Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 (54 page)

           
Kellin took her hand away, caught up
the other one, then tucked both against his chest so she could feel his
heartbeat. "I have been afraid of many things in my life, but none so much
as the intimacy of loving a woman. I lay with many, aye, to assuage a physical
need in vain attempts to dull the emotional pain, but nothing sufficed. I was
always empty, always in despair, despite what I believed. Despite what I
yearned for." His fingers warmed hers. He pressed her palms against his
heart. "In fear of losing others, I distorted my soul on purpose. I
cherished bitterness. I drove people away, even those whom I loved, because I wanted
no one to care for me so I would not be required to care for them ... to care
was to lose them, and I could not bear it. Not after so many deaths," He
carried her hands to his mouth and kissed them. "The river gave me the
chance to become another man, perhaps the one I was meant to be all along. What
you see before you now is not Kellin of Homana, but Kellin the man, of whom
Ginevra had the shaping." He set his mouth against her palm. "I am
your construct. If you would destroy me now, you need only with-draw your
love."

           
She looked away from him. She gazed
over his shoulder. Beyond the defile, beyond the Beasts, Valgaard yet burned.
The air was laden with smoke.

           
He would not release her hands.
"What we have shared could transfigure a world. Even this one."

           
The scent of smoke was thick.
Ginevra's mouth warped briefly. "I have no roof," she said. "It
has all fallen down."

           
Kellin cradled her face in his
hands, threading fingers into the shining wealth of her hair. Softly he said,
"Homana-Mujhar's still stands."

           
She flinched visibly; he saw she
regretted it at once. "I am Lochiel's daughter."

           
He pressed his lips against her
brow. He kissed it twice, thrice, then moved the great distance between
forehead and mouth. Cynric or no, prophecy or no, how could I even consider
giving up this woman?

           
He never had. Not once.

           
The truth seared his soul even as
his lips shaped words on hers with careful tenderness. "I need you,"
he whispered, "as I have needed no one. You are my balance."

           
He knew it was not enough. But it
was all he had to give her.

           
When her hand touched his shoulder,
Kellin opened his eyes. It was full night. He had not slept. Neither had she.

           
He waited. He held his silence, his
position. The tension in her fingers, as she touched his shoulder, was a
reflection of his own.

           
The canyon stank of smoke. Valgaard
burned.

           
The full moon above them was dyed
violet and black.

           
Her hand withdrew. When she touched
him again, her fingers were cool on his face. They touched his mouth and clung.

           
Kellin sat up. He sat upon his heels
even as she sat upon hers; their knees touched, and hands.

           
Ginevra stared into his face. Her
own was shadowed in the shroud of her hair. He saw the angle of a cheekbone,
the curve of her brow. Her eyes were pockets of darkness. "If I am your
balance, you are my lifestone."

           
In silence, Kellin waited.

           
She took one of his hands and
carried it to her breast. She cupped his fingers around it. "Make me feel
again."

           
Ginevra stopped Kellin at the top of
the steps leading into Homana-Mujhar. Rigid hands bit into his forearm as he
turned immediately. "Meijhana-—what is it?"

           
Her face was a sculpted mask with
burning ice for eyes. "How will you say it?" she asked. "How
will you tell them who I am?"

           
Kellin smiled, moving down a single
step so he did not tower so much; she was shorter than he, and delicate, but
her stature belied the dominance of her spirit. "Easily. I will say to all
of them:

           
‘This lady is Ginevra. This lady is
my cheysula. You all of you should be pleased the beast is tamed at last.'
"

           
Color bloomed in her cheeks.
Fingernails dug through fabric into flesh that was lighter than the norm for a
Cheysuli, but darker than hers. "And will they want me tamed? The wicked
Ihlini?" She had left tears in Solinde; what she gave him now was pride
fierce as a Cheysuli's. "At least you came to my home without excess
display!"

           
It took effort for him to keep his
hands and mouth from her here and now, out of doors, before the palace entrance
and all the bailey, and the soldiers from the guardhouse. "I was
unconscious," he reminded her. "I have not the slightest idea if
there was display, or no. For all I know, you might have hung me from my ankles
and dried me over a fire."

