Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 05

by A Pride of Princes (v1. 0)

  He would do the same for any woman . . . and then: She must be twenty-five years younger than my su'fali!

  Smoothly Brennan moved forward and offered his hand to Rhiannon. She took it at once, and he could not hide the smile of subtle triumph as he turned her away from Ian.

  He presented her to his father. "This is Rhiannon, jehan. Because of her courage, I am here to stand before you."

  "You have my thanks," Niall said quietly. "Leijhana tu'sai, in the Old Tongue. But will you be more forthright in an explanation than my son? We still are woefully ignorant of circumstances."

  "Why was he in irons?" Maeve demanded. "Do you know, Rhiannon?"

  "Gently," Brennan suggested. "Rhiannon is ally, not enemy."

  Rhiannon's hand was cold in his. "I know," she said, and proceeded to tell them in a quiet, steady voice.

  When she was done, the silence was palpable. And then the Mujhar began to swear. Quietly. Calmly. Inventively. In perfect eloquence he levied every curse against the Ihlini he could think of.

  "Well," Ian said dryly when Niall was done, "there is no need for our retribution. Surely this is enough."

  "Track them down," Keely said tightly. "Track them all down, and slay them all as you slew Jarek."

  "Jarek was Ihlini," Brennan reminded her. "For all we know, so were the others."

  "How?" Maeve asked. "Could they all hide themselves behind Homanan faces? Even before the lir?"

  Brennan shrugged. "Sleeta did not know him for Ihlini. It is clear Strahan has learned well the spell that shields Ihlini from the lir."

  "And it makes them all the more dangerous," Ian said.

  Niall shook his head. "I am not certain that is so. That Jarek was shielded, aye—but the others? I think not. It requires something tangible from a lir—a tooth, a claw, a talon, a feather . . . how many lir have died in Ihlini hands?" He sat forward in his chair. "Tynstar had Cai, my grandsire's hawk. Strahan had four teeth from Storr, Finn's wolf. But not enough, I think, for all of them."

  "He might have had more than enough," Brennan said. "He told me that although they preferred to sacrifice women and children to avoid alarming the lir, they did kill a few warriors."

  "An endless supply of lir." Ian, stark-faced, shook his head. "It is not impossible. It may be all were Ihlini, not Homanan at all, Jarek simply used the story of Elek as a ruse."

  "But why?" Rhiannon asked. "If all were Ihlini, why act as Homanans at all?"

  "Think," Ian said. "How better to infiltrate a realm than by portraying yourself as a part of that realm?"

  "Even before people you intend to murder?" Keely asked. "That makes no sense at all, even for what I have heard of Strahan."

  Ian shrugged. "I cannot say why Strahan does any of the things he does. But if he is true to himself—true to the Strahan we know—he will use every device in his ken to harm us." He nodded at Rhiannon. "Had she not freed Sleeta, thereby returning the power of lir-shape to Brennan, Jarek and the others would not have been unmasked. We would still be ignorant of the truth, because Strahan's allies take infinite care to keep us in ignorance." He spread eloquent hands. "How best to do that? By playing out the role."

  Keely shook her head. "I still say it is senseless. I cannot see why any of them bother to portray themselves as Homanans when they mean to slay us regardless."

  "Because you have no guile in you," Deirdre said.

  Keely looked at her in surprise. "What?"

  "No guile," Deirdre repeated. "You're a woman for saying what you mean."

  "Even when silence is preferable." Brennan smiled at his scowling sister. "Admit it, rufholla—you would sooner charge in shouting your name and intention for all to hear, than to work in silence and subterfuge."

  "So should everyone," she retorted. "What good is there in crawling on your belly when there are legs to carry you?”

  "And what is wrong with waiting to move until all the facts are known?" Maeve asked. "Keely, you are too bold, too quick to say that you think when you would do better to wait."

  Niall silenced the brewing battle with a raised hand.

  "Enough." The single word was sufficient.

  Brennan made good use of the opportunity to put in his own thoughts. "It is possible Jarek acted alone. Now that I think on it, he seemed very aware of how the others might preceive him, as if he had to think about how he phrased things so as not to give himself away. To me, he was always Homanan, in speech and attitude."

  He paused. "At least—until he chose to divulge himself, and then the others scattered."

