Legacy of the Sword (8 page)

“Aislinn—”

“No.” She made a chopping gesture with her right hand. Her young face was blotched and swollen with tears, so that most of her burgeoning beauty was replaced with anguish. “I
almost
believed her. Though I have known you for so long. And then, when I heard her confidence—when I heard how she intended to
use
me—I could not bear it! I thought of my father as I looked into your face, and I knew what she meant to do.”

Donal turned from the rail to face her directly. “Do you say, then, you did not know before today what it was she sought to do?” He asked it gently, knowing it needed to be asked; knowing also she was extremely vulnerable to the pain engendered by such questions.

The wind played with Aislinn’s red-gold hair, though she
had braided it into a single plait for traveling. The rope of hair hung down her back to her waist, bright against the dull brown of her traveling cloak. Stray curls pulled free of the braid and crept up to touch her face.

Impatiently, she stripped them back with one hand as she brushed more tears away. “I—knew something of what she intended. At least—I thought I did.” Aislinn shrugged slightly. “Perhaps it is just that now I wish to deny what sway she held over me, so I can find some pride again.” She turned away from him. “Toward the end, during my last days, I began to understand better what she wanted. And I knew I wanted no part of it. But I was—afraid. I thought—if I told her I wished to go home to my father, she would forbid it. So—I waited. And when I heard you had come, I thought I would ask you to take me back. But—I heard what you said to her, how you reviled her, and I recalled all the things she had told me–about what the Cheysuli can do—and I became afraid again.” She lowered her eyes.

She was young. So very young. He was unsurprised Electra had chosen to use her; even less so that Aislinn had so easily been taken in. He could not begin to imagine what it had been like for her in Homana-Mujhar, princess-born and bred by her father the Mujhar, knowing all the while her exiled mother was imprisoned on the Crystal Isle.

“Aislinn.” He put out his hands and drew her away from the railing, cradling her shoulders in his palms. “I am sorry for the scene involving your
jehana.
But that is done now, and you must face the things that lie ahead.”

Almost at once he felt ludicrous—he was not the girl’s father, but her betrothed—and here he was speaking like a wise old man when he was more ordinarily an unwise young one.

Donal smiled wryly. “Listen to us, Aislinn. One would think we hardly know one another.”

She moved closer, seeking solace. “I think perhaps we do not.” Her eyes beseeched his. “Will you be easy with me? I am sometimes a foolish girl.”

“And I am sometimes a foolish boy.” Donal set a hand to her head and smoothed back the blowing hair. “We will have to grow up together.”

Aislinn laughed a little. “But you are already grown, no matter what you say. While I feel like an infant.”

“Hardly that. You should look in the polished silver.”

A glint crept into Aislinn’s eyes. She arched her brows. “I have.”

He tugged her braid. “And vain of what you see, are you?” He laughed at the beginnings of her protest. “I am no courtier, Aislinn, but I can tell you this much: you are a woman now, and quite a beautiful one.”

She touched his bare arm lightly. “My thanks, Donal. I was afraid—I was afraid I would not please you. And I do desire to please you.”

It was earnestness he heard in her voice, and honesty, not seductiveness. And yet even in her simplicity, there was a powerful allure about her. She lacked Electra’s guile, but none of her mother’s power to bind a man.

He disengaged from her as easily as he could and stepped away. He could not afford to be bound.

The same Homanan sailed them back to the mainland, silent now in his astonishment at what he heard and from whom he heard it. Sef sat on a coil of rope nearby, watching Donal and Aislinn with the rapt attention of a hound guarding his master. Taj perched upon a spar high above them. Lorn, deck-bound, paced the length of the ship again and again, as if something troubled him.

Lir?
Donal asked.

Something. Something. I cannot say.
And Lorn would say no more.

Taj?

The falcon’s tone was troubled.
Nor have I an answer.

Aislinn clutched at the taffrail for support as the ship broke swells. Donal reached out and set an arm behind her back. “Forgive me, Aislinn—what I must ask is harsh, I know…but you must realize that others have known what Electra is for years. How can you have escaped it?”

