The Song of Homana (30 page)

“He might have been Mujhar,” I said reflectively, feeling the rasp in my throat. “Duncan, instead of me. Had the Homanans never ruled…”

Finn shrugged. “But they—you—did. It does not matter what might have been. Duncan is clan-leader, and for a Cheysuli it is enough.”

I put up a hand and looked at it. It was flesh stretched over bone. Callused flesh. And yet I thought it had been a paw. “Dreams,” I murmured.

“Divulge nothing,” Finn advised. “
You
are the Mujhar, not I; you should keep to yourself what has happened. It makes the magic stronger.”

The hand flopped down to rest across my thigh. I felt too weak to move. “What magic? I am Homanan.”

“But you have been born again from the Womb of the Earth. You lack the proper blood, it is true, and the
lir
-gifts as well…but you share in a bit of the magic.” He smiled. “Knowing what you survived should be magic enough.”

Emptiness filled my belly. “Food. Gods, I need food!”

“Wait you, then. I have something for you.” Finn rose and went away, stepping out of the vault. I stared blankly at all the walls until he came back again. A wineskin was in his hand.

I drank, then nearly spat it out. “
Usca
!”

“
Jehana’s
milk,” he agreed. “You need it, now. Drink Not much, but a little. Stop dribbling like a baby.”

Weakly I tried to smile and nearly failed in the attempt. “Gods, do I not get
food
—”

“Then put on your clothes and we will go out of here.”

Clothes. Unhappily, I looked at the pile. Shirt, breeches, boots. I doubted I could manage even the shirt.

And then I recalled how I had lost control of my body in the oubliette, and the heat rushed up to swallow my flesh.

“Gods,” I said finally, “I cannot go like
this
—”

Finn fetched the clothing, brought it back and began putting it on me, as if I were a child. “You are too big to carry,” he said when I stood, albeit wobbly, in my boots. “And it might somewhat tarnish your reputation. Carillon the Mujhar, drunk in some corner of his palace. What would the servants say?”

I told him, quite clearly, what I thought of servants speaking out of turn. I did it in the argot of the army we had shared, and it made him smile. And then he grasped my arm a moment.

“
Ja’hai-na
. There is no humiliation.”

I turned unsteadily toward the door and saw the light beyond. I wavered on my feet.

“Walk, my lord Mujhar. Your
jehana
and
rujholla
are here.”

“Stairs.”

“Climb,” he advised. “Unless you prefer to fly.”

For a moment, just a moment, I wondered if I could. And then I sighed, knowing I could not, and started to climb the stairs.

I stared back at myself from the glitter of the polished silver plate set against the wall. My hair was cut so that no longer did it tangle on my shoulders, and the beard was trimmed. I was less unkempt than I had been in years. I hardly knew myself.

“No more the mercenary-prince,” Finn said.

I could see him in the plate. Like me, he dressed for the occasion, though he wore leathers instead of velvet. White leathers, so that his skin looked darker still. And gold. On arms, his ear, his belt. And the royal blade with its rampant lion. Though at a wedding no man went armed save the Mujhar with his Cheysuli sword, the Cheysuli were set apart. Finn more so than most, I thought; he was more barbarian than man with all his gold; more warrior than wedding guest.

“And you?” I asked. “What are you?”

He smiled. “Your liege man, my lord Mujhar.”

I turned away from the plate, frowning. “How much time?”

“Enough,” he returned. “Carillon—do not fret so. Do you think she will not come?”

“There are hundreds of people assembled in the Great Hall,” I said irritably. “Should Electra choose to humiliate me by delaying the ceremony, she will accomplish it. Already I feel ill.” I put one hand against my belly. “By the gods—I should never have agreed to this—”

Finn laughed. “Think of her as an enemy, then, and not merely a bride. For all that, she is one. Now, how would you face her?”

I scowled and touched the circlet on my head, settling it more comfortably. “I would sooner face her in bed than before the priest.”

“You told me it was to make peace between the realms. Have you decided differently?”

I sighed and put my hand on the hilt of my sword. A glance at it reminded me of what Tynstar had done; the ruby still shone black. “No,” I answered. “It must be done. But I would sooner have my freedom.”

