The Betrayal (41 page)

Eliani? May I have a private word with you before the Council?

Yes, all right.

Shall I come to you?

To her chambers—no. Altogether too private. She turned to the nearest staircase and hurried down it.

I am in the gardens.

She reached the fountain court and paced its paths aimlessly. A sharp breeze whipped cold spray around her and chilled her ears beneath her damp hair. She drew her cloak tighter.

She found herself drifting toward a far corner of the court where the sun was spilling down the high wall. She sat on a bench beside a series of curving pools that poured into one another in a gentle cascade, mimicking a stream but with a much slower pace. Closing her eyes against the sun's glare, she turned her face to the light.

“Eliani?”

Startled, she blinked and shaded her eyes with a hand. Turisan stood before her, wearing a formal tunic, his hair caught back in a half braid. He looked very like Jharan, she thought inconsequentially. He looked troubled.

“There is something I wish to tell you before the Council meets.”

Eliani nodded. With a gesture she invited him to sit beside her. Her cloak fell open as she moved, and Turisan smiled as he joined her on the bench.

“I like that gown. It always looks well on you.”

Elinani smiled back but pulled her cloak close again. She felt chilled despite the warm sunshine.

“What did you wish to tell me?”

His face became grave again. “Yesterday in Council, Ehranan put forth a disturbing theory. He believes the alben may suffer a sickness that they acquired in Fireshore.”

“Sickness?”

“Yes. He believes it to be the cause of their misdeeds, their hunger for blood, their hatred of the sun. Eliani, he suggested that it might even now afflict Clan Sunriding.”

Fear gripped her heart. Davhri, her father's sister, was a Sunriding.

“No. We would surely have heard—they would have told us—”

“Would they? After what happened to Darkshore?”

She met his gaze, saw deep concern in his eyes. Her heart sank.

Turisan continued quietly. “If he is right, then it is possible that Kelevon is affected.”

“Kelevon!”

He nodded. “I wished you to know my concern.”

Eliani stared at the graveled walk beneath their feet. Turisan wished her to believe that Kelevon was afflicted with a sickness—the sickness of the alben.

“No. He is perfectly well.”

“He shuns the daylight.”

She felt a flash of annoyance. “So does Heléri! Is she sick as well?”

“Eliani—”

She jumped up from the bench and began to pace. “This is too much conjecture. Ehranan may be right, or partially right, but until we are sure of that, we can make no assumptions.” She halted before Turisan,
glaring a challenge. “Kelevon showed no sign of being unwell.”

“I did not mean to anger you.”

“I am not angry!”

He drew a breath, then said nothing, instead pressing his lips together. A small frown creased his brow.

I know you and Kelevon were once very close.

Turisan
—

Such feelings might make it hard for you to be objective.

I would rather not talk of this now.

I am concerned for your safety.

She inhaled and stopped herself on the edge of a cutting reply, hastily turning away instead. It was all she could do not to stride away from him.

So it began. Even with Turisan—gentle, patient Turisan, whom without doubt she loved—she could not keep from strife.

The pools before her silently flowed on, the last of them at ground level, grown with reeds and lotus, though no blooms just now. She wondered where the water went from there. It seemed still, but could not be or it would have flooded the path.

She breathed deeply, willing herself to be calm. After a moment she turned and saw Turisan watching her, his dark eyes filled with worry. How she longed for his touch, for the smell of him, the taste of him.

Turisan, I need to be alone.

His face was momentarily stricken; then he glanced down, and the neutrality of the courtier fell into place. He stood up.

Very well.

He stepped toward her. Despite herself she flinched, and he hesitated before gently laying his hands on her shoulders. He kissed her brow, a feather's brush of khi
tingling over her face, then stepped back and with another fleeting smile turned and walked away.

She watched him go, unable to move or speak. The summoning chime rang again. Council was called.

She glanced once more at the pool by her feet, suddenly remembering the shade she had seen back home. They were portents of ill, some said. Slowly, numbly, she turned away and walked back into the palace.

 Hallowhall 

Evening could not come too soon for Eliani. She spent all day in Council, trying to attend to the discussions, but was too distracted by thoughts of Kelevon. Turisan was carefully inattentive, which rather than soothing her, filled her with frustration. She wanted to speak to him but refrained for fear that they would only argue.

When the Council recessed for the evening meal, she escaped at once to the arcade and sought out Kelevon's chamber. She had asked a palace attendant to show it to her earlier, and now that the sun had set, it would not be rude to call upon him.

Kelevon answered her knock and opened the door wide to her. He wore the same formal clothes, though he appeared to have bathed. His bronze hair curled richly about his face and shoulders.

Eliani nodded in greeting. “I came to ask if you would join me for the evening meal.”

For a moment his face looked strained, then he smiled. “Thank you, but I would prefer a walk. I understand there are fair gardens here.”

“Yes, the fountain court. Shall I show you?”

His smile softened. “Please.”

She waited while he fetched his cloak, then led him
along the arcade and down the stairs to the court. He stood a moment at the foot of the stairs.

“All this water. Do you not find it disturbing?”

“I dwell near the Three Shades.”

“Ah, yes.”