Her young mouth twisted bitterly. “Oh, aye, I heard all the stories. How could I not in Homana-Mujhar? We have all heard the lays from the harpers—how it was the Queen of Homana sought to slay her wedded husband.” Aislinn looked away from him, staring instead at the mainland as the ship sailed closer. “I heard them all,” she muttered, “but she is my mother, and I wanted to see her. Oh, how I longed to see her!”

“Because she was the stuff of legend?” He could not let it pass.

Aislinn’s chin rose defensively. “That, too. She was
Electra of Solinde
, Bellam’s daughter, ensorceled by Tynstar himself.” Her fair skin was flushed with shame. “And I wondered: did I have any of the Solindish witch in me? I could not
help
but wonder.”

“No.” Donal shifted against the rail. “Aislinn—you must know I do not blame you. I cannot say I know Electra well—like you, I know her through the legends—but I
do
know that what you said was what she had put into your mind. She is a witch, with powers we cannot fully comprehend.”

“And you are Cheysuli.” Aislinn’s gray gaze, though red-rimmed from her anguish, was very steady. She had more of Electra in her features than Carillon, but he saw a shadow of her father in her pride and confidence. “Can your magic not overcome hers?”

“She can use none on me,” he agreed, “because of my Cheysuli blood. But she is free to use what she will on you. You are Homanan—”

“
—and
Solindish.” She said it very clearly. “Do you wonder, now, if I am the enemy also? If what she said about me is true, then perhaps I
am
nothing but a tool to be used against my father…or even you.”

“There is no truth in Electra’s mouth.” Donal tugged her braid again, and then the hand slipped under the rope of hair to press against the cloak and her back beneath the wool. “We must make a marriage, you and I, for the sake of your
jehan
’s realm. But if you have even the smallest bit of Carillon in you, I need have no fear of Electra’s influence.”

Aislinn stared fixedly at the shoreline. “You said you did not desire the throne.” Her voice trembled just a little. “You said—and clearly—you did not desire
me.
”

He was not a man of stone, to hear the pain in her voice and not respond. But he could not lie to her, not even to salve her pride.

“The truth,” he said gently. “No. I do not desire you. I think of you as a
rujholla
, not a
cheysula.
”

“I am not your sister.” Her spine was rigid beneath his hand. “And I do not think of
you
as a brother.”

She never had; he knew that. He had known it from the beginning. Before she was old enough to know what betrothal meant, she had decided to marry him.

Aislinn turned and faced him. “We were young together, briefly; you grew up too fast. You already had your
lir
—you were a warrior, not a boy, and too soon you wearied of playing with little girls. Me. Your sister. Meghan.” She shrugged. “You left us all behind. But now—
now
—I am trying to catch up.”

He knew what she wanted. Some confirmation there could be love between them. And he knew he could not offer it.

I will hurt her. One day…I will have to.

“Aislinn—let it come of its own time if the gods desire it. You are young. There is time.”

“I am young,” Aislinn agreed, “but I am old enough. The priests will see to that.”

Donal touched her braid again. “Aye, so they will. I am sorry, Aislinn. But I will not give you falsehood or false dreams.”

She turned abruptly and faced him. “Do you not care for me at
all?
”

He wanted to retreat, but did not. He owed her more, no matter how horrible he felt. And he felt. More deeply than he had believed possible. He was fond of Aislinn, very fond; she had always been a winsome girl, and he had always enjoyed her company. But it was girl to man, not man to woman; he had another woman for that.

“Aislinn,” he said at last, “what you know of a man and woman has been twisted by your
jehana.
You would do well to speak to mine, to know the truth of things.”

Aislinn set her jaw. It was delicately feminine, but he did not forget what man had helped to form it. “Alix is your mother,” Aislinn declared. “She will think only of
you
, and not at all of me.”

“She is not blind to my faults,” Donal told her wryly. “She knows me very well.”

“But would she admit them openly to me?”

He laughed. “Do you think there are so many?”

“Sometimes.” She pushed strands of hair out of her face.
“They say you are much like Finn. And what I have heard of
him—
”

“From
Electra
?” Donal wanted to spit. “Gods, Aislinn, there is nothing but hatred between them.”