  Niall looked at Rhiannon. "It is for you to tell us what you know of Jarek. Everything. Hold nothing back, or you may deal us a blow Strahan would be proud of."

  Rhiannon's face was pale as she stared at the Mujhar.

  Her hand, in Brennan's, was still very cold. He squeezed it to lend her reassurance; quickly she looked at him, smiled faintly, then withdrew her hand entirely and nodded to the Mujhar.

  Niall opened his mouth to speak again, but held his question as Deirdre touched his arm lightly. "A moment, my lord. Let the girl—and the rest of us—find a seat.”

  She poured wine into the remaining cup and passed it to Rhiannon. "You're not to be holding us all in so much awe," Deirdre told her kindly, green eyes alight with humor. "Underneath all the gold and prickly pride, these Cheysuli are no different from you and me."

  Rhiannon clutched the cup. "But—are you not?”

  "Cheysuli?" Deirdre's brows rose. "No, no, Erinnish, I am, no more. There is no magic in my bones."

  "Nor in mine." Maeve did not smile, though her tone was even enough. "We are remiss in our gratitude. For what you did in Brennan’s cause, all of us are grateful."

  Rhiannon fixed her eyes on Brennan's face. What she felt was clear for all to see. "There was nothing else I could do."

  Ian fetched a chair and brought it forward, thumping it down behind her. "Sit you down, meijhana.” His smile was exceedingly charming; the glint in his eyes was clearly intended for Brennan's benefit. "Be at ease, as I insist—and tell us whatever you can of Jarek."

  Slowly she sat down, clutching her cup of wine. She did not drink. She waited, watching as her hosts found places to sit, and then she drew in a breath so deep it made the sapphire glint in the candlelight. "He was a kind man—to me." Blood rushed into her face as clearly she heard the incongruity in her statement. "He said nothing to me of Elek, my lord Mujhar. He kept his affairs very private, aye . . . but how many men share such things with women? Even the women who share their beds?"

  Color deepened in her face; she glanced briefly at Brennan, then looked away. "He served Cheysuli willingly in the tavern. I heard no words of hatred or hostility."

  "Nor did I," Brennan confirmed. "Even when he and the others threw me down on the altar, there was little of true hatred about it, and nothing of madness at all." He shrugged. "Again ... up to the point he gave away his race by admitting he served Asar-Suti, Jarek was loyal, dedicated, openly commited to the bastard's cause . . . and I believed him. There was no reason not to."

  Niall nodded. "I think you may have the right of it. He misled them purposely so he could, if he had to, blame them for your death. He would admit the truth of his identity to no one who was not Ihlini." His eyes softened as he looked at Rhiannon. "Not even to you."

  "What else?" Ian asked white-faced Rhiannon quietly. "Think of him in a new light, meijhana, and surely you will discover something in his conversation, his behavior ... in the company he kept."

  Rhiannon frowned thoughtfully. "Once, he said something of his birth. He said he was bastard-born." She shrugged. "I thought nothing of it—I too am bastard-born—but he said it mattered very much in the scheme of things. That in the end, the bastard blood would give him power no one else could hold." She glanced at Brennan. "It was not a claim I paid much attention to—until I heard him tell my lord he would bring down the House of Homana. And then I knew what I had to do."

  "Thank the gods," Maeve murm
ured.

  Niall shook his head slowly. "Power from his blood ... for all we know, he may have been Strahan's son."

  "Does it matter?" Keely asked. "He is dead."

  Ian shrugged. "Dead, aye . . . but I will curse the nameless bitch who bore him anyway."

  Rhiannon looked at him sharply. "But I do know her name," she said. "I thought it pretty, so I remember it easily," Rhiannon smiled a little. "His mother's name was Lillith."

  As one, they looked at Ian.

  Seven

  "You cannot be certain," Niall declared. "Rujho—you cannot."

  Ian's face was a peculiar chalky gray. "How not?" he asked hoarsely. "Am I to ignore the obvious?"

  "What is obvious?" Niall demanded. "Do you think Lillith kept herself celibate before or after you?"

  Ian looked blankly at Rhiannon, who stared back in growing alarm. "Have I said the wrong thing?" she asked. "Have I said something I should not?"

  Brennan intended to speak, to calm her fears, but lan moved to stand before her, neatly shouldering him out of the way.

