Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 (15 page)

           
Hart demurred at once. "I
merely lost track, no more. But I did think him older."

           
"Does it matter?" Brennan
asked, laughing. "I am hardly infirm, rujho, The Lion will yet be mine a
while. Kellin should be well-grown before he inherits."

           
"I was not thinking of thrones,
rujho, but of weddings."

           
"Weddings! Kellin's? By the
gods, Hart—"

           
"Wait you." Hart put up
his hand to silence his brother. "Before you begin shouting at me, as you
have always done—" he grinned, eyes alight, "—it is for you to say,
of course. And now that I see he is so young, perhaps it is too soon."

           
"Too soon for what?"
Kellin asked. "A wedding? Whose? Mine?"

           
Hart laughed. "So full of
questions, harani."

           
"Mine?" Kellin repeated.

           
Hart sighed, scratching idly at his
beardless chin. "I have a daughter—"

           
Brennan interrupted in mock
asperity. "You have four of them. Which one do you mean?"

           
Hart's shrug was lopsided.
"Dulcie is thirteen, which is closer to Kellin than the twins. And—"

           
He shrugged again, letting go what
he had begun.

           
"There is reason for this,
rujho ... we will speak of it later."

           
"Too young," Brennan said.

           
Hart's eyes were speculative.
"Too young to marry, perhaps, but not for a betrothal."

           
"This can wait," Brennan
said. "Let us be rujholli again before we must be rulers."

           
Hart sighed heavily. "That may
be difficult. I have all of them with me."

           
"Who?"

           
"They wanted to come,"
Hart continued. "All but Biythe. She carries her first child after all
this time, so we thought it best she remain behind. It will be my first
grandchild, after all."

           
Diverted, Brennan stared at him.
"Is she wed? When? I thought Biythe intended never to marry."

           
"She did not, after
Tevis—" Hart paused to correct himself, gritting the name through his
teeth.

           
"—after Lochiel." He
forced himself to relax, blue eyes bright in remembered anger. "But she
met a Solindishman of respectable family with whom she fell in love after much
too long alone; she is past thirty." Hart grinned. "And she would be
quite put out if she heard me say that. But she and her lordling married eight
months ago, and now there will be a child."

           
"But the rest .. ."
Brennan glanced around.

           
"They are here?"

           
"All of them."

           
"Lisa?"

           
"All of them. They insisted. My
girls are—" he paused delicately, "—somewhat firm in their
convictions."

           
Brennan eyed him. "You never
were one for self-discipline, Hart. Why should I expect you to be capable of
ruling your daughters when you never could rule yourself?"

           
"I understand discipline quite
well, leijhana, tu'sai," Hart retorted. "But there are times when my
girls make such things difficult."

           
Brennan studied Hart a moment.
"You have not changed at all, have you?"

           
Hart grinned unrepentantly.
"No,"

           
"Good." Brennan clapped
him on the back.

           
"Now, come inside."

           
It was abrupt, if unintended, but
dismissal nonetheless; they turned as one and strode into the palace without a
word or a glance to the boy they knew as the Prince of Homana.

           
"Wait!" But they were
gone, and a hand was on Kellin's shoulder, pulling him back.

           
"Begrudge them nothing,
lad." It was Blais, smiling faintly as he moved to stand beside Kellin.

           
"But what about me?"
Kellin was aggrieved.

           
"Grandsire dismissed the Lion,
and now they dismiss me"

           
"They were twin-born, my lad,
linked by far more than a simple brother-bond. And they've not seen one
another, I am told, for nearly twenty years."

           
"Twenty years!" Kellin
gaped. "I could have been born twice over!"

           
Blais nodded. "When you are a
king, 'tis not so easy to find the time—or the freedom—to go where you will.
Hart and Brennan are halves of a whole, parted by title and realm for much too
long a time." He briefly touched Kellin's shoulder. "Let them be
whole again, lad. They'll be having time for you later."

           
Kellin scowled. "And weddings,
too?"

