“Yes. Although I may have one or two for you, too.”
“That would only be fair.” His other hand played in my hair. “I do not even know how to ask this. In my travels, the expectations were clear: a surreptitious night, or two, nothing more. But here, Lena, between us—?”
“For once it will be me who says the answer isn't simple.” I paused, gathering my thoughts. “We have spoken of Maya, and Garth. I will need to tell you more, though, so you understand. Losing Maya devastated me, and when Garth came to Tirvan, it was almost as if she were there again. They were full brother and sister, and they looked very much alike. What Garth and I had together began as comfort, but by the end—we were together only a couple of months—I did care for him. I loved him, but companionably, not passionately, you understand? We would not have stayed together, even if that could happen in the Empire.”
I reached for my tea and drank a little. “After some time, I went to Casilla, to share a house with a friend. She was raising her dead sister's child, who was also Garth's son. Somehow, Maya found us. She worshipped Garth when she was little, and she wanted to see him again. He should have come at Festival, to visit his son, except the war happened. I had not realized how much I still cared for her until she was there. Only she did not want me, because I had fought, and killed, and eventually she told me I had to leave. So I went to the Wall.”
Cillian was listening quietly, but as I spoke he had eased himself a little closer, so that my head lay against his shoulder. He freed his fingers from mine gently and reached for the other fur, pulling it over us, making a warm space.
“Since then,” I went on, “I have made love a few times. But never with the same woman more than once or twice, and never for anything beyond comfort, or pleasure. Which is what I offer you, Cillian: those two things, in affection and appreciation, and for as long as we decide together. I do not think I am capable of more, after losing Maya twice.”
“Offered in affection,” he murmured. “That is new to me.”
“Not even—you said one encounter was longer?”
“Yes.” Under the furs, his hand found mine again. “When I was much younger, I spent a winter in Sorham, in the north. The Harr there was older, and gone much of the time. I was there to teach his son from his first wife. His second wife was younger than he, and she invited me to her bed. I will not deny it was pleasurable, but it was clear it was all a game for her, a sport with an undercurrent, I suppose, of danger if the Harr ever discovered us. Outside of her bedchamber, she ignored me. By the time I left in the spring, she had stopped the invitations, and she did not even bother to say goodbye.”
“That was cruel,” I murmured.
He shrugged. “I was a diversion, nothing more. She was simply making that clear.”
“I do have a question, now,” I said. “If the north does not know anash, how is pregnancy prevented?”
“There are ways to share pleasure that do not risk conception,” he answered. “The Harr's wife wanted amusement, but she and her husband were as pale as the northern people can be and a dark-haired child would have told a tale for all to hear. She was a skilled teacher, you could say. And as I am sworn not to repeat my father's mistake, Lena, I appreciated those lessons, if nothing else in the end.”
The fire was burning down, the room cooling. I nestled closer. “There is something else you should know,” I said. “This is not a sudden decision for me, Cillian. I would have welcomed this months ago, while we were still in the mountains.”
“Truly?”
“Truly. But you had made it clear you had chosen another path, which I have honoured. Sometimes with difficulty.”
“I didn't know.”
“And if you had? Four months ago, you could barely tolerate being touched. I preferred you beside me as a friend to having you run away from me because I suggested we do more than share body warmth.”
“Which I would have done. Perhaps not physically, but certainly in other ways. Your instincts were good, Lena.”
“And now?”
“And now I am not running away, but neither am I running towards. Not yet. Do not be hurt by that, Lena.”
“I'm not.” I smiled. “Can I ask something else?”
“Of course.”
“After your time in Sorham—and maybe even there—was the time from the first suggestion of interest to acting on that interest short? Like my experiences, on the Wall?”
“Yes. Often only a few hours, or less. Sorham, too. Why?”
“Because,” I said, remembering Dern, “that means you have not known the pleasures of a prolonged courtship.” I'd said no to him, in the end, but I still remembered how the possibility had made me feel.
