Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (24 page)

 
          
"And
Keely to Sean." Aidan nodded. "There was never any pressure… never
any discussion—at least where I could hear. Until now." He grinned.
"But I am amenable. They have let me have my freedom with never a whisper
of duty. Perhaps the time is right."

 
          
Hart's
stallion stomped and pawed at damp turf. He caught up loose reins with his hand
and quieted the horse with a single spoken admonishment. "Well, regardless
of common practice, I will not offer Cluna and Jennet even to Homana. They are
too young." He laughed at Aidan's expression, part guilt and part relief.
"Even if they
were
older. They
are hideously willful girls."

 
          
Aidan's
tone was elaborately mournful. "Which leaves only Blythe, and she is
already promised."

 
          
"Not
promised," Hart said quietly. "As I said, nothing is settled—"

 
          
Aidan
shrugged, dismissing levity. "It does not have to be. You can see it in
their eyes."

 
          
Hart
sorted out reins, resettled his weight, stroked the black satin neck. Then
stared down at his city and sighed his resignation. "It would go far
toward healing old wounds."

 
          
It
startled Aidan. "Why? I thought them all healed with your marriage to
Ilsa."

 
          
"There
was a man," Hart said quietly. "A proud, strong man, dedicated to
Solinde. He disliked Homanan usurpers. He wanted the throne for Ilsa, so he
could be Consort. So his son could become king. The first Solindish king since
Carillon killed Bellam."

 
          
Old
history. Older enmity. "A patriot," Aidan said.

 
          
"A
true-born Solindishman of one of the oldest lines." Hart shifted again in
his saddle. "I had him executed."

 
          
Aidan,
who sensed old grief in his uncle as well as a trace of shame, looked at Hart's
cuffed stump. "Do you mean the man who cost you your hand?"

 
          
"Dar
of High Crags; aye. Tevis is his nephew. Son to Dar's youngest sister."

 
          
Astonishment
overrode caution. "And do you mean to say you will give Tevis Blythe to
pay him for Dar's
death
? To wash your
guilt away, even though none is deserved?"

 
          
"Aidan—"

 
          
"The
man cost you your
hand
… and very
nearly your life! It was Dar who gave you to Strahan—do you think my
jehan
has said nothing of it?"
Aidan, appalled, shook his head. "He told me all about it. Dar deserved to
die. It was the only thing you could do."

 
          
Hart's
face was tight. "Do you think that is the only reason for this marriage?
It is politically expedient, aye—I have learned
something
of kingcraft—but it is not the sole concern. There is
Blythe and Tevis also… and you have seen that yourself."

 
          
Aye,
so he had. He had even said so to Hart. "Aye. Aye,
su'fali…
" Aidan sighed. "But
my
marriage is politically expedient also… Blythe is my age, and
half Cheysuli, and everything else as well—except Erinnish, but
I
have that." He scraped hair back
from his face. "I left Homana to find a bride. One who would serve the
role as well as the prophecy." He slanted a glance at Hart. "Do you
blame me,
su'fali
? Your daughter is
beautiful."

 
          
Unease
evaporated. Hart's grin was brilliant. "I
thought
it might come to that!"

 
          
"She
is." Aidan felt no shame. "What man alive would be blind to a comely
woman… especially when he needs to put a
cheysula
in his bed?" He paused. "
And
on a throne."

 
          
Hart
frowned a little. "You did not come
expecting
to win her, did you?"

 
          
"I
thought my chances good." Aidan smiled disarmingly. "I am your
twin-born
rujho's
only son, the only
one there
can
be, and heir to the
Lion Throne. Part of the prophecy."

 
          
White
teeth shone in a dark face. "Stooping to kinship pressure, are we?
Thinking to convince me through bloodlink alone?"

 
          
Aidan
arched brows. "It was certainly worth the try. And there had been nothing
said of this Tevis of High Crags in your letters to my
jehan
… how was I to know?"

 
          
"Aye,
well… Tevis only came to Lestra four months ago. He grew up in northern
Solinde, high in the mountains… the mountain Solindish are different from the
rest of us. They keep themselves isolated."

 
          
"
'Us'?" Aidan echoed.

 
          
Hart
made an acknowledging gesture. "I am their lord, after all. And different
enough already, as I am often reminded. There is no sense in rousing old griefs…
this is my
tahlmorra
, Aidan. And
there is Solindish in me as well as all the other bloodlines."

 
          
"Not
all
of them." Aidan grinned,
then felt the amusement die. "I thought you told me Tevis
came
to marry Blythe. If he did not know
her already—"

 
          
"
You
did not."

 
          
"No."
He refused to be turned aside. "But you made it sound as if they had known
one another for years."

 
          
Hart
reined in a restless stallion, pulling the fine black head away from the bay
Aidan rode. "Did you know this is Bane's son? I sent the mare to Brennan
four years ago for breeding, and this is the result. I am quite pleased… he is
a willful young lad, but worth it."