  "Rhiannon." For a moment Ian said nothing more, locked up within some private battle, and then he blew out a breath between constricted lips and knelt down in front of her. "Meifhana—" He took one of her hands into both of his. "Can you tell me how old he was?"

  "How old?" She stared in bafflement at Ian, then glanced up at Brennan as if to ask instruction. But he could offer her nothing.

  Ian was singulariy intent. "How old was Jarek, Rhiannon?"

  "My age," she answered. "Twenty."

  "Twenty," Ian repeated blankly. He turned his head to look at Niall. "The age is right . . . and he was bastard-born of an Ihlini jehana whose name we know is Lillith. What other proof do you require?"

  The Mujhar looked infinitely older. "Perhaps none," he said wearily, rubbing at the ruined flesh around the patch. "Perhaps we have all we need."

  "Aye." Ian's face was oddly blank. "It was what she wanted. A child of us both, to mix the blood, the heritage, the power—"

  "And now he is dead." Niall's voice was steady. "Why hate yourself the more when the need for it is passed?"

  Ian's posture was incredibly rigid as he released Rhiannon's hand and rose. Brennan, watching him in growing alarm, thought he had never seen his uncle so shaken, or so vulnerable.

  "Thank the gods," Ian said. He looked at Brennan.

  "Leijhana tu'sai, harani, for ridding us of another Ihlini—an Ihlini abomination!"

  For all the words were brutal, Brennan heard the anguish in Ian's tone. He knew better than to believe it derived from grief, but there was more than dispassion as well.

  How does a man deal with the death of a son he never knew? Brennan slowly shook his head. "Su'fali—'

  "Surely you recall the story," Ian said harshly. The mask slipped from his face; Brennan saw the hostility that was so uncharacteristic of his uncle. "I was stud to Lillith's mare. She ensorcelled my lir, ensorcelled me ... she stole the seed from me. Do you think I will grieve for that misbegotten spawn?"

  Looking at him, Brennan saw an angry man who tasted the bitter fruit of shame. It was a new aspect of Ian, whose place in the household was one of abiding warmth and affection. He was kinspirit as well as kin.

  It is as if he wishes to flagellate himself since we will not do it for him. "Su'fali—" Brennan began again, thinking to ease Ian's anguish, and realized there was himself to think of as well. Ian could not, for the moment, see past his own feelings to those of his nephew. "Su'fali, you are saying I killed a kinsman."

  For a brief arrested moment there was acknowledgment in Ian's eyes, and then it was quickly banished.

  "Ihlini. No more than that."

  Slowly Brennan shook his head. "But he was. He was an enemy, aye, but we shared blood. He was my cousin, just as Teirnan is. It does matter, su'fali.''

  Ian's look was intense. "Then I will put it another way," he said with elaborate distinctness. "If you had known he was my son as he began to carve you to pieces on that perverted altar, would you have hesitated to kill him?"

  A neat trap— But Brennan shook his head. "No, su'fali. No."

  "Then do me the courtesy of attempting to understand my feelings," Ian said curtly. "I will not weep for a man who was born of my seed, but decidedly not of my beliefs and loyalties."

  "Ihlini and Cheysuli," Keely said rigidly. "Gods, who is to say what arts he might have had? What magnitude his powers?"

  "Firstborn," Maeve said tightly.

  "No." Niall's answer was quick and definitive. "No, not a Firstborn. He lacked the other blood; therefore the prophecy was unfulfilled . . . and even if it had been, do you think the gods would countenance an accursed kinslayer on the Lion?"

  Brennan's belly twisted. "Kinslayer," he said hoarsely. "Am I not accursed, then?"

  He saw their eyes upon him. He could not read them, even as well as he knew them, because what they all considered was something entirely new. Killing enemy Ihlini, Homanans, Solindish and Atvians in service to the prophecy was one thing, and well accepted, but slaying kin? It carried a heavy weight.

  Niall slowly shook his head. "Weigh yourself against Jarek, Brennan, and tell me which man deserved to die."

  "Easy enough," Keely said sharply. "Rujho, you cannot doubt it. You are heir to the Lion Throne. Would you give it instead to Jarek?"

  "No." He looked at his uncle, whose face was masked to them all, and yet the world was in his eyes. "No, I would not give the Lion to any man such as Jarek. But—“ He paused, still looking at lan. "Su-fali, surely you must wonder what he might have been if you instead of Lillith had had the raising of him."

