"Blood merged with blood," Brennan told him. "And a chance for lasting peace."
Teirnan looked at the Lion. He touched it again, exploring it with his fingers. His face was immobile in its intensity, the angles hard as stone. "What will happen when the prophecy is fulfilled?"
Brennan frowned; Teirnan was leading up to something. "Peace. Cohabitation. The Firstborn will live again."
"Aye." Teirnan overrode his words. "Aye, they will—and do you know what will happen?"
Brennan raised his brows. "Who can say? Their power will be complete . . . there will be no weaknesses."
"And what of us?" His cousin asked intently. "What of the Cheysuli, who do have weaknesses?"
"Teir—"
"Blood merged with blood, until the new overtakes the old. Do you see what will happen? There will be no more need for us!"
Brennan started to put out a restraining hand, thought better of it. He could not predict what Teirnan might do.
"The gods would hardly guide us to fulfillment only to discard us when we have reached it," he said dryly. "We have been such faithful children."
"Faithful, aye . . . perhaps too faithful." Teirnan frowned and fingered the hilt of his Cheysuli long-knife. "Aye, I have heard some of this heresy you spout. Niall has made it no secret for the last twenty years. Peace, he says, as you have said, with the coming of the Firstborn. But what else? What else, Brennan? Have you not heard that we are also to lose our lir?"
"I think that is exaggeration."
"Oh? It was the Mujhar who said it, and his loyal liege man, our su'fali." Teirnan shook his head. "I think perhaps the heresy may hold a kernel of truth. For all I and others have continually denied it, including the shar tahls, I think perhaps we are to lose our lir. And for that—for that alone—I think we should reconsider what the prophecy really means."
Brennan sighed. "Is this nonsense compensation for your pride because you know you will never hold the Lion? Teir—"
But Teirnan shook his head and stepped abruptly away from the throne. "I renounce it."
After momentary astonishment, Brennan opened his mouth to compliment his cousin on recovering his senses, but said nothing as Teirnan spoke again.
"I renounce it. I renounce you. I renounce anything to do with the House of Homana, even Maeve."
The latter had already been settled; Maeve had admitted to making a vow to become Teiman's meijha, but in ignorance of his ambition. Discovery of it had driven a wedge between them, and she had not returned to Clankeep. Neither did she have, she said, any intention of honoring her vow; Teirnan's declaration was therefore an empty one.
Brennan sighed. "Teir—"
"Do you see?" Teiroan demanded. "We will be diminished. We will be used up. There will be no more need for flawed children when the Firstborn live again."
"You fool." Brennan's disgust was manifest.
"Am I? No. I think I am the only one who understands fully what will happen." Teirnan moved away from the throne again. "You have the right of it, Brennan; there were no a'saii. Only an overly ambitious cousin. But now—now I think the need is come again. . . ."
Teirnan rubbed his face with both hands, as if to make certain he fully understood the consequences of what he intended to say. "I renounce the prophecy."
Shock turned Brennan icy. He shivered violently. "You cannot!”
"Why? I am bound by nothing more than my willingness to serve it. Now I choose not to do so."
"If you renounce the prophecy you turn your back on the clans, your race, your tahlmorra—"
"Then I will do so."
"Teirnan!" Emphatically, Brennan shook his head. "You deny the afterworld."
"I begin to think this world is more than enough."
Teirnan moved past him and descended the dais steps to the stone floor. Before the firepit, he turned to face his cousin. "I thank you for your frankness, Brennan. For explaining how necessary it is for us to breed Firstborn on Ihlini, and how the results will change the world. Because if you had not, I would still be blindly serving a prophecy that will undoubtedly insure the destruction of our race."
"I could gainsay you," Brennan told him angrily. "Here, in this hall, we could settle this idiocy."
Teirnan swung to face him squarely, beckoning him on with empty, eloquent hands. "Then come, cousin. But if you do, be certain the fight will be to the death." Teirnan's eyes blazed with a feral light. "If you truly mean to gainsay me, then you will have to kill me."
They stared hard at one another. Teirnan's face was alight with some inner exultation, a kindling of new and abiding commitment. Brennan looked at him in disgust coupled with frustration, and considered calling his bluff.