           
"Weddings! What has this to do
with weddings?" But as Blais stared after his vanished uncles, his
expression changed. "Aye, it could be that. 'Tis a topic of much import in
royal Houses." He grinned. "Thank the gods I am not in line for a throne,
or surely they'd be disposing of me, too!"

           
"And me?" Kellin demanded.
"Am I to be married off with no say in the matter?"

           
Blais did not appear unduly
concerned. " 'Tis likely," he confirmed. "You're to be Mujhar of
Homana. one day. I'll not doubt there've been letters about your future bride
since you were formally invested."

           
"Ckeysula," Kellin said
darkly, proving to his cousin he knew the Old Tongue, too, "and I'll
choose my own."

           
"Will you. now?" Blais ran
a hand through thick black hair, mouth quirking in wry amusement.

           
" 'Tis what Keely claimed of
herself, when she chafed at her betrothal—but in the end she wed the man they
promised her to."

           
"Scan." Kellin nodded.
"I know all about that." He was not interested in his great-aunt,
whom he had never met. He cast a speculative glance up at his kinsman.
"Then you are not promised?"

           
Blais laughed. "Nor likely to
be. I'm content to share my time with this woman, or that one, without benefit
of betrothals."

           
Keilin understood.
"Meijhas," he said. "How many, Blais?"

           
"Many." Blais grinned.
"Would I be admitting how many? A warrior does not dishonor his meijhas by
discussing them casually."

           
"Many," Kellin murmured.
He grinned back at his cousin. "Then I'll have many, too."

           
Blais sighed and clapped his hand
upon a slender shoulder. "No doubt you will. No prince I ever knew lacked
for company. Now—shall we go in? I'm for meeting these Solindish kin of
ours."

           
In short order Blais and Kellin met
all of the Solindish kin en masse in Aileen's sunny solar.

           
The chamber seemed small of a
sudden. Kellin duly took note of all his assorted kinfolk: Lisa, the Lady of
Solinde, with her profusion of white-blonde hair and gloriously expressive gray
eyes; the middle daughters Cluna and Jennet, twins like Hart and Brennan, who
reflected their mother's coloring and the beginnings of her beauty augmented by
Cheysuli heritage; and Dulcie, the youngest—the girl whom Hart had said might
become Kellin's cheysula.

           
To the latter daughter Kellin paid
the most attention. His knowledge of weddings and marriages was slight, but he
took it more personally now that his name had been linked with hers.

           
He was, however, briefly distracted.
Blais, whom he had decided was everything a warrior should be—and his rescuer,
to boot—was all of a sudden different. It was a subtle difference Kellin could
not name; he knew only that Blais' attention to his young cousin was oddly
diverted, as if something else far more fascinating had caught his attention.
Kellin understood none of it—Cluna and Jennet seemed silly girls to him, and
not worth more time than was necessary to be polite—but Blais seemed most
disposed to speak with both of them for a very long time.

           
Soon enough Blais offered to escort
both Cluna and Jennet on a tour of Homana-Mujhar; and the adults suggested that
what they had to say to one another was better said without Dulcie's and
Kellin's presence. Kellin was instructed to do as Blais did: show his cousin
every corner of the palace.

           
Outside in the corridor, Kellin
glared mutinously at the closed door. No one has time for me.

           
The Lion nearly ate me, but no one
thinks about THAT—

           
Beside him, Dulcie laughed.
"They set their traps for him."

           
Kellin scowled. "What do you
mean?" He thought uncomfortably of the bear-trap, conjured by her words.

           
"Traps," she said
succinctly. "They are frivolous women, both of them, only concerned with
what is required to catch a handsome man." She grimaced wryly. "I saw
it; didn't you?"

           
Kellin had not. "Of course I
did," he said forthrightly, denying his ignorance.

           
Dulcie eyed him. "He is a
handsome man, as Cheysuli go; I see now we are all alike, save for some
differences in color." She grinned. "Your eyes are green; mine at
least are yellow, like a proper Cheysuli's should be."

