Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 (47 page)

           
"Did you test him?" my
father asked.

           
I flattened my palms against my
skirts and held my hands very still. "What magic he knew is forgotten.
Even bel'sha'a. He is a child, my lord father—an infant empty of power." I
took a careful breath, knowing what I said was incredibly important. "If
you sought a tool, you could not find a better one. He has nothing on which to
rely save what we give him. There are no preconceptions. How better to teach
the man how to serve the master than by replacing the old memories with the
new?"

           
Only the faintest glint in his eyes
betrayed his interest. I knew I had caught him. Now there was no need for
subtlety.

           
My father smiled. I saw him glance
at my mother who watched him with narrowed eyes.

           
Hers, too, are pale brown, though
not like his; hers are almost golden except when the light hits them fully, and
then the Cheysuli shows.

           
"He shall be mine,"
Lochiel said.

           
I put up my chin. It was time I
declared myself lest she do it first. "But you will share him with
me."

           
My father laughed. "I shall do
better than that. He shall be your charge until I believe the time is right . -
- you may have the training of him. In all things."

           
I could not help the burst of pride
in my chest.

           
Never had he bestowed upon me such a
gift. It was a mark of his acknowledgment of my blood.

           
He was giving me the opportunity to
serve my heritage.

           
Still, I hesitated. "Are you
sure I am worthy?"

           
He laughed. "You need not fear
that you might tarnish the vessel. I will be here for you ... I will see what
you do. He is meant for the god, Ginevra, as you are. Do you think I would give
him immortality only to have you watch him sicken and die the way others
do?"

           
"Lochiel!" my mother
cried. "You promise too much."

           
"Do I?" His tone was cool.
"Do you wish it for you in place of your daughter?"

           
Color stained her face. "You
have never suggested it. Even when I asked—"

           
He made a subtle gesture with his
hand. I had seen it before; I had tried to mimic it desperately because it
always silenced my mother. "Melusine," he said, "you live here
on my sufferance."

           
Her red lips trembled, then firmed.
"I am your wife."

           
"That does not make you worthy
of the Seker's favor."

           
Her eyes blazed almost yellow.
"You promise it to her.”

           
He stood next to me. His hand was on
my shoulder. The fingers crept into my hair, which hung loose to my hips, and I
felt the warmth of his flesh through the velvet of my gown. "Ginevra is
the flesh of my flesh, the blood of my blood, the bone of my bone," he
said quietly. "Her mind is mine as well. You are none of these things ...
I used you to get the child, and now I have her."

           
"Lochiel!"

           
His other hand rose. I could see it
from the corner of my eye. I looked at my mother because I could look nowhere
else. "Melusine," he said, "I have cared for you. You bore me a
child. You suckled Kellin of Homana when I bid you do it. You have served me
well. But you surely must see that you and your daughter are destined for
different ends."

           
"I bore her!" It was her
only chance now.

           
"In blood and pain; I know it.
But so do the mares, and the cows, and the ewes . .. and they are not elevated
by the honor of the Seker." He paused. "Surely you must see."

           
Her face was very pale. "You
mean me to die, then."

           
"Not before due time."

           
"Before her time!"

           
Lochiel sighed. "You are a
shrew."

           
It was incongruous. He was the most
powerful sorcerer in the entire world, yet all he did was call my mother a
name.

           
It infuriated her; I saw then what
he did. "A shrew! In the name of Asar-Suti, are you mad? A shrew?"

           
My father laughed. There was
something between them I could not understand. "Melusine, do you believe
you have displeased me? You are all I could wish for. You suit me."

           
Her eyes glinted yellow. "Then
why do you threaten me?"

           
"To relieve my boredom."
He smoothed my hair, then released it. "She is lovely, our Ginevra ... and
this binding of the bloodlines will insure our survival. But Devin must go
before the god. The blessing is required."

           
My mother was less angry now, but
still unsettled. She hated to be used; before, I had not seen it. I was old
enough now to begin to understand.

           
"And if the blessing is
denied?" She cast me a glance. "What happens to Devin then?"

           
"He dies,” Lochiel said.

           
My mother looked at me and laughed.

           
I could not echo her. I knew she
hoped he would.

           
"A fool," I told him.

           
He ignored me. He sat up anyway and
swung his legs over the edge of the bed. I watched not the splinted leg itself,
which was at issue, but the face of the man who struggled to redeem himself in
the eyes of the woman he was meant to wed.

           
It meant something to him. It meant
a great deal to him. It pleased me to know why; that of all things in the world
to come unexpectedly, we would make a match between a man and a woman who loved
one another.