           
Ginevra let go of his arm. "It
never would have worked. Your brain was much too soggy!"

           
"Meijhana." He captured
her hand and tucked it into his arm, warming it with his own hand. "I know
you too well; you are not the one to hide from a truth, harsh or no. You will
tell them yourself."

           
"Aye," she said, "I
will. Just give me the chance!"

           
Kellin laughed. "Then come into
my house."

           
"Gods—" she blurted,
"—wait—"

           
He turned around promptly and sat
down upon the steps, hooking arms around upraised knees as Sima sat down beside
him. The cat's purr rumbled against his thigh. When Ginevra did not move, he
eventually glanced up. "Well?"

           
Sunlight glinted on silver; he had
loved her mass of black hair, but found this as much to his liking. She could
be hairless, and I would love her.

           
And then he grinned; who would have
predicted Kellin of Homana would lose his heart at all, and to an Ihlini?

           
"What are you doing?" she
asked.

           
"Waiting. You wanted me
to." He paused, elated by her presence and the knowledge of what life with
her would be; never dull, never quiet. The Prince and Princess of Homana did
not harbor timid souls. "Should I have food sent out? If we are to be here
so long . .."

           
Ginevra's sharp inhalation hissed.
New color stained her cheeks. She turned on her heel and marched directly into
the palace.

           
He leaned his weight into Sima, who
threatened to collapse his leg. Contradictory.

           
Then you we well-suited.

           
How could we not be? Was it not
prophesied?

           
Sima's eyes slitted. Not
specifically. The prophecy merely said the Lion would lie down with the witch.

           
Even the gods could not predict that
you would be so much alike.

           
He smiled. By now she may well be in
the Great Hall confronting the Mujhar himself.

           
Or in your chamber confronting the
knowledge of other women.

           
Kellin sat bolt upright, then got up
at once.

           
Sima relented. She is in the solar
speaking with the Queen. Leave the women to one another—your place is with the
Mujhar.

           
And you?

           
Sima's tufted ears nicked. She
stared past him into the sunlight, transfixed on a thought he could not
decipher. The ears flattened once, then lifted again.

           
Kellin prodded. Lii?

           
She looked at him. Her stare was
level. He felt in that instant she looked beyond the exterior to the soul
within, and wondered how she found it.

           
It is for you to do, she told him.

           
Kellin smiled. "He will
understand. Once I have explained it. All of them will." He laughed aloud
for joy. "Most assuredly my jehan, who undoubtedly knew very well what was
to become of me!"

           
The cat's glance was oblique as she
shouldered by his knee into the palace. The Great Hall, she said, where the
Lion lives.

           
He went there at once, pushing open
the hammered doors, and saw, as expected, the Mujhar sitting quietly in the
belly of the Lion, contemplating his hall.

           
Kellin paused just inside the doors.
It had been half a year since he had been sent away by a man clearly desperate
to salvage his only heir. 'Well, the heir is salvaged. Homana is preserved.
Kellin's smile was slow, shaped by anticipation. There was much he longed to
say, much he meant to share, but especially Ginevra. I will make him
understand.

           
And how could he not? Lochiel is
dead. The Wheel of Life still turns.

           
Kellin drew in a breath, lifted his
head, then walked with steady strides the length of the firepit to pause before
the dais. There he lowered his eyes out of respect for the man, and gave him
Cheysuli greeting.

           
The Mujhar did not answer.

           
Anticipation waned. Kellin's belly
tightened.

           
Does he know already? Has word come
before us:

           
"The Prince of Homana has taken
to wife an Ihlini witch!"

           
The Mujhar offered nothing. When
Kellin could no longer stand it, he raised his head at last.

           
"Grandsire—"

           
He checked. He stood there a long
while. He denied it once, and twice. The truth offended him.

           
He longed to discard it and conjure
another.

           
But truth was truth. Magic could not
change it.

           
His spirit withered within.

           
Kellin climbed the three steps and
sank to his knees. His trembling hand, naked of signet, reached out to touch
the dark Cheysuli flesh that was still faintly warm.

           
He looked for Sleeta, but the
mountain cat was gone.

