Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 (49 page)

           
"Let us see what pleasure it
brings you when next he services you."

           
"There are other beds," I
told her. "And if you ensorcell those, there is always the floor.

           
Melusine threw down the tunic. In
her hands, all the stitching had come undone. My labor was for naught.

           
I waited until she was gone. Then I
went to the chest and drew out the pouch in which he had put his lifestone. I loosened
the thong-snugged mouth and poured the ring into my hand.

           
In my palm the stone was black. No
life moved within it. But I had seen it burn twice; first, at my father's
touch; then on Devin's hand.

           
A lifestone crushed ended an
Ihlini's life. To kill a Cheysuli, you kill his lir; to kill us, you destroy
the lifestone.

           
If he were not what he seemed and I
struck a chip from the stone, nothing at all would happen and we would know the
truth. But if he were Devin and I broke a piece of the stone, it would injure
him.

           
I shut up the ring in my hand. Gold
bit into my flesh. The stone was cool, lifeless. There must be trust between
us. If I doubt, I undermine the foundations we have built.

           
At my mother's behest.

           
I bent and picked up the ruined
tunic. With great care I picked out the tattered embroidery, gathered silk
thread, then began with deliberation to wind it around the ring. I would have
him wear the stone where my mother could see it.

           
When that was done, I would begin
the pain-staking spell to undo the binding she had put upon the bed. Kept close
in my arms, where the emptiness did not matter, it was his only haven.

           
Five days later, after a night-long
meeting with my father, Devin came to me high of heart just as dawn broke. He
woke me with a kiss. The bleakness was replaced with good humor and an
unbounded enthusiasm. He showed no effects from staying up all night. "He
says the power is building. He can feel it, he says."

           
I sat upright. "Are you
sure?"

           
He laughed joyously. "I
cannot—I feel precisely the same today as I did when I awoke here—but he
assures me it is true. And so I begin to think I may be of some use after
all."

           
"Some use," I agreed.
"But no one suggests how much." I laughed at his feigned heart-blow.
"And what are you planning? I see the look in your eye."

           
His hand rose in the gesture I knew
so well.

           
Two rings glinted upon it: my
emerald, and the lifestone. There was no hesitation in his manner.

           
His fingers were steady, assured,
and the rune was more elaborate than any I had seen from him before.

           
"Kir'a'el!" I cried.
"Devin—"

           
It shimmered in the air. Then it
snuffed out the candles and became the only illumination in the room,
dominating the dawn. It set his eyes aflame.

           
"Only a trick," he said
negligently, but he could not hide his satisfaction.

           
"Three months ago you could not
bestir the air to save your soul." I raised my own hand and built a
matching rune. It was the distaff side of kir'a'el.

           
Mine met his; they melted together
like wax, then twined themselves into one. The conjoined rune glowed with the
purest form of godfire. I stared hard at Devin, filled with blazing pride. This
was what we were born for. "Together we can make anything!"

           
"A child?"

           
"Not yet." We touched our
hands together, let the new rune bathe our flesh, then bespoke the word that
banished it. "We shall have to try again."

           
His eyes were still alight with the
acknowledgment of power. "Come out with me now. I have horses
waiting."

           
"You are sure of
yourself."

           
"Then I will go by myself."

           
"Hah." I arched brows
haughtily. "You could not even get beyond the Field of Beasts, let alone
find the defile."

           
"I found it before."

           
"Tied to the back of a horse
like so much dead meat? Aye, you found it." I caught his hand and kissed
it. "Let us go, then. I could not bear to have you lost."

           
But even as I dressed, having
banished him from the chamber—otherwise I would never progress beyond the
disrobing stage—I was aware of a tiny flicker of trepidation. For so long he
had been helpless, bereft of Ihlini power, yet now he promised power in full
measure. I did not begrudge it—we are what we are—but I was concerned.

           
Would he become so consumed by the
power and Lochiel's ambitions that he would neglect me? Once the child was
born, would there be a need for me? Or would I become as my mother: valueless
in their eyes because my duty was done?