They strolled through the court, and Eliani dredged up bits of what little she remembered about the fountains. She could recall some of the points of construction, a few of the names of governors who had commissioned various works, and none of the fountains' creators.

“Jhinani can tell you much more. I fear I did not pay close attention when I arrived.”

“Jhinani is Jharan's lady?”

“No, his lady has crossed. Jhinani is her sister. She is hostess here at Hallowhall.”

Kelevon nodded absently, looking around the court. He glanced at her with an apologetic smile.

“I fear I do not find this very restful. Are there no other gardens?”

“Orchards. This way.”

She led him through the Whispering Walk, telling him its name and that Turon had commissioned it but making no other comment. Walking down the length of arching water made her think of Turisan. She found herself frowning and realized as she stepped through the archway into the orchards beyond the wall that she had been holding her breath.

Kelevon let out a satisfied sigh. “Ah, this is better. Where does this path lead?”

Eliani gazed along the graveled pathway that cut along the hillside beside a low stone wall, dividing the orchards. Dusk lay heavy beneath the trees to either side, making the orchards seem darker than the gardens had been. A few early stars glinted among branches that were mostly bare.

“I have never been its length. To the edge of the orchards, I am certain. It may continue beyond.”

Kelevon started forward, his gaze rising to the mountain peaks above the orchards. Eliani followed, offering occasional comments. She had not attended well to Jhinani here, either, but remembered that the upper orchards were the oldest, where the prized stonefruits grew. In the lower orchards were apples and some few varieties of fruit brought from realms to the north, including a sprawling hedge of berry brambles that had grown from a single plant Felisan had brought long before.

She stepped over the wall to walk alongside the hedge, out of habit searching for berries beneath the leaves though she knew it was long past the season. Just the familiar tangle of the boughs, the smell of the bushes and their khi, comforted her with thoughts of home.

“Careful. You would not want to snag that pretty gown.”

Eliani turned to face Kelevon, who had followed her into the orchard. His easy smile faded a little as their gazes met.

“Kelevon …”

“Yes?”

“What were you apologizing for this morning?”

Sadness flicked across his face. “For everything, I suppose.”

“We never—” Eliani took a breath, frightened of creating another disaster. She would not run, though. Not this time. “Our cup-bond did not end satisfactorily.”

He laughed softly. “No.”

“I want to make peace with you.”

“That sounds as if we were at war.”

“Were we not?”

“I never meant to be.”

He strolled a pace or two away, leaned against a tree, and gazed at her. His golden eyes were the same as they had been on that long-ago midsummer night, so rare and beautiful that they stirred her.

“I never cup-bonded again.”

Eliani swallowed. “Nor did I.”

“Perhaps such as we are not made for it.”

She was silent. Turisan leapt into her thoughts, and she wondered yet again if she was making a mistake to bind herself to him.

“You were so young then.” Kelevon left the tree and came toward her, smiling. “I think you may be even more beautiful now.”

She stiffened. “I did not come to you seeking compliments.”

He stopped a pace away from her. His curling hair draped his face as he gazed down at her.

“No? What did you come for, then?”

Eliani swallowed, feeling her heart begin to thump painfully. He was very near. She could smell him, half-familiar, half-strange.

“Eliani.” He reached up to stroke her cheek. His khi felt odd, almost stinging. She stepped back.

“No.” It came out a strangled whisper.

“I still care for you. When I was—alone and lonely, I thought of you. I always sought news of you, and when I knew you had reached your majority, I realized that I missed you.”

“No, Kelevon. It is over.” She was startled at how strong her voice sounded.

“We could begin again.” His eyes half shut as he bent toward her, laying a hand on her shoulder.

“No!”

Eliani pulled away, stumbling into the berry hedge. Wicked thorns caught at her gown and tore a gash in the back of her hand as she freed herself. She gave a
small cry of frustration and raised her injured hand to her mouth.

“Clumsy fool!” She rubbed at a tear in her gown, then froze as she glanced at Kelevon.

He was staring at her with frightening intensity. His face wore a look of—desire? Hunger?

“I am all right.” She lowered her hand, hoping to cool his mood. “It is only a scratch.”

Kelevon said nothing. His gaze followed her bleeding hand. His breathing was quick and shallow, nostrils flaring, his face taut with need.

“Kelevon?”

Golden eyes flicked to her face, then back to her hand. With a sudden lunge he seized her hand and hauled it up, fastening his lips to it in a hungry kiss.

“Kelevon, no!”

Eliani pulled, but he would not let go. At last she wrenched her hand free and stumbled away, almost falling into the brambles again.

“What are you—”

He stood staring at her, panting now, his face drawn into a scowl. Her blood was on his lips.

Eliani felt as if the ground had dropped away beneath her. Turisan's words of caution returned to her, the suspicions she had dismissed in anger. She caught a horrified breath.

“You are one of them!”

With a wordless snarl he lunged for her again. She twisted free and half ran, half stumbled down the hillside, away from the brambles and Kelevon.

Regaining her balance, she faced him, blinking rapidly as she tried to move into the stance of a guardian. This was difficult given that she was unarmed, with her gown tangling about her legs and her unbraided hair flying into her eyes.