But there is every chance Teirnan does not bluff. And if he does not, and I should kill him in some stupid, pointless battle, I become kinslayer yet again. He shook his head. Teirnan is not worth it.
"Go," Brennan said harshly. "But remember that you are now a clanless man. Your rune will be painted out of the birthlines. Your name will be struck from the histories. “Your jehan will have no son."
It was a powerful inducement to make a warrior recant his renunciation. But Teirnan was not induced. "Unless he should come with me."
"Ceinn would not—" But Brennan broke off. It was possible Ceinn would; he had raised this rebel. It was also possible others would; Brennan was realistic enough to know there were warriors who might prefer the old order to the new.
Teirnan smiled a little. "Aye. I see you understand."
Brennan's mouth was dry. "You would willingly divide the clans?"
Teirnan shrugged. "I offer an alternative. It will be their choice."
"It will be no choice!" Brennan cried. "What kind of warrior are you?"
"A'saii," Teirnan said evenly. "Clanless, runeless, and free—free to serve myself."
It was all Brennan could do not to shout at him. "You profane this place," he said in a deadly tone. "You dishonor your jehana."
"Isolde is dead," Teirnan said curtly. "As for profaning this place, I will take myself out of it."
Mute, Brennan watched his cousin go. He could find no protests in the face of such deadly determination.
And when he was alone again, save for the massive throne, he went to it and sat down. It was not the first time. He and the Lion were on good terms.
"He will change his mind," Brennan told it, as much to reassure himself as to placate the Lion. "He will never leave his clan." But there was no answering reassurance from his conscience. Uneasily, he touched the lobeless ear. "Perhaps I should tell jehan."
Brennan did, over the Mujhar's evening meal, which Niall took alone in his private solar; Deirdre was otherwise occupied. His father pushed aside his platter of unfinished food so sharply his knife rattled against the silver. "I cannot believe you were so foolish as to incite Teir to such idiocy! You know what he is like."
Brennan sat slumped over the table, chin propped up on one hand. He was disgruntled enough; his father's displeasure made him feel worse. "Aye, well, I think we need not worry, Teir often says much but does very little."
Niall's tone was decidedly cool. "That is your opinion after carefully considering what would happen if he did precisely as he threatens?"
"How could he turn his back on so much?" Brennan asked in guilt-bom exasperation. "His clan, his race, his tahlmorra—"
"Obviously he is willing to do so. For all he gives us impotent threats much of the time, this one may be real. How many warriors do you know even jest about such action?"
Brennan scowled. "None, but—"
"But." Niall's tone was distinctly harsh. "I suggest you leave for Clankeep now and see if you can repair the damage."
"Jehan—"
"I myself will go in the morning. This sort of threat will be of concern to the clan-leader as well as the shar tahl." Niall scraped his stool back and rose, his meal unfinished. "Well?"
Belatedly, Brennan also rose. He was grateful they were alone so no one else could see his frust
ration. "Teir will do nothing tonight. Why not let me go with you in the morning?"
"Because I have told you to go now."
Brennan sighed and shoved the stool out of his way.
"Aye, jehan—aye, aye," he muttered, and strode angrily toward the door.
"Even kings must take responsibility for the consequences of their own actions," Naill said as Brennan opened the door. "Begin now, and it will be that much easier when you are Mujhar."
His heir shot him a look of deep disgust and closed the door with a resounding thud as he stepped into the corridor. Lir, we have been sent on a foolish errand.
Sleeta was one floor up in his chambers, but the link dissolved the separation. We? she asked pointedly.
Do you berate me, too?
She sighed. Where are we going, lir?
Clankeep.
Her tone brightened. Then I will bestir myself.
Upon Brennan's orders his newest horse was brought, saddled and ready. It was late afternoon and the weather was cool; winter was not so far away. The stallion, all black save for a splash of white upon his nose, sidled and snorted, stomping noisily on the cobbles. His eyes rolled as he espied Sleeta, who waited on the steps-
"My lord, I can saddle another," the groom said as the stallion's lips peeled back to display large teeth.