           
Naked, I shivered. Before me I
conjured his eyes, so avid in tenderness. I felt his arms, his mouth; knew the
answer in a body perfectly attuned to his.

           
Lochiel had sired me. Melusine had
borne me.

           
But it was Devin of High Crags who
had brought me to life. Without him, my flame dimmed.

           
I will not be defined by the man
with whom I sleep.

           
Yet he was defined by me. I was his
only water in a wasteland of emptiness.

           
Devin took me out of Valgaard into
the rocky canyons. It was all new to him, who had seen none of it, and I
gloried in the telling of our history. He was fascinated, asking many
questions, until the cat squalled. The noise of it echoed eerily.

           
He reined his horse in at once. His
face was stark white, bleached of color and substance. Even his lips cried out
for my mother's paint.

           
"Only a cat," I said.
"Snow cat, I would wager. They sometimes come into the canyons. Though
usually in winter." I frowned. "It is early for it, but—"

           
The cat screamed again. Devin stared
blindly.

           
I searched for any subject to break
his mood. "My father will call for a hunt. Perhaps you would care to go.
You could have the pelt for your own ... or perhaps I could make a coverlet for
the cradle—"

           
He turned to me then and fixed me
with a gaze of such brittle intensity I thought he might shatter. His voice was
a travesty. "The cat is calling for something."

           
I shrugged. "Its mate, perhaps.
Devin—"

           
A shudder took him. The tendons
stood up in his neck like rope knotted much too tightly. His mouth moved
rigidly as if to form words, but no voice issued.

           
"Devin—"

           
"Do you hear it?" His eyes
were wholly empty.

           
"A lonely, unhappy beast."

           
"Devin, wait—" But he rode
on, ignoring me. "Snow cats can be dangerous. If it is sick, or injured
..." He heard none of it. I turned my own mount and followed, irritated.
"Wait for me."

           
He halted his horse roughly. As I
saw the cause, I reined mine in as well. "By the god," I whispered.

           
Not a snow cat after all, but a
black mountain cat. She crouched upon a ledge not far above our heads, keening
a wail that echoed throughout the canyon. Great golden eyes glared.

           
I caught my breath.
"Beware—"

           
But the cat did not spring. She
merely held her crouch, staring down at him. Then, as I rode forward, she
looked directly at me and screamed.

           
I reined in abruptly, apologizing
inwardly to my mount. But the spell was broken. The cat turned and ran, leaping
up through a wide crack. She was gone almost at once.

           
I released a breath. "Thanks to
Asar-Suti ..." I rode up to Devin. "I thought she would have
you."

           
He stared after the cat.

           
"Devin."

           
His eyes were empty.

           
"Devin!"

           
At last, he looked at me.
"Lonely," he said. Then, "Let us go home."

           
I was glad to turn my horse and ride
back toward the defile, side by side with Devin. I did not like the pallor of
his face, or the bafflement in his eyes.

           
As if he were incomplete, and now
knew it more than ever.

           
He cried out in his sleep and woke
me, so that I sat upright with a hand clutched to my breast to still the
lurching of my heart. He was still asleep, but he thrashed; I saw him grasp at
his naked hip as if he meant to draw a knife.

           
"Devin." I put a hand upon
his shoulder and felt the rigidity of muscle. "Devin—no." He came
awake at once and lunged upward, one hand grasping my throat as if he would
kill me. "Devin!"

           
His eyes were wild in the shadows of
the chamber. Then sense came back to him, and horror. He knew what he had done.
"Gods—"

           
"I am well," I said at
once, seeing the look in his face. "Only somewhat surprised by your
ferocity." He seemed no better for all my irony, I dismissed it. "I
promise. I am well."

           
One hand raked hair from his face.
Moonlight was gentle, but I could see the scars on his back from where the
river had embraced him. His eyes were still full of realization: he had nearly
strangled me.

           
I touched his shoulder and felt it
tense, "What did you dream?"

           
"The cat."

           
At first I did not understand. Then
the memory came. "The mountain cat we saw two weeks ago?"

           
"No. Another." His eyes
were black in the darkness. "It was a lion."

           
"A lion!" Lions were
mythical beasts. "Why would you dream of a lion?"