           
And proper she was, black-haired and
yellow-eyed with skin the same coppery hue as Blais' and every other Cheysuli
Kellin had seen. Dulcie was young—twelve?—but clearly was Cheysuli in all
respects.

           
Kellin felt a twinge of
self-consciousness; just now, faced with Dulcie—and having met Blais—he wanted
very much to be as Cheysuli as possible. "I will be Mujhar." He
thought it a good offense.

           
Dulcie nodded. "One of the
reasons they want us to marry." She twined a strand of black hair into
fingers and began twisting it. "Do you want to?"

           
Kellin stared at her. How could she
be so matter-of-fact about it? Importantly, he said, "That is something I
will have to consider."

           
Dulcie burst out laughing. "You
consider? They will no more abide by what you wish—or me—than a stud horse
minds his rider when a mare in season is near."

           
Kellin had not thought of it that
way. "But if I am to be Mujhar, they must listen to me."

           
Dulcie shook her head. Her brows
were straight, serious bars across a sculpted brow. She wore black hair in
dozens of braids tied into a single plait and beaded at the bottom. "They
will listen to no one, only to the prophecy." Dulcie grimaced. "I
have had it stuffed into my ears often enough. It is all about blood, Kellin,
and the need to mix it correctly. Don't you see?"

           
Kellin did not, though once again he
claimed he did. "I am the one who is to sire the Firstborn," he
declared. "Everyone says so."

           
Dulcie grinned. "Not without a
woman!"

           
Color stained Kellin's face.
"Is that supposed to be you?"

           
She shrugged, twisting hair again.
"What else do you suppose they talk about behind that door but inches in
front of your face? They will have us betrothed by supper."

           
Kellin glared at her. "Why to
you? Why not to Cluna, or Jennet?"

           
"They are too old for
you," Dulcie said matter-of-factly, "and likely by now they have both
set their caps for Blais. I think neither of them wants a boy for a
husband."

           
It stung. "I am nearly
eleven."

           
"And I nearly thirteen."
Clearly, Dulcie was undismayed by his youth. "It has to do with the blood,
as I said. There is only one bloodline left to get, Kellin—the one bloodline no
Cheysuli desires to acknowledge. But how else do they expect to get the
Firstborn? It wants Ihlini blood."

           
He was startled, recalling Corwyth,
and Lochiel's designs. "Ihlini!"

           
"Think about it," Dulcie
said impatiently. "They need it from somewhere, from someone who favors
the prophecy."

           
"But not an Ihlini—"

           
"Kellin." Her tone was
exasperated. "That is why my father is proposing you and I wed. To get the
Ihlini blood."

           
"But—" It was
preposterous. "You do not have—"

           
"Aye," Dulcie answered,
"I do. We all of us do: Biythe, Cluna, Jennet, and me. Because of our
mother."

           
"But she is Solindish."

           
Dulcie's tone was freighted with
condescension.

           
"Solinde was the birthplace of
Ihlini, Kellin. Remember the stories of how they broke away from the Firstborn
and left Homana?"

           
He did. He had not thought of those
stories in years. "Then—" Kellin frowned. He did not like the implication.
"Then the Ihlini are not so different from the a'saii."

           
Dulcie smiled. "Now you begin
to understand."

           
He eyed her assessively. "Can
you conjure godfire?"

           
"Of course not. The Ihlini
blood in us goes back more than two hundred years. No arts remain in our
House." Dulcie shrugged. "Electra learned a few tricks, but nothing
more. Tynstar did not share the Seker's blood with her."

           
He frowned. "Then why should it
matter now?"

           
"Because no Cheysuli warrior
would ever lie down with an Ihlini woman," Dulcie replied. "At
least—not a willing one. So they will marry us off and hope for the best ... if
for no other reason than to keep the Ihlini from making their own through
you."

           
"Through me?"

           
Dulcie sighed. "Are you stupid?
If the Ihlini caught you and made you lie with an Ihlini woman, there could be
a child. It would be the child." She laughed at his expression. "The
Ihlini would use you, Kellin, like a prize Cheysuli stud."