 
          
Aidan
liked and respected his kinsman, but something inside would not allow him to
hide from the knowledge Hart was all too human. Although Aidan was, by
everyone's reckoning, fully an adult, in his eyes his older kin were above
reproach. Yet the
kivarna
showed him
reproach was due his elders as much as anyone else.

 
          
The
kivarna
, Aidan thought, showed him
entirely too much.

 
          
Quietly,
he said, "You are avoiding the issue,
su'fali
."

 
          
Hart
glanced at Aidan, then sighed in surrender. "Tevis'
jehan
died ten months ago in a fall. Ilsa, being distant kin as
well as queen, sent a letter of personal condolence to the widow. They began to
correspond, and soon they traded news of various children, including Tevis and
Blythe." Hart shrugged. "It is what
jehanas
do."

 
          
Aidan
nodded. "And so eventually Tevis was sent in person to win the hand of the
princess."

 
          
"There
was no reason for him not to come. He had bided for many years in the fastness
of High Crags… he was due a visit to Lestra to see his lord—"

 
          
"—
and
his lord's eldest daughter."

 
          
Hart's
tone was even. "There is nothing to stand in their way."

 
          
And you do not want
me
to
. Aidan laughed at Hart, lifting hands
in surrender. "Aye, aye, I understand… no more said of it." He
covered a yawn with one hand. "Dawn is done,
su'fali
. Time for me to sleep, before I fall off my horse."

 
          
"You
are too good a rider, and he too good a mount. You have that of Brennan; the
horse has it of me." Hart looked for Rael. "There. Shall we go?"

 
          
Aidan
nodded after a moment, turning the bay southward to wind back down the hills.
Pleasure in the morning was now tinged with empathy. He had seen the brief
wistful expression on his uncle's face, the subtle tensing of flesh by blue
eyes as Hart looked for and found his
lir
.
But he sensed more than wistfulness. He felt more than relief.

 
          
Hart
wanted to fly with every ounce of his being.

 
          
With
every fiber of the missing hand that denied him the chance.

 
          
«
^
»

 
          
Aidan
rolled over in bed. Sheets were tangled around him; with effort, he stripped
them away. He frowned into unexpected daylight, blinking still-gritty eyes
clear.
What am I doing in bed at this
time of day
?

 
          
And
then he remembered. A full night spent over the game, the dawn upon a hilltop.
He vaguely recalled falling at last into bed when everyone else was waking.

 
          
How long
—? He looked at the hour-glass.
Four hours abed; barely time to recall his name.

 
          
A
long, elaborate stretch succeeded in reminding his body it had a purpose other
than lying sprawled in bed. Then something moved upon the canopy. Aidan glanced
roofward quickly, momentarily startled, then grinned relief and self-derision
and relaxed into the mattress once more, rubbing a stubbled jaw. On the canopy
frame perched the raven.

 
          
So
, Teel remarked.
Half a day gone already
.

 
          
Aidan
yawned noisily.
Not quite half… half of a
half, perhaps
… Yet another yawn. A growl from his belly stopped it; he
clapped one hand to flesh.
How long since
—?
he began, then remembered the cheese he had eaten while drinking Solindish
wine.

 
          
And the wine remembers me
… He rolled out
of bed and stood, scrubbing a sleep-creased face. He wondered what he most
needed: bath, food, more sleep. And in which order.

 
          
No time
, Teel mentioned.
The lady has sent for you
.

 
          
For
one irrational moment Aidan thought his
lir
referred to the Weaver. Then realized what he meant. "Now?" he asked
aloud.

 
          
The
raven contemplated.
Perhaps later
, he
suggested, which told Aidan how badly he looked.

 
          
He
promptly ordered a bath, and food to go with it.
Then
he would see the lady; likely she would thank him. 

 
          
Ilsa of Solinde.

 
          
Aidan
had heard all the stories, the songs and verses extolling her beauty, but such
things, he had learned young, were often exaggerated. And when it came to
feminine beauty, he knew very well what one man believed was beautiful was
often not to another.

 
          
Ilsa
was beautiful.

 
          
Ilsa
was
glorious
.

 
          
One
unwavering glance out of long-lidded, ice-blue eyes, and he was half in love
with the woman wed to his uncle. The other half of him felt awkward as a boy in
the first flush of young manhood only just discovering women, and what they
could do to a body.

 
          
Inwardly,
he reminded himself,
She is forty years
old, or more
.

 
          
Ilsa's
luminous smile mocked him, as did the fine-boned features. "Aileen had
nothing to fear."

 
          
Aidan
blinked, gathering wits with effort. He was not thinking of his mother, though
Aileen and Ilsa were very close in age. Ilsa was not his mother, any more than
he her son.