Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 05

by A Pride of Princes (v1. 0)

  Corin awoke. He touched Kiri sleeping at his side.

  And then fell into darkness again.

  Older now, but no less overlooked unless he made them look. And he did, whenever he could, using wits and willfulness, forcing the women to look, to see, to hear, even if the result was punishment, because then its name was Conn . . . then they spoke his name. Even if cursing it.

  Asleep, he reached for Kiri, who heard him whenever he spoke. And even when he did not.

  In the dream, he was himself, no longer a child but the Corin he saw every day when he looked in the polished plate. And suddenly he was the polished plate; he saw himself, as if he were someone else entirely, outside looking in, and the Corin he saw was a stranger.

  But not a stranger at all. Corin stood in the Great Hall, before the Lion Throne, facing the Mujhar of Homana, the man who had sired him. Alone, he faced him . . . and then he was not alone, for with him was a woman, a slim, red-haired woman with eyes clear and green as emeralds—green as Erinnish turf—and the woman's hand was in his hand, and she faced the Mujhar, as he did, and together they recited the private Cheysuli vows that bound a warrior and his woman.

  Bound . . . bound . . . bound—

  —Until Brennan stepped out of the shadows and tore Aileen's hand out of his.

  "No!" Corin cried. "No—not again!”

  And he was awake, and knew it, and knew what he had dreamed.

  Four

  The dream haunted Corin for days. He did his best to ignore it, to push it away into the recesses of his subconscious, but its aftertaste remained, like the sour flavor of sweet wine turned to vinegar. When he looked at Aileen, he saw the woman who had recited the Cheysuli vows with him before the Lion of Homana, defying Niall himself. And defying her betrothed as much as Corin did himself.

  Theirs was an uneasy companionship at best. Aileen hosted him with as much hospitality as she could muster in the name of her absent father, but the uninhibited generosity was gone. She eyed him warily at times, like a dog with an unkind master; other times she relegated him to obscurity, too busy to pay him mind. But occasionally he saw an odd sort of compassion in her eyes, as if she began to understand him and what made him the man he was.

  At last the dream lost its immediacy, freeing him to relax, and Aileen responded at once, as if she had been waiting.

  The relationship changed. The companionship deepened. They shared the things good friends shared, things kin shared, things he shared only with Keely. But he sensed a bond between them that superseded mere kinship, much as the one with Keely. With Aileen he was another man, freed of resentments and irritability; freed of the insecurity of being the third-born son. Here there was only Corin. No Brennan. No Hart. No ranking according to birth. Here there was merely Corin—Corin and Aileen, who saw what he was and cherished it. As much as he cherished her.

  Four weeks after his arrival—to celebrate, she said—Aileen took him out to ride along the headlands overlooking the Dragon's Tail. Kilore fell away from them, dropping below the horizon as they moved ever westward. The massive stone fortress gained invisibility; with it fled the last vestige of moodiness. He laughed again, unencumbered by doubts or recriminations, when Aileen told him a tale about her brother, and gloried in the banishment of the dream that had so plagued him. Free of it, he was also free of Brennan.

  Until Aileen said his name and conjured him between them.

  Such a simple question: "Is Brennan much like you?”

  They had run their horses, tearing across the headlands, laughing into the wind and calling out challenges.

  Now they walked them, afoot, reins looped through their hands. Ahead of them, Kiri trotted; between them hovered Brennan.

  "No," Corin said curtly.

  She waited for more. When he gave her nothing, she looked at him directly. "D'ye hate him so much, then?"

  He opened his mouth to refute the question at once.

  But nothing came out. Nothing at all; the denial died acoming. He had never thought of it as hatred; even now he felt the word incorrect. But he would lie to her no more than to himself.

  "He is my brother." Purposely, he used Homanan in place of Cheysuli.

  Aileen's mouth twisted. "Kinship has little to do with like and dislike, when it comes to a man's heart.”

  Corin sighed. The wind came up from the ocean below and curled over the rim of the cliff to buffet them both.

  He smelled sea and salt and fish.

  "I asked for me." Aileen said quietly, "thinking of myself. But now I ask for Corin."

  He looked at her sharply. And then at once away; he could not bear to see the compassion in her eyes.

  "No," he said finally. "No, I do not hate him. I dislike him, but I dislike myself more for giving in to it."

  Wind threatened to tear her hair free of its braid.

  Shorter strands teased her eyes. She stripped them back automatically, one hand still leading the horse. "Why?" she asked quietly.

  Corin fought his own losing battle with wind and hair.

  "Because . . . because he is Brennan."

  Aileen laughed. "Such a black scowl, Corin! Is he truly so bad?"