           
Kellin thought of Sima. She knew.
When she sat upon the steps— But he let it go. He looked into the face of the
Cheysuli warrior who had ruled Homana for more than forty years. The body
slumped only slightly, tilted slantwise across the back of the throne, as if he
merely rested. One gold-freighted arm lay slack, hand upturned against a
leather-clad thigh; the other was draped loosely along the armrest, so the dark
Cheysuli fingers followed the curve of the claws. On his forefinger the seal
ring of Homana glinted dully.

           
Though the flesh had stilled, the
bones as yet defied the truth. Brennan was, even dead, still very much a king.

           
Kellin's mouth moved stiffly as he
managed a smile. He said it as he had told her on the steps before the palace.
"The lady is Ginevra. The lady is my cheysula. You should be pleased the
beast is tamed at last."

           
In the Lion, silence reigned. The
Mujhar had abdicated.

           
"So much—" his grandson
whispered, kneeling before the king. "So much I meant to say."

           
Mostly leijhana tu'sai, for being
jehan as well as grandsire.

           
The Mujhar of Homana left the Great
Hall and went directly to Aileen, where Ginevra was. He was aware of an odd
dispassion, as if someone had wrung him empty of grief, and pain; with effort
he put into words the requirements of state.

           
Then he put into words that which
most required telling: that he had loved and honored her cheysul far more
deeply than he had shown, as he loved and honored her.

           
In her face he saw his father's:
chalk eroding in storm; crumbling beneath the sun. It ate below the layers and
bared the granite of her grief, hard and sharp and impenetrable, and ageless as
the gods.

           
Pale lips moved at last. "If
this were Erinn, we would take him to the sacred tor and give him to the
cileann."

           
But this was not Erinn. They would
take him to his tomb and lay him to rest with other Mujhars.

           
Kellin kissed his granddame. He sent
for a servant. He sent for a shar tahl and Clankeep's clan-leader.

           
He sent for his lir to bide her time
with Ginevra, whose eyes bespoke her empathy, and returned to the Great Hall.

           
People came. They took away the
body. They gave him a ring. They called him "my lord Mujhar." They
left him as he desired: alone in the hall as the day shapechanged to dusk.

           
Kellin felt sick to his stomach. He
sat upon the dais and wished the day were different, that he could stop the
Wheel of Life from turning and then start it up again, only this time moving
backward, backward, BACKWARD, so the time was turned up-side down and his grandsire
could live again.

           
He stared into the blazing firepit.
I do not want to be Mujhar.

           
He had wanted it all of his life.

           
I want him back. Grandsire. Let him
be Mujhar.

           
They had trained him from birth to
be king in his grandsire's place.

           
A king must die to let another rule
in his place.

           
Kellin shut his eyes. He heard in
the silence all the arguments they had shared, all the rude words he had
shouted because his grandsire wanted too much, demanded too much of him;
chained his grandson up so he would never know any freedom.

           
The words were gall in his mouth.
"Too much left unsaid."

           
Behind him crouched the Lion. Its
presence was demanding. Kellin heaved himself up and turned to confront it.
Gilded eyes glared back.

           
He moved because he had to; he could
no longer sit still. He climbed the dais. Touched the throne.

           
Moved around to the back of it and
turned to face the wall. He stared hard at the tapestry while the lions within
its folds blurred into shapeless blobs.

           
He remembered very clearly the day
lan had died. One small hand, not much darker than a Humanan's, and one old
hand, bronzed flesh aging into brittle, yellowed flesh.

           
"Gods," he said aloud,
"you should have made a better man than me."

           
"The gods wrought very well. In
time, you will know it. I already do."

           
Kellin turned. "Jehan." He
was mostly unsurprised; it seemed to fit perfectly. "You know."

           
"I know."

           
"Have you seen the Queen?"

           
Aidan's eyes were steady. "I
did not see your cheysula." He let it register, "But aye, I saw my
jehana."

           
The words were hard to say.
"Did you know—before?"

           
Aidan's face was graven with new
lines at eyes and mouth. "I am privileged to know things before others do.
It is part of my service."

           
" 'Privileged' to know your
father has died?"

           
"Privileged to know certain
things so I may prepare the way for greater purposes."

           
Kellin smiled a little. "A true
shar tahl, couching his words in obscurity."