           
"It stalks me . .." He let
his breath out on a long sigh, and the tension went with it. "Only a
dream."

           
"Then I will chase it
away." I caught the fallen forelock in my fingers and stripped it back from
his face. "I know what to do."

           
"No." His hand was on my
wrist, pushing it away. "Not—now." He turned back the covers and slid
out of the curtained bed. "I need to go out."

           
I was astonished. "In the
middle of the night?"

           
"I need to walk. Just along the
battlements. I need to be alone." He slipped into a linen shirt that
glowed in the dimness. "I beg you, understand—there is a demon in me. Let
me exorcise it, and I will come back to you."

           
I reached again for irony, so I
would not sound too petty, too clinging, too much in need of him.

           
"By morning? Or is this a
difficult demon?"

           
"Difficult." His smile was
strained. "But my memory of you will vanquish it."

           
"Go, then." I yanked the
covers back over my breasts. "But do not be surprised if I am fast asleep.
It troubles me not at all to have an empty bed."

           
He knew it for what it was, but the
smile did not reach his eyes. He finished dressing, pulled on a fur-lined
cloak, and went out of the chamber.

           
I stared into darkness. Resolution
set me afire.

           
"I can banish a lion. I am
Lochiel's daughter."

           
He came up hours later. I was not
asleep. He knew it instantly and apologized for keeping me awake by his
absence.

           
I held the blankets up so he could
climb beneath them. "Do you think I care?" His face was worn and
bleak as he stripped out of his clothing; we had but an hour before dawn.
"Have you destroyed the demon?"

           
He climbed in beside me, shivering,
and drew me very close. At first he was gentle; then he held me so tightly I
thought I might shatter. He shuddered once, twice. "Ginevra—" It was
muted against my hair, but a cry nonetheless. "Gods—"

           
I had known it was coming. He had
been wound too tightly. Now the wire snapped.

           
I held him tightly, wrapping arms
around his shoulders and legs around his legs, until he was cocooned in flesh
and hair. "Be still," I whispered. "I am here for you. I will
always be here for you."

           
"I think—I think I am going
mad."

           
"No. No, Devin. There is no
madness in you."

           
"I wake in the night, in the
darkness—"

           
"I know."

           
"—and there is nothing there,
nothing at all, save emptiness and anguish .. . and then I recall there is you,
always you—Ginevra, here, for me. And I know that you are my salvation, my only
chance for survival—and I am afraid—"

           
"What do you fear?"

           
"That—you will go. That I will
prove myself unworthy. That I will be turned out of Valgaard. That you will
repudiate me because I am not what Lochiel needs me to be."

           
I stroked hair from his face.
"You said he is pleased by your progress. And I have seen it also. There
is nothing to fear, Devin. What can come between us?" Then, when he did
not answer, "Where did you go?"

           
He said nothing at first. Then he
shifted onto his back, cradling me in one naked arm. My head rested in the
hollow of his shoulder. "I went below," he said finally. "To the
undercroft."

           
For the merest moment I believed he
meant the Gate. "The cats," I blurted.

           
"Aye." He was very still.
The storm had passed, but the aftermath was as painful to see. His expression
was wasted. "They are wild things, Ginevra. They were not made to be
caged." His breath gusted softly. "Nor was I."

           
A hollow fear began to beat in my
breast. "They are cats."

           
"I looked in their eyes,"
he said. "I saw the truth in them. They know what they have lost. They
long for it back,"

           
More desperately, I repeated,
"They are cats."

           
"So am I, in my own way. I am
very like them. I am caged by ignorance."

           
I knew it suddenly, "You want
to set them free."

           
His hand settled in my hair, winding
it through his fingers. "If we did, he would only replace them with
others. Perhaps even the black one we saw in the canyon. I think—I think I
could not bear to see more imprisoned then he already has. No. Let them alone.
They have known their cages too long."

           
I drew him closer yet, warming his
body as I wished I could warm his spirit. How long? I wondered. How long will
you know your cage?

           
How long would I know mine, in the
prison of his arms?

           
As long as I permitted it. As long
as I desired it.

           
Forever is frightening.