           
Within hours he was full to bursting
on kinfolk—and most of them female, at that, full of gossip and laughter—and so
to escape, Kellin went to his own chamber and climbed up into his huge bed. He
made mountains and hillocks of his coverlet, then planned his own campaigns as
Carillon and Donal must have planned them years before, when Homana was at war,

           
"With Solinde," he
muttered. He was not at the moment disposed to like Solinde, since she had
managed to produce a twelve-year-old girl who believed he was stupid.

           
The knock at the door was soft, but
persistent.

           
Kellin, startled from his game,
called out crossly for the person to enter.

           
Aileen came in, not a servant at
all. Her hair, rust threaded with silver, was bound in braids around her head
with pins that glittered in sunlight. Her green gown was simple but elegant.
She wore around her throat a fortune in gold: the mountain cat torque that
marked her Brennan's cheysula.

           
Is that what Dulcie expects from me?
Kellin jerked flat his coverlet and slid out of the bed to stand politely.
"Aye, granddame?"

           
"Sit." Aileen waved him
back onto the bed, then sat down on the edge herself. "Kellin—"

           
Whenever he spoke with Aileen he
unconsciously echoed the lilt of her accent. He blurted it out all at once
before she could finish. " "Tis done, isn't it? You've betrothed
us."

           
Aileen arched reddish brows.
"The idea doesn't please you, then?"

           
"No." He fidgeted,
self-conscious; he liked his granddame very much and did not want to upset her,
but he felt he had to tell the truth. "I want to choose for myself."

           
The faintest of creases deepened at
the corner of Aileen's eyes. "Aye, of course you do. So did I. So did
Brennan. But—"

           
"But I can't, can I?" he
challenged forthrightly. " Tis like Dulcie said: you'll do whatever you
want."

           
The Queen of Homana sighed. "
'Tis true those of royalty have little freedom in matters of marriage."

           
" 'Tisn't fair," Kellin
asserted. "You tell me I will have power when I am grown, but then I am
told whom I must marry. That is no power."

           
"No," she agreed quietly.
"I had none, nor Corin, whom I wanted to marry in place of Brennan."

           
"In place of—grandsire?"
It was a completely new thought. "You wanted to marry my su'fali?"

           
"Aye."

           
He blinked. "But you were
already betrothed to grandsire."

           
"Aye, so I was. It did not
lessen the wanting, Kellin; it was Corin I loved." Her green eyes were
kind. "I know this may shock you, but I thought it fair to tell you. You
are young, but not so young the truth should be kept from you, even those
truths of men and woman."

           
"But you married
grandsire."

           
"Aye. It was agreed upon before
I was born: Niall's oldest son would marry Liam's daughter."

           
She shrugged, mouth twisted awry.
"And so I was born betrothed; it was only later, when Corin came to Erinn,
that I realized how binding—and how wrong—the agreement was. I fell in love
with Corin and he with me, but he was the stronger person. He said the
betrothal must stand, and sailed away to Atvia."

           
"He married Glyn." He had
never seen her—he had seen only Hart of his scattered kin—but he knew of the
mute woman Corin had wed.

           
"Years later, aye. But then I
was wed, and a mother, and my future was utterly settled."

           
Kellin digested all of it. "You
are telling me that I should marry Dulcie."

           
Aileen smiled. "No."

           
It stilled him a moment.
"No?"

           
"I told them to give you time,
both of you time; to let you grow to adulthood. You've been kept close most of
your life, Kellin, and we owe you some measure of freedom." An odd
expression crossed her face. "The kind of freedom I had once, before
coming to Homana."

           
Relief overflowed. "Leijhana
tu'sai, granddame!"

           
Aileen laughed. "One day
marriage will not be such a chore, my lad. That I promise."

           
"Was it a chore for you?"

           
The question stopped her. Aileen's
eyes filled with memories he could not know, and were not shared with him.
"For a very long time, it was," she answered finally. "But not
any longer."

           
"Why?"