The Song of Homana (32 page)

Electra’s pride was gone. He saw the woman instead; not the Ihlini’s
meijha
, not the haughty Solindish princess, not the Queen of Homana who had wed his liege lord. And I knew, looking at him, I had made a deadly mistake.

I thought of sending him away. But he had taken her hand into both of his even as she sought to withdraw, and it was too late to speak a word.

He was endlessly patient with her, and so gentle I hardly knew him. The Finn of old was gone. And yet, as he looked at her, I had the feeling it was not Electra he saw. Someone else, I thought; the change had been too abrupt.

“Ja’hai,”
he said clearly, and then—as if knowing she could not understand the Old Tongue—he translated each word he spoke. “
Ja’hai
—accept.
Cheysuli i’halla shansu.
” He paused. “
Shansu, meijhana
—peace. May there be Cheysuli peace upon you—”

“I spit on your peace!” Electra caught her breath as another contraction wracked her.

Finn had her then. I saw the opaque, detached expression come into his eyes and make them empty, and I knew he sought the magic. I thought again of the vault in the earth and the oubliette that waited, recalling the sensations I had experienced. I nearly shivered with the chill that ran down my spine, raising the hairs on my flesh, for I was more in awe of the magic than ever before. For all the Cheysuli claimed themselves human, I knew now they were not. More; so much, much more.

Finn twitched. His eyes shut, then opened. I saw his head dip forward as if he slept, then he jerked awake. The blankness deepened in his eyes, and then suddenly I knew something had gone wrong. He was—different. His flesh turned hard as stone and the scar stood up from his flesh. All the color ran out of his face.

Electra cried out, and so did Finn.

I heard growling. Storr leaped into the room, threading his way through the women. I heard screaming; I heard crying; I heard Electra’s hissing Solindish invectives. I heard the low growl rising; oh gods,
Storr
was in the room—

Finn was white as death with an ashen tinge to his mouth. I put a hand on his arm and felt the rigid, upstanding muscles. He twitched again and began to tremble as if with a seizure; his mouth was slack and open. His tongue was turning dark as it curled back into his throat.

And then I saw it was Electra who held his hand and that he could not break free of her grasp.

I caught their wrists and jerked, trying to wrench their hands apart. At first the grip held; Electra’s nails bit into his skin and drew blood, but it welled dark and thick. Then I broke the grip and Finn was freed, but he was hardly the Finn I knew. He fell back, still shaking, his yellow eyes turned up to show the whites. One shoulder scraped against the wall. I thought he was senseless, but he was awake. Too awake, I found.

His eyes closed, then opened, and once more I saw the yellow. Too much yellow; his pupils were merest specks. He stared with the feral gaze of a predator.

He growled. Not Storr. Finn. It came out of a human throat, but there was nothing human about him.

I caught his shoulders as he thrust himself up and slammed him against the wall. There was no doubt of his prey. One of his arms was outstretched in her direction and the fingers were flexing like claws.

“Finn—”

All the muscles stood up from his flesh and I felt the tremendous power, but it was nothing compared to my fear. Somehow I held him, pressing him into the wall. I knew, if I let him go, he would slay her where she lay.

His spine arched, then flattened. One hand fastened on my right arm and tried to pull it free, but I thrust my elbow against his throat. The growl was choked off, but I saw the feral grimace. White teeth, man’s teeth, in a bloodless mouth, but the tongue had regained its color.

I gritted my teeth and leaned, pressing my elbow into the fragility of his windpipe, praying I could hold him. “Finn—”

And then, as suddenly as it had come on him, the seizure was past.

Finn sagged. He did not fall, for I held him, but his head lolled forward against my arm and I saw his teeth cut into his bottom lip. I thought he would faint. And yet his control was such that he did not, and as Storr pushed past me to his
lir
I saw sense coming back in Finn’s eyes.

He pressed himself up. His head smacked into the wall. He sucked in a belly-deep, rasping breath and held it while the blood ran from his mouth. He frowned as if confused, then caught himself as once more his body sagged. With effort he straightened, scraping his
lir
-bands against the wall. I saw the white teeth bared yet again, this time in a grimace of shock and pain.

“Finn—?”