           
His color was much improved. A lock
of black hair, now clean and glossy, fell forward over his forehead. The
swelling of his face was gone, so that the clean lines of nose and brow formed
a perfect melding, complementing the oblique angles of his cheekbones and the
clarity of his eyes framed in sooty lashes that rivaled my own.

           
"A fool," I murmured,
applying it to myself though he believed it meant for him. Never had I thought
I could love a man the way I loved Devin, and we not even wed yet. We were, as
yet, nothing but intendeds; but they all knew, everyone, despite our
circumspection. It was easier for them to know than for us to admit it. As yet,
we said nothing of it.

           
The ends of the splint tapped down;
Devin winced. It would not stop him, I knew; I had learned that much of him in
the past few weeks.

           
A stubborn, intransigent man.

           
And entirely beautiful, in the way a
man can be who is clearly a man. Male, I thought, Expressly, completely male,
like the cats in the undercroft.

           
I wanted to laugh. My mother had
lost. It pleased me intensely that he was as I expected, as I had dreamed
between sleep and wakefulness, when my body would not be quiet. I understood,
now, what lay between my parents.

           
"Devin—" I shook my head.
"It is not necessary. I know you are not a weakling ... let it heal."

           
His mouth was compressed in a grim.
Flat line.

           
He intended to try again. I sighed
and set my teeth; he would only damage himself.

           
I made a slight gesture from my
chair, so that the bindings undid themselves and the splints fell away.
Unbound, the leg was ill-suited to standing.

           
Devin looked at the fallen linen and
the wooden sticks. "You did that."

           
I arched my brows. "I did warn
you."

           
"No—you called me a fool."

           
"That was my warning."

           
He scowled. Beneath black brows, his
eyes glittered like glass. "I cannot stand without aid."

           
"No."

           
He sighed. "The lesson is duly
learned. Will you bind it up again?"

           
He would not admit it, but the leg
hurt. Forgoing magic, because I longed so much to touch him, I knelt on the
ground and bound it up by hand again. The flesh was flaccid and soft. The bones
inside knit, but the muscles were wasting, He watched me as I tied the knots.
His voice was hoarse, as if he held back something he longed to say. "If
we Ihlini are truly as powerful as you say, why leave healing to splints and
linen bindings? Why not ensorcell my leg?"

           
I sat down in my chair again. We
spent much time together in the small chamber, as I taught him what he knew
already but did not recall. "My father desired you to know
limitations."

           
"Ah." His mouth hooked
down.

           
"And there is another reason.
Healing is a Cheysuli gift."

           
"It would seem a benevolent
gift. Perhaps if I had a Cheysuli here . . ." He grinned. "I see a
storm in your eyes."

           
"You should. Besides, a
Cheysuli here in Valgaard would have no power. It is because of the Gate—the
Seker is too strong. The only magic here is that which he makes himself."

           
Devin's expression was serious.
"And when will I see him?"

           
"When my father wishes you
to." I sketched ori’neth. "Try it, Devin."

           
"I have tried."

           
"Again."

           
He put his hand into the air. His
other was naked of lifestone; he had taken it off because, in losing weight,
the ring would not seat itself properly. "Your father has not come to me
again. How is he to know when I am ready?"

           
"Make the rune. He will
know."

           
"Because you will tell
him?"

           
"No one tells Lochiel anything;
no one has to. My father knows things." I sighed. "Devin—"

           
He tried. Fingers warped, twisted,
mimicking the patterns. Only the barest outline appeared, and then he let his
hand drop. "There. You see?"

           
"You mastered bel'sha'a,"
I reminded him.

           
"Ori'neth comes next."

           
Devin was glum. "I have no
aptitude."

           
I laughed at him outright.
"Aptitude! You are Ihlini." I smiled at his disgruntlement. "It
was better. This time I could see the air parting. When you can separate the
air and put the godfire in the seam between air and air, you will have learned
the trick." I paused. "You learned bel'sha'a."

           
"In six weeks," he said.
"I will be an old man before I learn the third level, and useless as a
husband." He scowled at me. "What use are such tricks, Ginevra? They
could not stop a man."

           
"These could not, it is true ..
. but these are the first runes, Devin. This is a baby's game, to keep the
child occupied." I laughed as the scowl deepened. "But you are a
baby! I could make bel'sha'a when I was three years old. A six-month later I
mastered ori'neth. I have no doubt it was the same for you—you have only
forgotten. The river stole your wits."

           
"I may never get them
back."

           
He was depressed. I pulled my chair
closer, hesitated a moment, then leaned forward and caught his hand. It was an
intimacy I would not have dared two weeks before, but something I needed now. I
wanted to lessen the pain of his weakness.