Brennan avoided the bite. "No. I am in the mood for Bane." He caught the reins and swung up into the Cheysuli saddle, clamping legs against sleek sides as Bane laid his ears flat back and essayed a tentative sideways leap.
"The Mujhar rides out in the morning."
"Aye, my lord." The groom stepped away quickly, dodging flying hooves as Bane commenced dancing across the bailey. Brennan rode out the worst of the stallion's customary protest, then signaled the gates open. "I cannot say when I will return," he called, and let the stallion go as Sleeta bounded through.
He was at the border dividing meadowlands from forest when Rhiannon caught up to him. After the first short gallop across the plains to work out frustrations and Bane's bad temper, Brennan had slowed the stallion to a walk. Rhiannon clearly had kept her mount at a run; the bay mare was lathered with sweat.
He waited until Rhiannon had caught up before reaching across to grab one rein. "You know better," he said sternly. High color stood in her face. She was breathless, black eyes alight with exhilaration; the wind had blown tendrils of hair free of confining braid.
"I know better," she agreed, "but there was no help for it. You did not heed my call to wait."
He frowned. "When did you call?"
She laughed. "When the horse tried to smash your knee against the gatepost. You were swearing, my lord; I am not surprised you did not hear me."
He smiled ruefully. "Aye, well, I am somewhat fond of my knee, and the gods know I have more need of it than Bane." He released her rein and jumped down from his horse. "Dismount, meijhana—the mare should be walked."
"Aye, of course." She slithered out of the saddle in a tangle of tassled boots, blue skirts and midnight mantle.
The heavy rope of hair was lost in the folds of the mantle, but he saw a glint of silver ribbon threaded through the plait.
He reached out and caught one slim hand, pulling her close. Rhiannon, laughing, stretched up for his kiss, then locked hands around his neck to pull him closer yet.
"Do you mind?" she asked as he released her. "I wanted to be with you. So often I must spend all my time with Deirdre or the ladies, when I would rather be with you."
He felt a twinge of guilt. It was no secret that Rhiannon shared his bed, yet the Mujhar held his silence, Brennan had no doubt Niall knew, but perhaps he knew also that repeated reminders of Aileen's imminent arrival would merely promote discord.
"I do not mind, meijhana, but you may find it tedious. I am sent to Clankeep to settle things with my rebellious cousin."
"Teir is a fool,” Rhiannon declared. "Maeve loves him—had he any sense, he would try to gain the Mujhar's favor so he can take her for a wife."
"Then perhaps Maeve is the fool." He turned Rhiannon toward the wood. "Come, meijhana—the mare needs cooling."
She fell in beside him, leading the tired mare. "Where is Sleeta?"
"Gone ahead. Hungry, she says, but she will not be far."
Fingers twined. They walked in companionable silence, leaving behind the open plains for the shadows of the wood. The track was wide and beaten smooth; Clankeep was no longer closed to those who were not Cheysuli.
Homanan goldsmiths came to trade for ornaments, and other craftsmen as well.
'There was another reason," Rhiannon said quietly. "The Mujhar meant to send a man to tell you, but I said I would go." She looked up at him gravely. "Word has come. Aileen's ship has sailed from Erinn."
Brennan nearly missed a step. Behind him. Bane nibbled irritably at his shoulder.
"I wanted to be the one to tell you."
He looked down at her. Her face was mostly averted, but he heard the merest trace of a waver in her voice.
"Meijhana—"
"I know," she said. "I have always known. You will marry her."
"It was a cradle-betrothal." He sighed. "It was more than that, meijhana—it was agreed before I was born."
"I know." She shrugged, speaking brightly. "I am no one. I could bring you nothing. Nothing but—" She hesitated, then halted and turned to face him squarely.
One hand was splayed across her belly. "Nothing but this child."
He caught her shoulders and held her firmly in place, ignoring the mare's snort of fright and Bane's rolling eye.
"Are you certain?"
"Quite certain, my lord." Rhiannon's smile was odd. "Does it please you?"
"How not?" He was astonished that she could ask it. "A child, Rhiannon . . . how could I not be pleased?"
"A bastard, my lord."
"Do you think I care about that? A child is a child."