He laughed, delightedly. “A prolonged courtship?”
“Why not? If you want. We have the time.”
“I suppose we do.”
I turned, so I was half facing him. “In the Empire, the first questions of courtship to be asked and answered are about our fathers' names.”
“Who asks?”
“Usually the man, but not always. If you asked, and I was not interested, I would tell you that you did not need to know.”
“And if you were interested?”
“I would tell you my father was Galen, of the sixth. To ensure we are not half-brother and sister, you understand.”
“I do. So we have established that we are not, as we both know our fathers. What next?”
“Then we would spend time together. Go for a walk, perhaps.”
“For three months?” Cillian suggested.
“A long walk. And at some point, we might hold hands.”
“More than once, on steep places.”
“And then embrace.”
“As we are, now.”
“The next step is to kiss, several times. After that, well, it varies.”
“So perhaps I should kiss you again?”
“Perhaps you should.” We were both laughing as our lips met. A good beginning, I thought.
The daylight shrunk even further, limiting the time for outdoor work. The sky held light for less than a third of the day, and the shadows of the mountains fell over the village in early afternoon, chilling the air further. Audo and I could not check his snare lines in one day, and we increasingly relied on preserved meat and fish.
No sign of wolves meant the sheep-guard had been relaxed, so neither Cillian nor I were needed very often. I found myself wondering about what he'd told me about his relationships with women, understanding in a limited way why such brief liaisons would repel his ascetic nature. Especially if the purpose was not to share pleasure, but to use the closeness—or the illusion of closeness—afterwards to persuade a daughter or sister or even wife of the Harr or Eirën to a point of view. It would be as if, I thought, Casyn had asked me to share word with other women of the Emperor's desire for a new assembly only in the privacy of a bed. I considered the idea with distaste.
Was this in part why Cillian had been so distant and cynical, when I first met him? Or had that cynicism been what allowed him to accept this as part of his work as a toscaire for many years? Did it matter? Whatever he had been, he had rejected these encounters long ago, and I couldn't remember the last cynical comment he had made. His humour was dry, and often pointed, but not cutting any longer. He is a very different man, I thought.
Our courtship was indeed slow, a kiss or two, some time each evening spent in each other's arms talking, or just watching the fire. I let him take the lead; I wanted no sense of expectation or pressure from me. But our kisses were deeper, and I had begun to think about drinking anash, guessing I would need it soon.
Fél still came to play xache in the dark of the afternoons, occasionally. Making tea one day, I handed Fél his mug, and then passed one to Cillian, who smiled up at me in thanks. Our fingers had touched as I gave him the drink. “Something has changed here,” Fél said, watching us, his voice amused. “Not just travelling companions now, I think.” He chuckled. “Wa
s xache not what you had in mind for this afternoon, Cillian? Should we play another time? Ah, for a childless house, where love can happen at any time of day.”
I hoped the low firelight disguised my flush. The Kurzemë were unrestrained in their discussion of physical love, although in mixed groups the comments were always light-hearted. “No matter, Fél,” Cillian answered, “the evenings are long.”
“That they are,” Fél said, grinning. “But Aetyl does not sleep early, as she did when she was small. Enjoy the evenings while you can, before the babies arrive.”
When he had gone, I turned to Cillian. “Did I embarrass you? I don't even know what I did, to make Fél comment.”
“Why would you think you did anything? It was as likely me. Or both of us. And Fél is very perceptive; he had to be, to see the subtle clues about what he was doing wrong, or right, when he was first here.” He came over to me. We kissed, briefly. “But his last observation, Lena?”
“Anash tea, remember?” I told him. “Don't worry.”
“A new idea for me,” he said. His expression was thoughtful. “A new experience.”
“It's a pity you can't have the experience of drinking it,” I replied. “It's horribly bitter.”
He laughed. “Is it worse than the beer here?”
“Much.”
“Poor you, then.” He smiled down at me. “At Festival, when do you begin drinking it?”
“Two days before.”
