The Shining City (32 page)

What do ye call Donncan?

The winged one.

Ye see?

Yet he loves you, and you, I thought, loved him. Are you not unhappy because he has spent so
much time away this past year?

What do I care?

You know you cannot lie to a Celestine
, Thunderlily said.

Bronwen pleated her dress with her fingers.

You have never before tried to hide your feelings from me. I am troubled that you do so now. I
can see that you are restless and unhappy. Will you let me touch you, sea-child, and see you
clear?

Bronwen shook her head.
I canna
, she said silently, a touch of pleading in her mind-voice.
Come,
be no’ so grave, Thunderlily. We’re at a party!

I do not know any other way to be
, Thunderlily said.

“I will teach ye,” Bronwen said aloud. She seized Thunderlily‟s hands and pulled her up, laughing at her. “Come and taste the seasquill wine. I tell ye, it‟s wicked stuff! One glass and ye‟ll feel quite giddy, I swear. Then let us dance. I‟ll be the man and show ye the steps. Come on!”

She seized a glass from the tray and held it to Thunderlily‟s lips. The Celestine smiled and took a sip. Her bright eyes, as clear as water, opened very wide and she made a hoarse rasping sound deep in her throat.

“Horrid, isn‟t it?” Bronwen laughed. “That‟s one custom o‟ the Fairgean I think I‟ll pass up.

Here, have some goldensloe wine! Much more to your taste, I imagine. Maura!”

The bogfaery got up and brought the Celestine a glass of the rich, sweet-scented wine, which she sipped gratefully. Then Bronwen pulled Thunderlily on to the floor, holding both her hands and swinging her about so that the Celestine‟s yellow skirts billowed about her like a twirling buttercup.

The Yeoman gulped another glassful of the seasquill wine. He could not understand why

Bronwen wanted to dance with that strange-looking Celestine girl instead of with him. The Banprionnsa had hardly noticed he was here, tossing him a quick smile when she had met his brooding gaze but otherwise ignoring him. He propped his shoulders against the wall, watching the two girls dancing in the center of the room, smiling at each other warmly. He saw Aindrew MacRuraich was watching too, looking rather put out, and the Fairgean ambassador was

frowning, his lips pressed firmly together.

The music changed to a slower promenade, and several of Bronwen‟s ladies-in-waiting got up and came, giggling, to dance, so that the floor was full of swirling skirts, like a meadow full of flowers. It was not usual for two women to dance together, but Bronwen always took great pleasure in thwarting convention, and her ladies-in-waiting enjoyed copying her. After a moment, the dance floor cleared of other dancers, everyone standing around and watching as the women danced as close as lovers.

The music stopped, and the servants circulated with more wine and food. Mathias drained another glassful, then came forward with a surge, ready to beg Bronwen for the next dance. He collided with Aindrew MacRuraich, who had leaped forward with the same intention. By the time they had disentangled themselves, both rigid with fury, the Fairgean ambassador was bowing over Bronwen‟s hand.

“Ye seem heated, Your Highness,” the Fairgean murmured. “May I suggest we retreat to the terrace for some fresh air? And perhaps a glass o‟ something cool?”

“Thank ye,” Bronwen replied. “How kind.”

At once the ambassador straightened and snapped his fingers at Frey, then offered Bronwen his arm, escorting her out to the terrace, which was strung with garlands of tiny filigree lanterns.

Frey took them out a tray of sea-grape juice in tall glasses clinking with ice, as well as another pewter decanter of seasquill wine.

Aindrew straightened his velvet doublet and went over to talk to Owein and Alasdair, but Mathias went to stand by the tall glass doors leading out to the terrace. He told himself he did not trust the ambassador, and he wanted to be nearby in case the Banprionnsa needed him. As Maura trotted past with a laden tray, he grabbed another of the tiny glasses of seasquill wine. It was making his head swim, but it was not an unpleasant sensation.

“Tell me more about the sea serpents,” Bronwen was saying. “I saw some once, ye ken, when I was a wee girl. They were so beautiful, and so big. How can ye possibly tame them?”