  "Must I?" Ian shook his head. "No, I must not. Else I will begin to question my conviction that Ihlini and Cheysuti cannot possibly coexist, within a realm or within a conscience." His eyes were on the Mujhar. "You say that once we were brother races, rujho; that the gods sired us both. And I say they did not, being gods of uncommon sense. But if you have the right of it ... if we are brother races, intended for cohabitation once again when the prophecy is fulfilled . . . then how do I live with it? How do I live with the knowledge that my son tried to murder yours?"

  Brennan saw clearly that a measure of Ian's pain was his father's. Half-brothers only, sharing so little and yet so much; he wondered if their bond was anything like the one between himself and Hart.

  "Then I will answer for you," Ian continued, as Niall did not respond. "I could not live with it. And even if you have the right of it after all, and one day we are expected to lie down with Ihlini again ... I would sooner give myself over to the death-ritual than acknowledge one as my kin," Ian looked at each of them, one by one: Niall, Deirdre, Maeve, Keely and Rhiannon. Lastly he looked at Brennan, "Leifhana tu'sai," he said firmly, and then he put down his cup of wine and walked silently out of the solar.

  The Mujhar sat down again and scrubbed at his rigid face. "Ah, gods, spare my rujho this pain. . . ."

  "My lord." It was Rhiannon, speaking softly, and Niall turned his head to look at her. "My lord, is this true? Jarek was his son?"

  The Mujhar sighed. "It is an old story," he said gently, "and a very private one. But aye, it seems likely Jarek was Ian's son."

  "Then he also was Cheysuli? Like you. Like the Prince of Homana?"

  "And one step closer to the Firstborn," Keely said flatly, answering in place of her father. She tossed back a gulp of wine, then shook her head in disgust. "So, the Ihlini think to destroy the prophecy from within instead of without. A Cheysuli sire, an Ihlini dam, and children who do the bidding of the Seker."

  "A formidable mixture," Niall agreed grimly.

  Rhiannon frowned. "I do not understand.”

  Keely cast her an impatient glance, then looked at Brennan. "You would do well to tell her, rujho. Her ignorance is appalling."

  "Keely, enough," Deirdre said quietly. "Are you thinking everyone knows what the Ihlini are to us?"

  "Us?" Keely asked. "You are not Cheysuli."

&
nbsp; "Keely, that is enough," Niall said sharply. "I will tolerate no insults to Deirdre or Rhiannon."

  Keely recoiled, looking startled. "No! Oh, no, I meant no insult. Deirdre, I did not. I only meant you had less to fear, not being a part of the prophecy."

  Deirdre's smile was crooked. "Aye, 'less to fear.' I'm only needing to worry myself over all of your father's children, as well as the father himself."

  "Something you should think about," Maeve told her younger sister darkly.

  "Aye, so I should." But Keely did not sound particularly repentant.

  "Well," Deirdre said. "I'm thinking 'tis time I showed Rhiannon what there is to learn if she is to enter my service."

  Rhiannon stared. "Your service?"

  "My service," Deirdre repeated. " ‘Tis hardly payment enough for saving the lives of the Prince of Homana and his lir, but I think 'twill be a beginning. If you are willing."

  "Willing?" Rhiannon echoed. "Do you mean I am to stay here, with him—with you? I need not go back to the tavern?"

  Deirdre smiled and slanted Brennan a bright, knowing glance. "There is a place for you here, if you want it," she told Rhiannon kindly. "You deserve better than serving wine to amorous young lordlings in tawdry taverns."

  Brennan raised his brows. "I was always polite, and The Rampant Lion is not tawdry."

  " Tis for Rhiannon to decide."

  Keely grunted. "Even Hart would not lay a wager on that."

  Brennan felt the familiar stab of loneliness.

  Rhiannon looked at him directly a long moment. And then she rose and curtsied to Deirdre. She was slim and lissome in the rich blue gown. The rope of heavy hair swung against her hip. "Aye, lady, I will stay."

  "Good.” Deirdre's beckoning gestures encompassed Maeve and Keely as well. "Come then, there are things you must be learning. We'll be leaving the men to themselves."

  Maeve and Rhiannon moved to the door at once.

  Keely, scowling darkly, finished her wine in a single gulp and then thumped the cup down on the nearest table.