Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 (42 page)

           
"But—"

           
"But one day I will return to
Homana-Mujhar."

           
Kellin smiled faintly. "Is that
prophecy?"

           
"No. That is a jehan who is
also a son, and who would like to see his parents."

           
Kellin sighed. There yet remained
one more thing.

           
He looked away to the distant shore,
then turned back and stared hard at Aidan as Sima leapt into the boat.
"Fathers desert their children." He used Homanan purposely; he did
not in this moment intend to discuss his own sire, but those of other children.

           
The wind stripped auburn hair back
from Aidan's face. It bared, beneath the skin, the architecture of bone that
was ineffably Cheysuli, if housed in paler flesh. "Aye."

           
"Other fathers . ., Homanan,
Ellasian, Solindish—they must do it all over the world—"I did it myself. I
banished three to Clankeep. "—Is there ever a reason?"

           
"Many reasons."

           
It was not the proper answer. Kellin
reshaped the question. "Is there ever justification?"

           
"Only that which resides in a
man's soul,"

           
Aidan answered. "To the child,
bereft of a father, bereft of the kivama that might explain the feelings that
caused the father to leave, there is nothing save an emptiness and a longing
that lasts forever."

           
"Even if—" Kellin
hesitated. "Even after the father is dead?"

           
"Then it is worse. A deserted
child dreams of things being put to rights, of all the missing pieces being
found and rejoined. A deserted child whose dreams die with the father's death
knows only a quiet desperation, a permanent incompleteness; that the dream,
even born in hatred, pain, and bitterness, can now never come true."

           
Kellin swallowed with difficulty.
Unevenly he said, "A hard truth, jehan."

           
"And the only one there
is."

           
Kellin bought a horse in Hondarth,
rode it across the city, then traded it for another at a second livery. The
second mount, a plain brown gelding disinclined to shake his entire body with
violent dedication every four steps, proved considerably more comfortable. The
ride commenced likewise.

           
It crossed his mind once, as he and
Sima neared the turning to Mujhara, that he could go home.

           
What would the Mujhar do, send him
away again?

           
But the order had been for him to
remain with his father until Aidan saw fit to send him home; Kellin could, he
thought, argue that it was done.

           
Except he knew better. It most
decidedly was not done, it being the ludicrous quest to fetch out of Valgaard
two halves of a chain his father had broken, then foolishly left behind.

           
He might have kept it for himself
and saved me the trouble.

           
Sima flanked his horse. Aye. Then we
would be where we were three weeks ago: banished to the island. She paused.
Where there are dogs.

           
Kellin laughed aloud.
"Fastidious, are we? Disinclined to consort with dogs?" He grinned at
his horse's ears; he knew the cat sensed his amusement within the link.
"They are good dogs, Sima, regardless of your tastes. They do not bark
like terriers, snatching at ankles if you move . .. nor do they bell like
hounds on the morning you most desire to sleep."

           
No, she admitted. But I am quieter
even than those Erinnish beasts.

           
"Usually," he said.
"Your purring, beside my ear, is enough to shatter my skull."

           
You told me once it helps you to go
to sleep.

           
"If I cannot sleep, aye; there
is something soothing about it. But when you sprawl down next to me and take up
with rumbling when I am already asleep ..." He let her fill in the rest.
You are not a housecat, lir. You are considerably larger in many aspects, most
markedly in your noise—and in the kneading of your claws.

           
Sima forbore to answer.

           
It grew cold as they drew closer to
the
Bluetooth
River
. Kellin was grateful he had thought to buy a heavier cloak in Hondarth;
he wished now it was fur-lined. But it was nearly summer, and people in the
lowlands did not think of such things when the sun shone so brightly.

           
He shivered. If I were home in
Homana-Mujhar, or within a woman's arms— Kellin sighed. That is my favorite
warmth.

           
I thought I was.

           
He grinned. There are certain kinds
of warmth not even a lir may provide.

           
Then I must assume you would prefer
a roadhouse woman and her bed to the cold ground tonight.

           
He straightened in the saddle. Is
there one?

           
One? Or both?

           
Either. A woman without the
roadhouse would prove warm enough, as would a roadhouse without a woman. But a
woman in a roadhouse would be the best of all.

           
Then you may rest well tonight.
There is one around the curve of the road.

           
So there was. Content, Kellin rode
up to the stable and dropped off his horse with a sigh of relief.

           
There was no boy to do the work for
him, so he led the horse inside the daub-and-wattle building, stripped his
mount of tack, then rubbed him down and put him into an empty stall with hay
and a measure of grain. He left saddle and bridle beneath drying blankets, then
went out into the twilight to look for Sima.

           
She waited beneath a tree, melding
into dusk.

           
Kellin dropped to one knee and butted
his brow against hers. Tomorrow we go on.

           
She butted back. Do we?

           
You saw the cairn at the turning. It
is but three leagues to the ferry. We will cross first thing .. . by sundown
tomorrow, we will be in Solinde.

           
Sima twisted her head and slid it along
his jaw, so that a tooth scraped briefly. And by sundown the day after that,
Valgaard?

           
His belly tightened. I would sooner
avoid it—but aye, so we will.

           
Sima butted his cheek, tickling his
left eye with the tuft of an ear. He buried his face in the silk of her fur,
then climbed back to his feet. Keep yourself to the trees.

           
Keep yourself to one wine.

           
Kellin grinned. But not to one
woman? So much faith in me, lir!

           
No, Sima answered. There is only one
woman.

           
Kellin did not care. One would be sufficient.

           
The common room was small but
well-lighted, and the rushes were clean. Prosperous place ...

           
Kellin glanced around. As well it
should be, so close to the ferry crossing and the
North Road
out of Ellas, frequently traveled by
merchants. He made arrangements for a room, moved to a table nearer the kegs
than the front door, and looked for the girl.