The ambassador spread his hands. “They are raised from the egg to respond only to the secret words o‟ the jaka, who are the most elite o‟ all warriors,” he answered. “Wild sea serpents are very dangerous indeed. There is no point trying to ride one. They will only plunge under the ocean and drown ye, or crush ye in their coils.”

“I would so love to ride a sea serpent one day,” she said. “Perhaps I will come and visit ye in the Fathomless Caves, so ye could take me out on one.”

She said this in a voice of gentle raillery and was obviously taken aback when the ambassador straightened his back and said abruptly, “I‟m afraid that would be impossible. No woman is permitted to ride a sea serpent. They are only for warriors.”

“Oh, but I‟m sure ye could make an exception for me,” she said.

Alta bowed curtly. “I am sorry, Your Highness. Sea serpents are dangerous creatures. It would no‟ be suitable.”

She sighed. “Ye ken, sir, ye do no‟ encourage me to want to visit ye, as ye are always urging I do.”

He bent his head over hers. “Indeed I do urge it, Your Highness. The blood o‟ the people o‟ Jor runs in your veins; it is there in the sheen o‟ your skin and the frill o‟ your fins. Ye should no‟

have grown to womanhood knowing naught o‟ your people. There are many things I wish to show ye. Though ye may no‟ ride upon the back o‟ a sea serpent yourself, ye can watch the warriors in their races and jousts, and it is permitted for women to ride on porpoise-back, which they seem to enjoy. Then ye could play with the sea otters as they slide down the icebergs into the ocean, or ye could bathe in the hot pools o‟ the Fathomless Caves. The water there is rich and strong, Your Highness, and fills ye with such strength and vitality. Then, at night, the sky is filled with a thousand stars and with curtains o‟ colored light we call Ryza‟s Veils, after the god o‟ dreams and visions. It is very beautiful.”

Bronwen looked up at him, fascinated. “I would like to see it,” she sighed.

“Then why do ye no‟ come to the Isle o‟ the Gods to see for yourself? I believe those o‟

humankind often go on a tour after they are married. Why do ye and your husband no‟ come to see the Fathomless Caves? Your husband should know about your ancestry as much as ye

should.”

“It is so far,” she stammered, looking down again, discomposed to find him so close. “I dinna think Donncan—”

“But are ye no‟ to be his wife and his Banrìgh? Use those feminine wiles on him, as I have seen ye use them on every other man whose path ye cross.”

She drew away from him. “I beg your pardon?”

He smiled down at her, taking her hand. “Do no‟ think I do no‟ understand ye, Your Highness.

O‟ course ye are bored, incarcerated here so far from the sea. That tiny little pool is no‟ enough for a princess o‟ the royal Fairgean family. Ye need to swim in the fathomless sea, ye need to feel the drag o‟ the tides in your blood, ye need to fight the waves and the icebergs and dive so deep your blood drums in your ears.”

“Och, aye,” she whispered. “I do. Ye‟re right.”

His voice dropped so low Mathias could hardly hear it. “Ye need to stand at the lip o‟ the Fiery Womb and know the names o‟ your own gods, the true gods. Ye are one o‟ those anointed by Jor, and ye do no‟ even ken his name or the name o‟ his brothers.”

She stared at him, shaken and confused. For a moment he loomed over her, his ice-pale eyes glittering; then he let go of her hand, moving away to pour her a tiny glass of the pungent seasquill wine. “So ye see, ye really must come to visit your family home,” he said lightly. “I know King Nila is eager indeed to see ye again.”

“I will try,” she said, her voice for once unsure.

“I do hope ye will no‟ take this amiss, Your Highness, when I express my fervent hope that your very understandable restlessness and boredom does no‟ tempt ye to behave unwisely. Your uncle, my king, is very eager to see relations between the Fairgean and the humans continue in their current pleasing route. Any imprudence that may cause a coolness to grow between ye and your betrothed would be seen with great sadness by both your uncles, I fear.”

She stared at him, flags of color flying in her cheeks.

“When is your betrothed due back from his travels?” Alta asked. “Soon, I hope.”

“Very soon, I am sure,” she answered coolly.

“Excellent,” he answered. “I am looking forward to your wedding very much, and so, I may assure ye, are King Nila and Queen Fand, who are already making preparations for the journey.”