“From others. You know what the servants say in Homana-Mujhar.”

He overrode her at once. “Most of those stories are false. They are made-up things, tales to entertain those who enjoy such petty nonsense.” He shook his head. “Do you think your
jehan
would keep by him a liege man who had done all the things the tales say Finn did?”

“He is your uncle,” Aislinn retorted. “I think you will not admit
he
has faults.”

Donal smiled wryly. “Oh, aye, my
su’fali
has faults. Many of them—but not so many as all these people so willingly ascribe to him.” He sighed, frowning a little. “But—Carillon says I am more like my
jehan
….” He said the last part wistfully, revealing more of his feelings than he realized; knowing only he longed to be as much like his father as he could.

Aislinn looked at him sharply. He was aware of the intensity of her appraisal. After a moment she looked away again. “You—never speak of your father. You never did. At least—not often.”

“No.” Donal turned away to lean against the taffrail, belt buckle scraping against wood. “No. For a long time, I could not. Now, although I can, I find I prefer to keep him private.”

“Because that way he is yours, and you do not have to share him.” Aislinn stood next to him. Her nearness—and unexpected understanding—was disconcerting. He would have preferred another woman standing at his side, blonde instead of red-haired, but she was not there. Aislinn was. “I never knew Duncan,” she said quietly. “I was too young when he died.” She cast him a sidelong glance, then looked more directly at him, as if she threw him a challenge. “He did
die
, did he not?”

“He died. As a
lir
less Cheysuli dies.” His tone was more clipped than he intended. But it was difficult to speak of his father’s fate when he resented his loss so much. He recalled too clearly how Carillon had given him the news, saying Tynstar had slain Duncan’s
lir.
Dead
lir
: dead Cheysuli. As simple as that.

Except it was not. He knew—as every Cheysuli knew—that death was the end result of
lirlessness
, but no one knew how it happened. How the life was ended at last.

Your father is dead
, Carillon had said.
Tynstar slew his lir.

Very little else had been necessary, though Carillon had said the words anyway. Even at eight years of age, Donal understood precisely what
lirlessness
meant.

“What was he like?” Aislinn asked.

“He was clan-leader of the Cheysuli. A warrior. He served the prophecy.” He thought it was enough; at least, for her.

“That says
what
he was. Not
who.
”

Donal pushed the breath through the constriction in his throat. “He was—
more. More
than most. One man may claim he is the best hunter, another may claim the best shot, another the premier tracker. But—my
jehan
was all of those things. Clan-leader at my age, because he was the wisest of those young warriors who survived Shaine’s
qu’mahlin.
More dedicated; he knew what faced the Cheysuli and he brought them through it. He brought Carillon to the knowledge of what he was; of what he had to be. Gods…he gave up his own freedom in service to the prophecy, knowing he would die. Knowing Tynstar would win their personal battle.”

“He
knew
!” Clearly, Aislinn was shocked. “How can a man foresee his own death, and then go
to
it?”

Donal put out his right hand and made the Cheysuli gesture: palm up, fingers spread, encompassing infinity. “
Tahlmorra
,” he said. “My
jehan
had a clearer vision than most, and he did not turn away. He knew what he had to do. He knew what the price would be.”

“
Tynstar
slew him.” She stared fixedly toward the shoreline. “There are so many legends about that sorcerer.”

“Tynstar slew his
lir
.” He shrugged. “One and the same, in the end.”

Aislinn looked at him sharply. “Then—he did what a
lirless
Cheysuli does? He simply walked away?”

He was somewhat surprised she knew that much. It was not often spoken of, even in the clans. Cheysuli simply
knew.
But he had not expected Aislinn to know.

“The death-ritual.” Donal’s hands closed tightly on the rail. “It is customary. But personal for each warrior.”

Aislinn shivered. “I could never do it.”

“You will never have to.”

After a moment, she reached out and touched his arm, as if to comfort him. “So—you came to live at Homana-Mujhar in the wake of your father’s death.”

“No. I came to spend time there at Carillon’s behest, not to
live
there. The Keep is my home.”