           
And increase your own?

           
I went on regardless, ignoring my
conscience.

           
"An Ihlini does not gain his
powers until he reaches adolescence, and even then it takes years to focus all
the skills. I am not so well-versed myself." I was, but no need to tell
him that; I was Lochiel's daughter, and the blood showed itself. "I am a
child leading an infant, but who better to recall the days when a simple trick
proved difficult? See this?" I made a gesture and felt the tingling
coldness in my fingertips. The godfire came as I bid it, luridly purple. It
hung in a glowing sheet between Devin and me, but our hands remained linked.
"This is—"

           
He jerked his hand from mine and
lifted it as if to shred the godfire. I tore it aside before he burned himself;
he did not yet know how to ward himself.

           
A sheen of perspiration coated his
face, "Ginevra—"

           
"What is it?" 1 left my
chair and knelt by the bedside. "Devin—what is it?"

           
"That—that—" His eyes were
frightened. "I remember. Dimly. Fire—flame . . ." He closed his eyes.
His body went slack against the pillows. "Why can I remember no
more?"

           
"It will come," I told
him, as I had so many times.

           
He shifted against the bedclothes.
"How can you be certain? How can you know? And if I am not able to master
such things .. ." The chiseled lips compressed themselves flat, robbing
them of shape. "An Ihlini with no arts is hardly fit to be wed to
Lochiel's daughter."

           
I took his hand into my own and
pressed it against my mouth. "He will be fit," I said. "I will
see to it."

           
Devin's eyes were black. His
breathing was shallow and quick. "Can you do such a thing?"

           
Against his flesh, I said, “I can do
many things."

           
The hand turned in my own. He caught
my fingers, carried my hand to his mouth, and let me feel the hardness of his
teeth in the tenderness of his lips, "Show me," he breathed.

           
I shuddered once.
"Not—yet."

           
"When?"

           
It was a difficult truth, but he was
due it rather than lies. "When my father is convinced you are fit to serve
the god."

           
Devin's breath was warm against my
hand as he laughed softly. "Fathers need not always rule their daughters
in such matters as this."

           
"Mine does." I pulled free
of his grasp. "If you forget that, even once, it could be your
death."

           
"Ginevra—"

           
"He is Lochiel," I said; I
knew it was enough.

           
The tension in his body fled. His
mouth moved faintly into an ironic smile. And then it, too, died, and I saw in
its place a harrowing despair. "I have nothing," he said. "I am
nothing—save what you make me."

           
It shook me. "You are
Devin."

           
"I am no one," he said,
"save what you tell me. I am denned by you." His eyes burned livid as
godfire, save they were green in place of purple. "You are my
sanity."

           
I petitioned the Seker to lend him
the strength to find his own sanity, lest mine prove too weak.

           
And then I left the room. I wanted
too badly to give him what he asked.

           
When the splint at last came off and
Devin was able to stand, I learned he was taller than I had expected. He had
lost flesh in his illness, but movement and better meals would restore him.

           
Within the week the crutch was
tossed away and he walked freely on his own. With renewed mobility came vigor
and curiosity to see where I lived.

           
He walked easily enough, but I saw
the trace of tension in his mouth and around his eyes. I wanted him to see all
of Valgaard so he would know it as I did; it was to be his home. It was
important that he understand the kind of power contained in the fortress, so he
would not forget himself—once he had relearned the arts—and wield it
improperly.

           
He progressed at last from ori'neth
to H'ri'a. The rune pattern was roughly worked, but achieved, glowing fitfully
in the air. He was most pleased that it smoked and sputtered, shedding bits of
godfire; I reminded him that control was more important than appearance.

           
"You require new
clothing," I told him as we walked the cobbled courtyard.

           
"I have clothing. And you have
already said appearance is unimportant."

           
"Not unimportant; less
important—and that is in wielding magic, not wearing clothing." I cast a
sidelong glance. "I want you to have better. These do not fit well
enough."

           
"And if I gain back the weight
you say I have lost, the new clothing will not." He touched my cheek.
"Let it be, Ginevra. I am content with what I have."

           
"Then at least wear the
ring." I took it from the pouch hanging from my girdle. "Here. I sent
it to you last year. The least you can do is wear it in my presence."

           
He took the emerald from me,
studying it. I saw the flattening of his mouth. "Even this I do not
recall. Any more than the other ring."

           
"No matter. Put it on."

           
He did so. The gold band turned on
his finger.

           
I saw the look in his eye.

           
"Bind it with wool," I
said. "When you are well, it will fit."