Rhiannon laughed. "And an Ihlini-Cheysuli child? What do you say-to that?"
"His fingers locked in the folds of her woolen mantle.
"Ihlini-"
One cool hand was a shackle on his wrist, clinging, pressing, squeezing, until the flesh began to protest.
"Ihlini," she said distinctly, "Ihlini and Cheysuti. Why else do you think I wanted you?—why I made you want me?"
She was a woman, and weaker than he; angrily Brennan tried to break her grip, twisting sharply; to shock and dismay he found he could not. Because even as he moved, thinking to thrust her violently away, he felt the explosion of pain through the link.
Sleeta was nearly incoherent. Lir—lir—lir—
Even as Brennan tried to twist free again, meaning to run toward the source of Sleeta's anguish, Rhiannon prevented him. With one hand only, fingers spread rigidly against his breastbone, she coolly forced him off the track and against the nearest tree. "Back," she said only, supremely indifferent to his aborted bid for escape.
Lir— The cat's helplessness was his own, transmitting itself through the link with frightening ease and accuracy.
Though Rhiannon exerted little pressure, Brennan was slammed against the tree.
"Sleeta—"
"She is ours." Deftly Rhiannon pulled the reins free of his clutching hand and freed both horses, sending them away with a burst of purple flame from negligent fingers.
"I suggest you do not try to struggle, for Sleeta's sake if not your own. My servants hold her now."
He wanted to overpower her. He wanted to snap her elegant neck. But Sleeta's welfare was paramount in his mind, and there was no doubting Rhiannon's confidence.
He dared not try to move, or risk his lir's life as well as his own.
Sleeta?
Lir—lir—Ihlini— And abruptly her pattern was broken, like a candle snuffed rudely out.
Rhiannon's hand still rested on his breastbone, promising violence. That she used some form of arcane force, he knew; she was strong, too strong. The rough bark of the tree ground against his spine, even through the
leathers. Within he raged at her; without he made no effort to escape or attack.
"Good man," she said, "good warrior. Do not move and she will live."
"Slay her and you slay me."
"Empty threat," she answered. "I have what I want of you."
He tried to reach Sleeta through the privacy of the link, but nothing answered his frenzied search. There was emptiness in the pattern. "You have already killed her!"
"No, my lord. Not yet. She has been overcome by brutal force, but she lives. For now. Until we are through with you."
"How do you intend to kill me?" Bitterly. He could not believe he had been so gullible.
"Strahan wants you alive."
"Strahan—" He nearly gaped. "This is Strahan's doing?"
"Strahan's suggestion. My doing." Rhiannon smiled and reached up to caress his face even as he tried to jerk away. "It could have been worse, Brennan. Much worse. Seduction is better than force."
His lips peeled back from his teeth in an instinctive expression of feral disgust. He thought he might be ill.
"Lillith believed I could not do it," Rhiannon said quietly. "She feared I was too young, even by human standards. But then my mother forgets that Ihlini women are born to seduction as Cheysuli are born to the lir."
His muscles spasmed beneath her hand. "Lillith—"
"—is my mother. My jehana, you would say. As Ian is my jehan." Rhiannon laughed softly. "We are cousins, you and I—in addition to being bedmates."
"But—Jarek—" Brennan stopped. He required no explanation. In the face of her triumph and confidence, he knew she spoke the truth. "Not Jarek at all... nothing but misdirection, to make us believe ourselves safe ... it was you all the while. . . ."
"It was me all the while." Rhiannon smiled. "Jarek was a fine diversion. Thinking him Ihlini, you did not look at me." She laughed. "A clever plot to take you . . . send Solindish Jarek into Homana as a Homanan, where he would pose as Elek's son to win Homanan aid. And then we would take you in the name of Carillon's deaf-mute bastard."
"Was it your idea to let Ian believe Jarek was his son?" he asked bitterly. "Your idea to let me believe I was kinslayer?"
She pursed her lips. "The first? No. It was my mother's idea; a gift, she said, for Ian." Rhiannon smiled. "As for allowing you to believe you were kinslayer, well . . . it made you more vulnerable to me. That was my idea."
Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 05 Page 17