He said a single word on a rush of breath, but I could not hear it for the exhaustion in his tone. It was just a sound, an expulsion of air, but the color was back in his face. I knew he could stand again, but I did not let him go.

“Tynstar—” It was barely a whisper, hoarse and astonished. “Tynstar—
here
—”

The women were clustered around the bed and I knew I had to get Finn from the room. Electra was crying in exhaustion and fear while the contractions wracked her body. I dragged Finn to the door and pushed him out into the corridor while Storr came growling at my heels, all his hackles raised.

Finn hardly noticed when I set him against the wall. He moved like a drunken man, all slackness, lacking grace. Not Finn, not Finn at all. “Tynstar—” he rasped again. “Tynstar—
here
—”

My hands were in the leather of his jerkin, pushing him into the stone. “By the gods, do you know what you did? Finn—”

If I took my hands away, he could fall. I could see it in his eyes. “Tynstar,” he said again. “Carillon—it was
Tynstar
—”

“Not
here
!” I shouted. “How could he be? That was
Electra
you meant to slay!”

He put a hand to his face and I saw how the fingers trembled. He pushed them through his hair, stripping it from his eyes, and the scar stood out like a brand against cheek and jaw. “He—was—here—” Each word was distinct. He spoke with the precise clarity of the drunken man, or the very shaken. A ragged and angry tone, laced with a fear I had never heard. “Tynstar set a trap—”

“Enough of Tynstar!” I shouted, and then I fell silent. From inside the room came the imperative cry of a newborn soul, and the murmur of the women. Suddenly it was there I wanted to be, not here, and yet I knew he needed me. This once, he needed
me
. “Rest,” I said shortly. “Take some food—
drink
something! Will you go?
Go
…before I have to carry you from this place.”

I took my hands away. He leaned against the wall with legs braced, muscles bunching the leather of his leggings. He looked bewildered and angry and completely devoid of comprehension.

“Finn,” I said helplessly, “will you go?”

He pushed off the wall, wavered, then knelt upon the floor. For one insane moment I thought he knelt to offer apology; he did not. I thought he prayed, but he did not.
He merely gathered Storr into his arms and hugged him as hard as he could.

His eyes were shut. I knew the moment was too private to be shared, even with me. Perhaps
especially
with me. I left them there, wolf and man, and went in to see my child.

One of the women, as I entered, wrapped the child hastily in linen cloth, wiping its face, then set it into my arms. They were all Solindish, these women, but I was their king—and would be, until I sired a second son.

And then I looked at their faces and knew I lacked a first.

“A girl, my lord Mujhar,” came the whisper in accented Homanan.

I looked down on the tiny face. It lacked the spirit of a person, little more than a collection of wrinkled features, but I knew her for mine.

What man cannot know immortality when he holds his child in his arms? Suddenly it did not matter that I had no son; I would in time. For now, I had a daughter, and I thought she would be enough.

I walked slowly to the bed, cradling the child with infinite care and more than a little apprehension. So helpless and so tiny; I so large and equally helpless. It seemed a miracle
I
had sired the girl. I knelt down at the bedside and showed Electra her baby.

“Your heir,” she whispered, and I realized she did not know. They had not told her yet.

“Our daughter,” I said gently.

Sense was suddenly in her eyes; a glassy look of horror. “Do you say it is a
girl
—?”

“A princess,” I told her. “Electra, she is a lovely girl.” Or will be, I thought; I hoped. “There will be time for sons. For now, we have a daughter.”

“Gods!” she cried out. “All this pain for a
girl
? No son for Homana—no son for Solinde—” The tears spilled down her face, limning her exhaustion. “How will I keep my bargain?
This
birth nearly took me—”

I gestured one of the women to take the baby from me. When I could, I slipped one arm beneath Electra’s shoulders and cradled her as if she were the child instead.
“Electra, be at peace. There is no haste in this. We have a daughter and we will have those sons—but not tomorrow. Be at ease. I have no wish to see you grieve because you have borne a girl.”

“A girl,” she said again. “What use is a girl but to wed? I wanted a
son
—!”

I eased her down against the pillows, pulling the bedclothes close. “Sleep. I will come back later. There is the news to be told, and I must find Finn—” I stopped. There was no need to speak of Finn, not to her. Not now.