           
It did not take long to find her,
nor for her to find him. Even as he hooked out the stool from beneath the small
table, she was at his side. Deft hands unpinned his cloak, then stripped it
from his shoulders.

           
The girl froze. Black eyes were avid
as she saw the gold on his arms; a glance quickly flicked at his left ear
assured her that her assessment was correct.

           
She smiled, black eyes shining bronze
in the light as lir-gold glinted. She was young and pretty in a wild,
black-eyed way, bold in manners and glances. Content with the weight of his
wealth, she eyed the fit of his leggings.

           
She was quite striking, though in
time her looks would coarsen. For now, she would do. Better than most. Kellin
smiled back. It was an agreement they reached easily without speaking a word;
when he tossed the silver coin down on the table to pay for his food and drink,
she caught it before it bounced. Indeed, she will do—much better than expected.

           
"Pleasure, my lord?"

           
He grinned briefly. It was a
two-part question, as she well knew when she asked it. "For now, usca. If
you have it."

           
"We hae it." White teeth
flashed as the coin disappeared into a pocket in her voluminous woolen skirt.
She wore a faded crimson blouse and a yellow tabard-smock over it, but both
were slashed low to show off small, high breasts. She had pinned her thick
black hair at the back of her neck in a bundled mass, but locks had come loose
and straggled down her back. Finer strands curled against the pallor of her
slender neck.

           
Kellin found the disarray, and the
neck, infinitely appealing. "And what else?" he asked.

           
She showed her teeth again.
"Lamb."

           
"Lamb will do." He let her
see his assessment of her; she would mark it flattery, in the glint of green
eyes. "What do they call you?"

           
"They call me whate'er they
like," she said frankly. "So may you. But my name be Kirsty."

           
"Kirsty." He liked it.
"Mine is Kellin."

           
She measured him avidly.
"You're a shapechanger, are ye no', wi' all that gold ... ?" She
nodded before he had a chance to answer. "I ne'er seen a shapechanger
w'out the yellow eyes."

           
He found her northern speech as
appealing as her slender neck with its weight of hair. He gave her the benefit
of a slow, inviting smile he had found years before to be most effective.
"Do I frighten you?"

           
Arched black brows shot up.
"You?" Kirsty laughed. "I've been all my life a wine-girl . ..
'tisn't much a man hoe to frighten me!" She paused consideringly. "Do
ye mean to, then?"

           
Her hand rested against the table.
He put out his own and gently touched the flesh that lacked the smooth silken
feel of the court women he had known before turning to the Midden; he found her
hand familiar in its toughened competence, and therefore all the more
attractive. "No," he said softly. "I would never mean to hurt
you."

           
Kirsty promised much with eyes that
bespoke experience without prevarication. "I'll bring your lamb, then, and
the usca ... but I'm working, now. I canna gie ye my company till later."

           
He turned his hand against hers so
she could see the bloody glow of the ring on his forefinger.

           
It was unlikely a north country girl
would recognize the crest, but she would know its value well enough.

           
Black brows rose again. "You'd
nae gie me that for a night, nor a week of nights!"

           
"Not this, perhaps—" he
could not; it signified his rank, "—but certainly this." He touched
the torque at his neck.

           
Her eyed widened. " Tis too
much'. For a wine-girl? Hae ye no more coin?"

           
"I 'hae' coin." He
mimicked her accent. "But you hae a pretty neck."

           
She assessed the torque again.
"A man's, no' a woman's ... t'would lie low—here—" She touched her
collar bone, then drew her fingers more slowly to the cleft of her high breasts
and smiled to see his eyes.

           
He understood the game, "Do you
not want it, then?"

           
For her, the game was ended. Dreams
filled her eyes as the breath rushed out of her mouth. "Wi’ that I could
go to Mujhara! Am I a fool? Nae, I'd take it. But what d'ye want for it?"

           
"Your company. Now."

           
"Bu' . .." She glanced
around. "
Tarn
'd turn me out, did I no' tend the
others."

           
"I will pay
Tarn
, too."

           
A smooth brow knitted. "Hae it
been so long, then, that ye're that hungry?"

           
"Hungry," he answered,
"for all the things that satisfy a man." He clasped her fingers
briefly, then released her hand. "Food and drink first. Come when you
can."

           
Her eyes were on the torque.
"Promises made are no' kept, sometimes. D'ye think I'm a fool, then?"

           
For answer Keilin rose and stripped
the torque from his neck. He hooked it around her own, then settled its weight
low, on delicate collar bones. Its patina glowed richly against the pallor of
her skin.

           
Her fingertips touched it. "Oh
. .."

           
Kellin grinned. "But you will
earn it, my lass, with me."

           
Kirsty laughed aloud, then bent
close to him.

           
"Nae, I think not—'tis a gift I'd
hae done you for naught at all."

           
"For naught!"

           
"Aye!" Her laugh was
throaty. "I've no' seen a man like you in all o' my days!"

           
Chagrined, he clapped a hand to her
rump and found it firm and round. "Lamb and usca, then, before I die of
hunger."

           
"Won't be hunger you die
of!" She swung and was gone before he could retort. Kellin ate lamb, drank
usca, and laid a few wagers on the fall of the dice in a friendly game at
another table. He was marked as Cheysuli, but no one appeared to resent it.
Eyes followed the glint of gold when he moved in the lamplight, but the greed
was friendly and lacking in covetous intent.

           
Kirsty appeared at last and ran deft
fingers down his arm. Then she touched the buckle of his belt and tugged.
"I'm done," she said. "Are you?"

           
"That depends," he
gathered up his modest winnings, "on which game you refer to. With this
one, aye; most certainly I am done. The other is not yet begun—" he
grinned, "—and like to last all night."