“I look forward to seeing them here,” she said, looking down into her glass.

“Slàinte mhath,”
he said, raising his glass.

She inclined her head and sipped at her glass.

Mathias could hardly hear for the roaring in his ears. He could not have explained why he was so angry, though he knew the ambassador‟s comment about Bronwen‟s feminine wiles had cut him on the raw. He stepped onto the terrace, determined to demand a dance from the Banprionnsa.

She raised her head at the sight of him and smiled mechanically. He bowed at the ambassador, then bent his head to press a passionate kiss into her hand. “Your Highness,” he said urgently.

She pulled her hand away.

Mathias was mortified. He glared at the Fairgean ambassador, who looked aside, smiling, he thought, mockingly. Mathias grabbed for a glass of seasquill wine and knocked it over, spilling the potent liquor onto the tray. He crossly seized another one and drained it dry, rocking back on his heels.

“I thought ye wanted to dance,” he said to Bronwen sulkily.

“I think I may withdraw now,” the ambassador said. “Thank ye for a most amusing evening, Your Highness.”

She bent her head, murmuring a polite response.

“Your devoted servant,” the Fairgean said mockingly to Mathias, with a slight inclination of his head. He then bowed low over Bronwen‟s hand. “And yours, as always, Your Highness.”

“Good night, Alta,” Bronwen said, looking troubled. He bowed again and then left with a dramatic swirl of his sealskin furs.

Mathias scowled. Bronwen did not notice. She seemed preoccupied.

“I had best go back in,” she said, looking back through the doors at the party within.

“Nay, do no‟ go in. Please stay out here. Ye look so lovely in the moonlight, Your Highness,”

Mathias said.

“No, I am growing rather cool,” she replied, putting her glass down on the tray and gathering up her skirt in her hand.

He sprang towards her. “Let me keep ye warm, Your Highness!”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could bite them back, but it was too late. She turned an affronted face towards him. “I beg your pardon?”

His head swimming, his whole body aching with longing, he seized her hand. “Ye must ken, I live for your smile. . . . My days are filled with thoughts o‟ ye. . . . Ye canna be so cruel as to deny me—”

“Ye‟re drunk,” she said incredulously. “How dare ye? Let me go!”

He had seized her waist, the feel of her skin beneath the sinuous satin inflaming him beyond all reason. “Please . . . Bronwen . . .” He dragged her against him, bending his head to kiss her lips.

She fought free. “Are ye mad? Let me go!”

“Ye canna pretend the way I feel is a surprise to ye,” he managed to say, though his tongue felt thick and his brain foggy.

“Just because I like dancing with ye does no‟ mean I want ye to manhandle me,” she retorted, trying to smooth her crushed dress. “I like dancing with many people!”

“Aye, so I‟ve seen,” Mathias said angrily. “The Banrìgh was right about ye: ye are naught but a whore!”

“What did ye say?”

Mathias was conscious of having spoken unwisely, but the fumes from the seasquill wine were clouding all thought. He swayed on his feet. “That‟s what she said. This morning. I heard her.”

“The Banrìgh said I was a whore!”

“That‟s why Prionnsa Donncan willna come home,” he said spitefully.

Bronwen‟s cheeks were scarlet, her breast heaving with angry breaths. “How dare she!”

Mathias took an unsteady step towards her, reaching out one hand. “Bronwen . . .”

“Do no‟ dare call me by my name,” she hissed. “Get out o‟ here now! I never want to see ye again.”

“But my lady . . . Your Highness . . .”

“Go now, else I‟ll call my men to throw ye out.”

He tried to marshal his thoughts, but she had spun on one foot and gone back into the ballroom.

He saw her seek refuge by Thunderlily‟s side, the Celestine turning at once to embrace her, bright eyes flying up to stare through the door and straight into Mathias‟s heart. The wrinkled eyelid of her third eye rolled back and he saw the dark liquid well of her secret orb stripping him of all pretences. He shrank back, trembling, aghast.

After a few moments, he hurried back through the ballroom and out into the corridor, knocking over a table with his hip. All the way he was conscious of the Celestine‟s terrifying three-eyed gaze.