Legacy of the Sword (27 page)

“Every single one.” She twisted her head to seek someone in the crowd. “There—Meghan will undoubtedly be next.”

“Meghan! Meghan is too young to think of marriage—and so, for that matter, are you.”

Bronwyn laughed. “I am only a year younger than Aislinn. Perhaps by the time
I
am sixteen, I will have found a
cheysul
.” Her amber eyes glinted. “After all, I am dancing with
men
, not boys. I have danced with Gryffth, and Rowan
himself
has already asked me twice.”

“Rowan is being polite.” Donal unthreaded his arm from hers. “Then go dance,
rujholla.
Do not keep your partners waiting.”

Laughing, she whirled in a swirl of sky-blue skirts and hastened back to the throng of young women.

“She is nearly grown,” Finn said quietly. “She has the right of it—by next year she may be wed.”

A twinge of unease unsettled Donal’s belly. “It may be best we do not let her wed. We—do not know what powers she might claim in the coming years.”

Finn looked at him squarely. “If you stifle her, Donal—if you seek to keep her leashed, no matter how light the chain—you will surely twist her spirit. Right now, there is nothing of Tynstar in her.”

“And when there is?”

“
If
there is…we will deal with it then.”

“As we must deal with her ability to assume
lir
-shape?”

Finn looked sharply at Donal. “
Bronwyn
? Are you certain?”

“She says so. Did she not tell
you
?”

“No.” Finn frowned into his wine. “She—has kept very apart since Alix’s death. Oh—she spends time with Meghan, but not much with me. I have tried….” He stopped speaking. His dark face was stark, as if he deeply regretted his inability to deal with Alix’s daughter. “She spends more time with Storr than with me, but if she has learned how to take
lir
-shape, that is why.”

“Storr said nothing to you?”

“Storr said nothing to me when
Alix
learned to shapechange.” Finn’s tone was wry, but Donal saw the trace of remembered pain in his uncle’s eyes. “The
lir
protect those with the Old Blood. More so, I sometimes think, than they protect those without.”

Donal frowned. “Then could they protect her against herself?”

“If she began to show signs of Ihlini powers?” Finn shrugged a little. “Who can say? All we know is the
lir
are constrained against attacking the Ihlini, no matter what the odds.”

“Gods,” Donal said, “what my poor
rujholla
faces—”

“We do not know,” Finn said deliberately. “She may be free of the evil, even
with
the blood.”

Donal swirled wine within the confines of the goblet.
“Aye, but—” He broke it off. A stranger approached, and he had no wish to share Bronwyn’s parentage with anyone but Finn.

“May I join you?” the stranger asked.

Finn turned to face him, then fell back a step. For a moment there was blatant shock in his eyes. “Carillon did not tell me
you
were coming.”

“I was not certain I could.” The man—tall, very blond, with a silver circlet banding his head—smiled at Donal. “I think your nephew does not recall who I am. But why should he?—it was nearly sixteen years ago when last he saw me, and he was only a boy.”

Donal released a breath of laughter. “I remember you, Lachlan! How could I
not
? It was your
Song of Homana
so many of us sang the summer when you had gone.” He shook his head. “No more the humble harper, are you, with all your fine clothes and jewels.” An eloquent flip of his hand indicated the blue velvets and flashing diamonds. “No more hiding your identity, but the High Prince of Ellas in all your power and grace.”

“Eloquent, is he not?” Finn observed lightly. “I think he gets it from me.”

Lachlan’s smile was warm and nostalgic. “Does he get anything from
you
, Finn, it would surely be your gift for inspiring—trust.” The jibe was gentle, but the sting was clearly present. And then it faded. “I have just come from Carillon. Donal—I am sorry for Alix’s death. I admired and respected her greatly. But—as
for Carillon.
…” Briefly, he glanced over his shoulder. Near one of the trestle tables Carillon stood head and shoulders above the men who clustered around him; Homanans, mostly, but a few Solindish guests. “In his letters, Carillon said Tynstar had stolen away his youth, but I did not realize he meant as much as
that
.” Lachlan’s voice was even, but Donal heard the undertone of concern. “Is there nothing to be done?”

Finn shrugged. “He ages. All men age. Tynstar has merely given it to him sooner.”

Lachlan regarded Finn’s expressionless face closely. “And have you tried to reverse it with your magic?”