“Ah,” His brows slid up. “Now you see the sense in a solitary life. Were you
me
—” But he broke off, shrugging. “You are not. And had I a choice—” Again he shrugged. “You will do well enough.”

“Carillon.” It was Torry in the doorway of my chambers, dressed in bronze-colored silk and a chaplet of pearls. “Electra is nearly ready.”

Something very akin to fear surged through my body. Then I realized it
was
fear. “Oh gods—what do I do? How do I go through with this?” I looked at Finn. “I have been a fool—”

“You are often that,” Torry agreed, coming directly to me to pry my hand off the sword. “But for now, you will have to show the others you are not,
particularly
Electra. Do you think she will say nothing if you go to her like this?” She straightened the fit of my green velvet doublet, though my body-servant had tended it carefully.

Impatiently, I brushed her hands aside. “Oh gods, there is the gift. I nearly forgot—” I moved past her to the marble table and pushed back the lid on the ivory casket. In the depths of blue velvet winked the silver. I reached in and pulled out the girdle dripping with pearls and sapphires. The silver links would clasp Electra’s waist very low, then hang down the front of her skirts.

“Carillon!” Torry stared. “Where did you find such a thing?”

I lifted the torque from the casket as well, a slender silver torque set with a single sapphire with a pearl on
either side. There were earrings also, but I had no hands for those.

Finn’s hand shot out and grabbed the torque. I released it, surprised, and saw the anger in his eyes. “Do you know what these are?” he demanded.

Tourmaline and I both stared at him. Finally I nodded. “They were Lindir’s. All the royal jewels were brought to me three weeks ago, so I could choose some for Electra. I thought these—”

“
Hale
made these.” Finn’s face had lost its color, yet the scar was a deep, livid red. “My
jehan
fashioned these with such care as you have never known. And now you mean them for
her
?”

Slowly I settled the girdle back into the ivory casket. “Aye,” I said quietly. “I am sorry—I did not know Hale made them. But as for their disposition, aye. I mean them for Electra.”

“You cannot. They were Lindir’s.” His mouth was a thin, pale line. “I care little enough for the memory of the Homanan princess my
jehan
left us for, but I do care for what he made. Give them to Torry instead.”

I glanced at my sister briefly and saw the answering pallor in her face. Well, I did not blame her. Without shouting, he made his feelings quite clear.

I saw how tightly his fingers clenched the torque. The silver was so fine I thought he might bend it into ruin. Slowly I put out my hand and gestured with my fingers.

“Carillon—” Torry began, but I cut her off.

“Give it over,” I told Finn. “I am sorry, as I have said. But these jewels are meant for Electra. For the
Queen
.”

Finn did not release the torque. Instead, before I could move, he turned and set it around Torry’s throat. “There,” he said bitterly. “Do you want it, take it from your
rujholla
.”

“No!” It was Torry, quite sharply. “You will not make me the bone of contention. Not over
this
.” Swiftly she pulled the torque from her throat and put it into my hands. Their eyes locked for a single moment, and then Finn turned away.

I set the torque back into the casket and closed the lid. For a moment I stared at it, then picked it up in both
hands. “Torry, will you take it? It is my bride-gift to her.”

Finn’s hands came down on the casket. “No.” He shook his head. “Does anyone give over the things my
jehan
made, it will be me. Do you see? It has to be done this way.”

“Aye,” I agreed, “it does. And is it somehow avoided—”

“It will not be.” Finn bit off the words. “Am I not your liege man?” He turned instantly and left my chambers, the casket clutched in his hands. I put my hand to my brow and rubbed it, wishing I could take off the heavy circlet.

“I have never seen him so angry,” Torry said finally. “Not even at the Keep when Alix made him spend his time in a pavilion, resting, when he wished to hunt with Donal.”

I laughed, glad of something to take my mind from Finn’s poor temper. “Alix often makes Finn angry, and he, her. It is an old thing between them.”

“Because he stole her?” Torry smiled as I looked at her sharply. “Aye, Finn told me the story…when I asked. He also told me something else.” She reached out to smooth my doublet one more time. “He said that did he ever again want a woman the way he had wanted Alix, he would let no man come between them. Not you; not his brother.” Her hand was stiff against my chest, her gaze intense. “And I believe him.”