He took a deep breath. “Midwinter is in five days. I have a fancy, that a new year is an appropriate time to begin a new chapter of my life. For this courtship to become something more. Would that please you?”
“It would.” I reached up to kiss him, a long kiss, and for the first time his hands began to explore. “Cillian,” I murmured, “this is going to be a very long five days, if you do that.”
Midwinter's eve, and the fire burned high. Food had been shared, and beer, and for once the sheep were unguarded, the fire and songs thought to be enough to dissuade the wolves. We sat with Fél and Kaisa and Aetyl, and beside me Audo and his three dogs. His brindle bitch, who had taken a liking to me, lay with her head on my feet.
Kaisa had instructed me in the expectations for tonight: come to the fire newly washed and in clean clothes, and bring something to give to the fire. The more precious, the better. The sun must be honoured, she said.
I had struggled to find something to bring. Audo sat with an ermine skin on his lap, his gift to the sun. My most precious possession was Colm's history of the Empire, and I certainly wasn't sacrificing that. Cillian had devised a solution for himself: a poem, written on a small piece of his carefully rationed paper. In the end, I gave an arrow, one of the small ones from the bird bow that had kept us fed on our journey across the mountains.
One by one, people rose to throw their offering to the fire, the men first. When they were finished, the women gave their gifts, and finally, me. Drumbeats had sounded throughout, and now the men began to sing. Audo, on one side of me, growled the words, not keeping time, but Cillian sang true. When did he learn the words? His singing voice was light, but clearly trained: Dagney's hand there, I thought.
Aivar rose as the song ended. Everyone quieted. The two boys who became men tonight stepped forward. They both looked tired and a little disoriented: I guessed they had fasted for at least a day. There had been rituals earlier for them, attended only by the village men.
In any other year they would now just be presented to the village as men, but I had something to do, first. Aivar, leaning on his stick, called my name. He and I had spoken a few days earlier about what I should do.
“This village has never had a devanī,” he told me, “but others have. I remember what their vēsturni told me. A blessing from you is all I ask. Will you do that?”
I told him what Cillian and I had discussed. “Very good,” he said.
I rose, the two arrows in my hand, walking to where the two boys waited. At a word from Aivar they both knelt. I kissed each boy on his forehead and placed an arrow in each waiting hand. “The huntress guides your hand,” I told them as I did. Aivar had chosen those words.
“The devanī should give her blessing to us all for the new year,” Ivor shouted, as I turned to leave. Other voices joined his. I thought I heard Grêt's among them. Aivar raised his hand.
“We...” He began to cough, a deep, racking cough. He tried again. “We do not ask for what we do not need,” he rasped. “Our men hunt well. If we need the devanī to give luck to a hunt, she will give it at the time. Do not waste the gift.”
Aivar's edicts could not be disputed. Ivor and his friends quieted. The drumbeats began again, and this time women began to sing, and a few to dance. More beer made the rounds, Cillian, as usual, refusing. In the northern sky, green lights flickered; shadows rose and fell in the firelight. Fél wrapped a fur around himself and Kaisa, holding her against him. “Keep Lena warm,” he told Cillian, “or she'll have to cuddle Audo, or his dog.” I glanced at Cillian. We had never touched in public.
“Then I better,” he said. I moved close, tucking the fur around us, leaning into him. We listened to the drums.
Ivor walked by dressed only in a light tunic, spurning the cold. The empty mug in his hand told me what he searched for. He gave us a scornful look. “Devanī,” he said. “Why waste yourself on this man?” One of Audo's dogs snarled. “Incapable vēsturni and idiots,” Ivor spat. “I will show you what a real man is one day.” He kept walking.
“Be careful of him, Lena,” Fél warned.
“I am,” I assured him. The drumbeats continued, faster; the dancing grew wilder. Under the fur, Cillian's hand began a gentle caress.
“Shall we go to our bed?” he murmured.