“It cannot be done,” Finn said flatly. “Ihlini powers and Cheysuli gifts are in direct opposition. We cannot undo what an Ihlini has done when it is of such magnitude as
that.
”
Briefly, he looked at the Mujhar. His eyes belied his tone. “I think he has accepted it.”

“Perhaps I, with Lodhi’s aid—”

“No.” Finn’s voice was flat and inflexible. “It is a part of his
tahlmorra.
”

“Lodhi,” Lachlan muttered, “you and your
destiny—
!”

Donal cleared his throat. “Lachlan—where is your harp? Have you left your Lady behind?”

The Ellasian’s blond hair shone in the candlelit room. Unlike Carillon or Finn, he seemed not to have aged at all, save for a fine tracery of lines at the corners of his blue eyes and faint brackets at his mouth. Blond, he was a stranger; Donal recalled him from a time when he had dyed the fair hair dark.

“No. She is in my chambers. Why?—do you want a lesson?” Lachlan smiled. “When you asked me once before, as a boy, I said you had the hands of a warrior instead of a harper.” He glanced at his own supple hands. “And, as for tonight—surely there will be
other
things for you to master.”

Finn’s tone was subtly mocking. “And what have
you
mastered since last we saw one another?”

“I?” Lachlan’s handsome face smoothed into a hospitable blankness, while diplomacy ruled his tongue. “I have mastered happiness, Finn…and you?” The tone altered a little. “How is it with
you
—now that Tourmaline is dead?”

Donal saw the taut muscles of Finn’s jaw relax just a little. It was shock, he knew; Finn, with most things, was imperturbable. But then no one mentioned his dead
cheysula
to his face.

Finn’s face remained expressionless, but only the habitual solemnity of a Cheysuli gave him the control. Donal saw through it quite easily.

But then the control was released. Donal saw his uncle’s eyes naked for the first time in his life, and the intensity of the pain stunned him.

Finn looked directly at Lachlan. “Had I to do it over again, I would give her up to you.”

The High Prince of Ellas was clearly shocked. “Lodhi—
why?
Torry wanted
you.
She went with you willingly.”

The tone of Finn’s voice was hollowed. “
You
could have kept her alive.”

Color drained out of Lachlan’s face. His hand, holding a goblet of gold filled with rich red wine, shook enough to
make the metal glitter. “But—it was you she wanted. All along. Carillon made it quite clear.”

“And you she should have taken.” Finn glanced at Donal. “It is—hard to admit it when one has made a mistake. I was too selfish, too proud. Duncan had won Alix—I would not allow Torry
also
to go to another man when I wanted her for myself. I was—wrong. But the price was exacted from her.”

“I am sorry,” Lachlan said finally. “I had no right to bring it up. This is not the time for recriminations—I banished those long ago.” Briefly, he smiled. “And I am wed now myself—a lovely woman. She loves me well, and I am content with her.”

Finn smiled ironically. “Where would you find such a fool as
that
?”

Lachlan grinned back, unoffended. “In Caledon, of course, since our realms have made a peace at last. We have two sons.”

Finn’s mouth hooked down sourly. “Aye, your House runs to boys. How many brothers have you?”

“Five. And five sisters.” Lachlan laughed at Donal’s startled glance. “Speaking of that: would you care to meet another of Rhodri’s sons?”

“Who?” Finn asked suspiciously. “Is this one a harper, too?”

“No. Not even a priest of Lodhi, though he does, when he must, admit to calling upon the All-Wise. Usually when he is in dire need of assistance.” Lachlan turned and gestured. A young man approached: blue-eyed, dark-haired, well-dressed in quiet brown with little jewelry. He moved with Lachlan’s fluid grace. He was not as tall and did not claim the same purity of features, as if they had blurred in him somehow, but he was handsome enough and his mouth was expressively mobile.

He looked at his brother quizzically; there was a glint in his sleepy eyes. “Aye, my lord High Prince?”

Lachlan sighed. “This is Evan, my youngest brother. Twenty years divide us, but we are closer than the rest. All the others are dutiful sons; Evan and I are the rebels.” He smiled at his brother. “He decided to come to Homana because he had heard all the lays I sang of Carillon’s exploits. He said he must meet these Cheysuli warriors, to see if the stories were true.”