           
The door opened very quietly as I
sat before the polished plate and combed my hair- In the reflection I saw
Devin's face, peeking around the door, and the expression he wore.

           
I stopped combing instantly and
turned on the stool. "What?"

           
The set of his brows was comical in
dismay. "I wanted to surprise you." But he did not seem so
disheartened that the smile left his face.

           
"What?" I repeated.

           
He gestured me down as I made to
rise. "No.

           
Wait." His expression was
serious now, and very intent. His outstretched hand was held palm up.

           
He watched it closely; I watched
him. I saw the concentration, the effort he used, and then the startled wonder
he suppressed instantly so as to hide his childlike pleasure in a task at last
accomplished.

           
In his palm danced a tiny column of
pure white flame. Slowly it twisted, knotting itself, then reshaped itself into
the aspect of a bird, brilliant as a diamond.

           
I held my breath. The bird made of
flame became a bird in truth.

           
Devin extended the hand. "For
you."

           
I put out my own hand, took the bird
onto a finger, and suppressed the urge to cry. It was a tiny white nightingale,
perfect in all respects, and very, very real. It cocked its head, observed me
from glittering eyes, then began a jubilant song.

           
Devin's eyes shone. "Lochiel
says it is because of Valgaard. That though I have no recollections of power,
the power simply is. We are so close to the Gate ... he says there is power for
the taking; that we breathe it every day, A man—or a woman—need only know how
to use it. Even a Cheysuli, given enough time, if he claims the Old Blood."

           
The bird's tiny feet clung to my
fingers. I could not look at Devin for fear I would see the change as I gave
him the truth not all men would tolerate.

           
"You do know, do you not
 
. . . that I am also Cheysuli?"

           
He laughed. "Since your mother
is a halfling, one would assume so."

           
I set the nightingale on the edge of
my mirror.

           
"The House of Homana and my own
House are so thickly intertwined, it is a wonder we keep our identities
straight." I looked at him now. "You do not mind?"

           
He came to me and threaded fingers
into my hair. "Cheysuli—Ihlini .. . what difference does it make? What
matters is that we have one another."

           
"It is tainted blood. The
Cheysuli desire to destroy us."

           
"So we will destroy them
first." He laughed. "It is a matter of upbringing, not blood.
Prejudice and hatred is created, not born. You serve the Ihlini because you
know nothing else .. . but had you been raised in Homana you would serve the
Cheysuli instead."

           
"I never could!"

           
"If you knew no better, of
course you would."

           
"But I do—"

           
"So you do. And so you serve
the Seker."

           
It could not go unasked. "What
about you?"

           
Devin smiled. "I will do what
must be done. If the god grants us immortality, it would be a sorry thing to
repudiate his grace—and therefore watch forever as our race dies out at the
behest of the Cheysuli."

           
I guided his hands and pressed them
against my belly. "We will not die out. Not while the child within me
lives."

           
Wonder engulfed his face. His
fingers were gentle as he pressed them against the folds of my skirts.
"Here?"

           
I laughed. "Thereabouts. It is
too small for you to feel. But in six months you shall have your son."

           
He cradled my face in his hands.
"Thank you," he said. "You have made it possible for me to be a
man."

           
I found it odd. "But you are a
man!"

           
"An incomplete one. Do you
understand? Now we can be wed. Now, at last, I can go before the god and let
him weigh my value."

           
Against my ear I heard the beating
of his heart.

           
Behind us, the bird stopped singing.
When I looked around, the nightingale was gone.

           
Illusions are transitory. At least
Devin was not.

           
I had seen the Gate many times, and
the cavern that housed it, but never through Devin's eyes. It made it new
again.

           
I took his hand as we stepped out of
the passageway into the cavern. He did first what everyone does: tipped his
head back to stare up at the arches, the glasswork ceiling alive with reflected
flame. The symmetry was incomparable. So many layers of ceilings, so many
soaring arches, and massive twisted columns spiraling from the floor.

           
We were required to pass through
them; at the end of the colonnade lay the Gate itself.

           
Devin was puzzled. "Where does
the light come from? I see no torches."