But Electra slept. I brushed the damp hair from her brow, looked again on the sleeping baby, then went from the room to give out the news.

Soon enough the criers were sent out and the bells began to peel. Servants congratulated me and offered good wishes. Someone pressed a cup of wine into my hand as I strode through a corridor on my way to Finn’s chambers. Faces were a blur to me; I hardly knew their names. I had a daughter, but I also had a problem.

Finn was not in his chambers. Nor was he in the kitchens, where the spit-boys and cooks fell into bows and curtseys to see their Mujhar in their presence. I asked after Finn, was told he had not come, and went away again.

It was Lachlan who found me at last, very grave and concerned. His arms were empty of his Lady and with him came my sister. I thought first they would give me good wishes when I told them; instead they had news of Finn.

“He took the wolf and left,” Lachlan said quietly. “And no horse for riding.”

“
Lir
-shape,” I said grimly.

“He was—odd.” Torry was white-faced. “He was not himself. But he would answer none of our questions.” She gestured helplessly. “Lachlan was playing his Lady for me. I saw Finn come in. He looked—ill. He said he had to go away.”

“Away!” I felt the lurch in my belly. “Where?”

“To the Keep,” Lachlan answered. “He said he required cleansing for something he had done. He said also you were not to send for him, or come after him yourself.”
He glanced a moment at Torry. “He said it was a Cheysuli thing, and that clan-ties take precedence, at times, over other links.”

I felt vaguely ill. “Aye. But only rarely does he invoke them—” I stopped, recalling the wildness in his eyes and the growling in his throat. “Did he say how long he would stay there?”

Torry’s eyes were frightened. “He said the nature of the cleansing depended on the nature of the offense. And that this one was great indeed.” One hand crept up to her throat. “Carillon—what did he do?”

“Tried to slay the Queen.” It came out of my mouth without emotion, as if someone else were speaking. I saw the shock in their eyes. “Gods!” I said on a rushing breath, “I
must
go after him. You did not see what he was—” I started out the door and nearly ran into Rowan.

“My lord!” He caught my arm. “My lord—wait you—”

“I cannot.” I shook loose and tried to move on, but he caught my arm again. “
Rowan
—”

“My lord, I have news from Solinde,” he persisted. “From Royce, your regent in Lestra.”

“Aye,” I said impatiently, “can it not wait? I will be back when I can.”

“Finn said you should not follow,” Lachlan repeated. “Doubtless he has good reason—”

“
Carillon
.” Rowan forsook my title and all honorifics, which told me how serious he was. “It is Thorne of Atvia. He readies plans to invade.”

“
Solinde?
” I stared at him in amazement.

“Homana, my lord.” He let go my arm when he saw I was not moving. I could not, now. “The news has come into Lestra, and Royce sent on a courier. There is still time, Royce says, but Thorne is coming. My lord—” He paused. “It is Homana he wants, and you. A grudge for the death of his father, and Atvians slain in Bellam’s war. The courier has the news.” His young face was haggard with the implications. “Thorne intends to take Hondarth—”

“Hondarth!” I exploded. “He will not set food in a Homanan city while
I
am alive!”

“He means to raise Solindish aid,” Rowan said in a quiet
voice. “To come overland through Solinde, and by ships across the Idrian Ocean, bound for Hondarth.”

I thought of the southern city on the shores of the Idrian Ocean. Hondarth was a rich city whose commerce depended on fishing fleets and trading vessels from other lands. But it was a two-week ride to Hondarth, going fast; an even longer march. And the marshes would slow an army.

I shut my eyes a moment, trying to get my senses sorted. First Finn’s—seizure; my daughter’s birth; now this. It was too much.

I set a hand on Rowan’s shoulder. “Where is this courier? And find you what advisors you can. We must send for those who have gone home to their estates. It will take time—ah, gods, are we to go to war again, we must reassemble the army.” I rubbed at my gritty eyes. “Finn will have to wait.”

When I could, I broke free of planning councils and went at last to the Keep. And, as I rode out across the plains, I came face to face with Finn.

He had left Mujhara without a horse, but now he had one. Borrowed from the Keep, or perhaps it was one of his own. He did not say. He did not say much at all, being so shut up within himself, and when I looked at him I saw how the shadow lay on him, thick and dark. His yellow eyes were strange.