Evan executed a graceful bow before a startled Donal. “I must admit I expected something other than
civilized
behavior from you, my lord. I thought Cheysuli were spawned with tails and fangs.”

For a moment, Donal thought he meant it. Then he heard the ironic humor in Evan’s tone. He smiled. “Beware your back—when the moon is whole we seek the souls of such men as you.”

Evan grinned and took the goblet from his brother’s hand, swallowing most of the wine before Lachlan could protest. He handed it back with a challenging smile. Then he nodded at Donal. “She is a lovely bride, my lord.”

“My name is Donal, and aye—she is.”

Evan appraised him briefly. “I would drink to your future gladly—had I some wine.”

Donal lifted his own winecup. “Then we shall go and find some. My cup is drunk quite dry.”

“And I have none at all,” Evan pointed out.

They went directly to the nearest trestle table holding all manner of liquor. Donal judiciously stayed with the vintage he had already tasted; Evan, methodically precise, tried four cups before he found the wine he preferred. Then he offered several elaborate toasts in honor of the Prince of Homana and his bride, all spoken in the husky unintelligible language of Homana’s eastern neighbor. Having scorched his throat with the words, Evan returned to Homanan and his wine.

The Ellasian prince was full of good spirits, sweet wine and dry wit. He was patently unimpressed by Donal’s rank or warrior status; he was too obsessed with having a good time. Donal, accustomed to wary dealings with Homanans disturbed by his shapechanging or turned obsequious because of his rank, found it a novel experience. He relaxed with Evan as he only rarely relaxed with others. They were, he decided,
kinspirits
, drawn together by mutual liking, respect and circumstances.

Evan watched the dancers. Donal watched Evan. “Will you inherit the Ellasian throne?”

Evan burst into laughter, nearly spraying wine all over himself. “I?
Never!
There are four brothers between Lachlan and myself, and
he
has two sons. And his wife has conceived again; likely
it
will be a boy, and I will be farther away from the throne even yet.” He grinned. “Only if war, famine or
plague slew all of
them
, leaving only me, would I inherit Ellas.” He shrugged, sounding insufferably contented with his lot. “I am insignificant within my House. I find I prefer it that way.”

“Why?” Donal was fascinated.

“As Lachlan said—I am somewhat a rebel son. Being insignificant leaves me the freedom to be whom I wish and to do what I wish. Within the bounds of reason. Of course, there are times my father forgets the order of my birth—was it fourth? No? Fifth?—but all in all I like it better this way.” His sleepy blue eyes were shrewd behind dark lashes. “Lachlan is the heir—you have only to look at him to see what the title means. He far preferred being a priest of Lodhi the All-Father and a simple wandering harper, but he was firstborn, and therefore High Prince of Ellas. Those years he spent with Carillon were his freedom. Now he must be a proper son to our father.”

Donal looked at Lachlan still in conversation with Finn. “And does he resent it?”

Evan laughed and quaffed more wine. “Lachlan resents nothing. He has not the darkness in him for that. None of us do.” He grinned and arched an eyebrow. “That is Ellas for you, Donal: a land of laughter and happy people.” His eyes followed the pattern of the dance. “Your wife enjoys herself with countless Homanan nobles. Is it not time
you
partnered her?”

“It is customary for the bride to dance with all the men before she dances with her husband.” He shrugged. “Or so I have been told. Dancing is a Homanan custom. I learned because I had to.”

Evan watched as Aislinn slipped through the pattern. “But she should not have so much freedom just after you have wed. She will think to seek it much too often.”

Donal regarded him in amusement. “What do
you
know of women, Evan? You are younger than I.”

“Twenty,” he said, unoffended. “I know more than you think. Now
there
is a lady I would care to know better than I do at the moment.”

Donal looked. He shook his head at once. “Never Meghan.”

“Why not?” Evan demanded archly. “Do you think I could not win her?”

“To win
her
you would have to win her father…and that you could never do.”

Evan tossed back a gulp of wine. “In Ellas, I have frequent experiences with fathers. When they know who I am, the thing is always settled.”

“Finn, I fear, would be less impressed by your rank than with your intentions toward his daughter.”

Evan’s head turned sharply. “Finn? The Cheysuli?”

“My
su’fali
—” Donal smiled. “
Uncle
, in Homanan.”