I bent down and kissed her forehead. “That is bitterness speaking, Torry. He has never gotten over Alix. I doubt he ever will.” I tucked her hand into my arm. “Now come. It is time this wedding was accomplished.”

The Great Hall was filled with the aristocracy of Solinde and Homana, and the pride of the Cheysuli. I waited at the hammered silver doors for Electra and regarded the assembled multitude with awe. Somehow I had not thought so many would wish to see the joining of two realms that had warred for so long; perhaps they thought we would slay each other before the priest.

I tried to loosen the knots in jaw and belly. My teeth hurt, but only because I clenched them so hard. I had not
thought a wedding would be so frightening. And I, a soldier…I smiled wryly. Not this day. Today I was merely a bridegroom, and a nervous one at that.

The Homanan priest waited quietly on the dais by the throne. The guests stood grouped within the hall like a cluster of bees swarming upon the queen. Or Mujhar.

I searched the faces for those I knew: Finn, standing near the forefront. Duncan and Alix; the former solemn, as usual, the latter uncommonly grave. My lady mother sat upon a stool, and beside her stood my sister. My mother still wore a wimple and coif to hide the silver hair, but no longer did she go in penury. Now she was the mother of a king, not the mother of a rebel, and it showed quite clearly in her clothing. As for Tourmaline, she set the hall ablaze with her tawny beauty. And Lachlan, near her, knew it.

I sighed. Poor Lachlan, so lost within his worship of my sister. I had had little time of late to spare him, and with Torry present his torture was harder yet. And yet there was nothing I could do. Nothing
he
could do, save withstand the pain he felt.

“My lord.”

I froze at once. The moment had come upon us.
Us;
it was Electra who spoke. I turned toward her after a moment’s hesitation.

She was Bellam’s daughter to the bone. She wore white, the color of mourning, as if to say quite clearly—without speaking a word—just what she thought of the match. Well, I had expected little else.

She regarded me from her great gray eyes, so heavy-lashed and long-lidded. The mass of white-blonde hair fell past her shoulders to tangle at her knees, unbound as was proper for a maiden. I longed to put my hands into it and pull her against my hips.

“You see?” she said. “I wear your bride-gift.”

She did the silver and sapphires justice. Gods, what a woman was this—

Yet in that moment she reminded me not so much of a woman as a predator. Her assurance gave me no room for doubt, and yet I wanted her more than ever. More, even, than I could coherently acknowledge.

I put out an arm. “Lady—you honor me.”

She slipped a pale, smooth hand over the green velvet of my sleeve. “My lord…that is the
least
I will do to you.”

The ceremony was brief, but I heard little of it. Something deep inside me clamored for attention, though I longed to ignore it. Finn’s open disapproval kept swimming to the surface of my consciousness, though his face was bland enough when I looked. But each time I looked at Electra I saw a woman and her beauty, and knew only how much I wanted her.

I spoke the vows that bound us, reciting the Homanan words with their tinge of Cheysuli nuance. It seemed apropos. Homana and the Cheysuli were inseparable, and now I knew why.

Electra repeated them after me, watching me as she said the words. Her Solindish mouth framed the syllables strangely, making a parody of the vows. I wondered if she did it deliberately. No. She
was
Solindish…and undoubtedly knew what she said even as she said it.

The priest put a hand on her head and the other rested on mine. There was a moment of heavy silence as we knelt before the man And then he smiled and said the words of benediction for the new-made Mujhar and his lady wife.

I had taken the woman, I would keep her. Electra was mine at last.

When the wedding feast was done, we adjourned to a second audience hall, this one somewhat smaller but no less magnificent than the Great Hall with its Lion Throne. A gallery ran along the side walls. Lutes, pipes, tambours, harps and a boy’s chorus provided an underscore to the celebration. It was not long before men warmed by wine neglected to speak of politics and waited to lead their ladies onto the red stone floor.

But the dancing could not begin until the Mujhar and his queen began it. And so I took Electra into the center of the shining floor and signaled the dance begun.

She fell easily into the intricate pattern of moving feet and swirling skirts. Our hands touched, fell away. The dance was more of a courtship than anything else, filled
with the subtle overtures of man to woman and woman to man. I was aware of the eyes on us and the smiling mouths, though few of them belonged to the Solindish guests. There was little happiness there.