. No killing. Perhaps a wager will do as well."

           
Hart sighed. "What wager?"

           
"One worth our time, my lord.
One worthy of both of us." Dar paused. "I propose we place a wager on
the lady . . . and on ourselves."

           
"Dar—"

           
The Solindishman gestured
expansively. "Deny it all you wish, but I have seen that expression before
when a man looks at Lisa. It has been on my own face often enough." He
shrugged and smiled ruefully. "You want her, I want her, every man in
Solinde wants her. But only half a dozen stand a chance, and only one will get
her.”

           
"You," Hart said dryly.

           
Dar grinned. "I am willing to
wager on that."

           
Hart smothered a laugh as he lifted
the cup to his mouth. He drank, thinking it over, and watched the anticipation
light Dar's eyes. He is as bad as I. . . . After a moment, he sighed.
"What is the wager, then?"

           
Dar's face was very intent.
"For all she says she will marry who and when she pleases, Lisa knows full
well it cannot wait much longer. Perhaps a month at the most; the lords already
request a decision from her." His eyes shrewdly assessed Hart's carefully
arranged noncommittal expression. "She need only wed a
Solindishman—myself, or another of equal wealth and station—in order to unite
the warring factions of this realm. We cannot hope to win Solinde from Homana
until we are as one, and there is only one way of uniting us: under a single
man."

           
"You," Hart said, tasting
ashes in his mouth.

           
"Or my son." Dar's tone
was steady. "Under our laws, the man who weds Lisa does not become King of
Solinde, he becomes Lisa's Consort—a position lacking the magnificence of a
proper royal title, perhaps, but none of the power accorded his place beside Lisa.
Nor will she be Queen; Solindish law requires a male sovereign. But a son born
of the lady and her Consort does become king upon his majority." He smiled.
"Until he reaches that majority, his father acts as regent."

           
"And if she weds me?"

           
To his credit, Dar's expression did
not alter. "If Lisa weds you, it would alter the traditional lines of
succession. No doubt you would claim yourself King . . . since Solinde is a
vassal to Homana, it seems likely that title would not be contested." He
shrugged. "We have been soundly beaten repeatedly by your ancestors. I
doubt there would be any rebellion."