We rose. Fél looked up. “Sleep well,” he said, “when you finally remember to sleep, that is.” Kaisa laughed. “Can we send Aetyl to sleep with her cousins?” I heard him say to her, as we left.
In our hut the fire had burned to coals. Cillian added wood. “Do you need to make tea?”
“I did, earlier.” My mouth was dry. I dropped the fur on the bed. We regarded each other across the space, in the light of the newly blazing fire. “It is a new year,” I said softly. “Don't you have a fancy to fulfill?”
He crossed the room to me, beginning to smile; not his usual, quickly-gone smile, but one slow and genuine, lighting his whole face. My breath caught. He looks so much younger, I thought, and so beautiful. I saw tenderness in this smile, and vulnerability. He took me in his arms. I raised a hand to his face.
“This is something I haven't seen before,” I murmured. “Why have you kept such a beautiful smile hidden?”
He turned his head to kiss my fingers. “My one legacy from my mother, I am told,” he said. “As to why, it is just reticence, Lena, like much else about me, long habit.” He bent to kiss me, a long, exploratory kiss. “Perhaps I will have more reason to let it show after tonight.”
I didn't need to damp down desire now. My hands, low on his back, found his skin. I pulled him closer. Part of my mind noted the ridges of a scar under my fingers, but it wasn't important. Nothing was, except his lips on mine and his hands, under my tunic now, making me gasp.
“You are very sure?” he asked, his voice low and barely controlled. “Tell me now, if you are not.”
“Yes.” I fought to speak. “Are you?”
“I am.” His mouth came down again, demanding now, insistent. How long has it been for him? I wondered, before I gave myself up to my need, and his. He hesitated once, just for a moment, and then there were only lips and hands and cresting pleasure, and unexpectedly, tears that were not mine.
He made neither apology nor explanation for the tears. Turning my head after the slower, gentler exploration that followed the urgency of our first lovemaking, I saw them glitter on his cheeks. I wiped them away with one finger, feeling an answering prickle behind my own eyes. He kissed my hair. “Leannan,” he murmured. “Accept the things to which fate binds
you.”
I didn't understand, but neither could I find words to reply. How could I have guessed, in a man so disciplined, so abstemious, the depth of his sensuality? Experience I had expected, given his age and what he had told me. I had assumed consideration. But tonight had been far beyond anything I had previously known. Cillian made love not just with exquisite skill, but with generosity, and reverence, and gratitude. The tears should have been mine.
Chapter Four
Quiet sounds in the hut woke me. Cillian was at the fire, adding wood. I lay watching him, unable to keep a smile from my face. He had pulled on breeches but no shirt, and his feet were bare. He fed a last chunk to the flames and stood. Turning, he glanced my way. “Hello,” I murmured.
He crossed the room to sit on the bed beside me, his face alight. I looked up at him. “Well,” he said, one hand stroking hair back out of my eyes. “Good morning.” He bent to kiss me, gently.
“I should get up,” I said.
“Not this morning. I asked Eryl to do water watch for you.”
“When?”
“Yesterday. In Casil, the goddess you are supposedly pledged to is the sister of their sun god. I told him that was true in our land too, and that you had rituals you must attend to, this morning.”
“That was thoughtful.” I freed an arm from the furs to touch him. “You're getting cold. Are you coming back to bed?”
“Would you like me to?”
I studied him. The tone had been light, but I sensed a real question had been asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I would. Come and get warm and talk for a while.”
He joined me under the furs. I turned to hold him, tracing a finger along his back. I felt the hard, ridged skin again. “Cillian,” I murmured. “How did you get this scar?”
“Ah,” he said. “That. I forget about it. It is not a good story, Lena, but it will have to be told sometime. I was six, I think. My grandfather had taken me to market with him, in the town closest to their farmstead. A group of boys tried to kill me: there is no other way to say it, no excuses that can be made. One had an old spear with a broken shaft, the gods know from where. He called me a traitor's bastard, and pushed me down and stabbed me.”
Empire's Legacy- The Complete Trilogy Page 70