  "No. He is truly so good." He shook his head, feeling a vague sense of guilt. Only Keely really knew how he felt, because of their birth-link, and because she shared a measure of his resentment. She and Brennan were no closer than he and Brennan, although she was less bothered by troublesome resentments. Corin thought it was because Keely, being a woman, knew there was no chance she might inherit the Lion; in Corin's case, he was prevented only by the order of his birth. "I should say nothing more, Aileen ... he is your betrothed, and it does no good to color your opinions of him when you should form them fairly."

  She laughed. "D'ye see? You don't dislike him as much as you think ... if you did, you'd not be defending him to me."

  He sighed again, deeply, giving up the final vestiges of decorum. This was a subject he had avoided from the beginning, unable to raise it with the woman Brennan would wed. But if Aileen wanted frankness, he would give it to her.

  "Since I can remember, it was always Brennan this, Brennan that . . . Brennan, the Mujhar's son; Brennan, the Prince of Homana; Brennan, heir to the Lion. Part of the past and of the future: Cheysuli and Homanan." He slanted her a glance, fearful he might offend her, but saw only that she listened without judging. "All my life he has been held up as an example of what a man can and should be—what I could be if I tried!—and I am so weary of it. If he had earned it, I would not care so much, but it is because of his birth . . . because he was born first—" He broke off, stripping tawny hair out of stinging eyes. "It might have been Hart. Hart might have come first, and then he would be heir to Homana"

  "Or you." She said it calmly. "Is that what you're resenting so much? That you were not born in place of Brennan?"

  Corin stopped dead. The horse nearly walked over him, but he did not care. "Aye." He did not avoid her eyes. "Aye, Aileen, it is. I have always wanted the Lion."

  She turned to face him. The wind ripped hair from her face and bared it for him to see. "But you'll be having that"

  He followed the line of her lifted arm. Beyond her hand he saw the island across the Dragon's Tail. "Atvia," he said sourly, "is poor proxy for Homana."

  Slowly she lowered her arm. "D'ye want it because you want it? Or because your brother will have it?"

  He stared at her. He had never considered that view of his desire. He knew only that for as long as he could remember, he had wanted Brennan's place.

  He looked at Kiri. Oh, lir, is that it? Do I want what Brennan has only because he has it?"

  The fox did not answer. Corin shivered, discovering something within himself he did not like at all; acknowledging it for the very first time, and liking it no better.

  If I had what Brennan has, would I be content? Or would I search for new unhappiness and ways of expressing it?

  Corin looked at Atvia across the choppy gray water.

&n
bsp; Slowly he sat down, giving the horse his head, and stared out into the skies. "I want power," he said. "I want freedom. I want contentment. But—mostly I want the chance to be myself without being weighed against my rujholli."

  Aileen released her horse and sat down beside him, deftly settling her skirts. "Not so much," she said. "You're not in the way of being a greedy man."

  The island across the channel was awash in spray and sunlight, tinted with myriad colors. "Atvia is a land of strangers," he told her. "A land of old hatreds and resentments, of wars and vassalage ... I will not be welcome there."

  "No," she agreed. "But for a man who wants power, you might look on it as a challenge. You can go in a foreign prince, and come out a beloved king."

  "Beloved." He smiled. "What king is beloved?"

  "My father," she answered quietly.

  Corin sighed. "And, I think, mine."

  Aileen stared into the distances, seemingly lost in thought. Her voice, when she spoke, was quiet, but he heard the subtleties in her tone as loudly as if she shouted.

  "If Brennan is anything like you, perhaps I can be content."

  "Anything like me?" He stared at her in shock.

  "Aileen—no . . . Brennan is nothing like me, and you should be grateful for it!"

  "Why?" Now she looked at him. "Should I be grateful because he lacks your complexities? Because he lacks your depth of emotions? Lacks your passion?" Her eyes did not waver. "Should I be grateful because there is no need for him to say what is in his heart?"

  "And if the heart is black—'

  "Not black," she said quietly. "Only bruised by childhood resentments, and I'm thinking those can be easily banished."

  Corin shook his head. "Brennan is more suited to the Lion. He thinks before he speaks, speaks before he acts, then acts responsibly. He understands what makes a man feel the way he does, and respects that man for his feelings. He listens—" Abruptly, Corin broke off. And then he began to laugh. "Oh, gods, woman—do you see what you have done? From telling you why I dislike my rujholli I am become his champion!"

  "I'm thinking he needs none," Aileen told him. "And—I'm thinking too that Atvia's gain is surely Homana's loss."

  Corin thought not. Corin thought something else entirely, and found he must express it. Slowly he drew in a breath. "And I am thinking that my loss is Brennan's gain—" He broke off a moment, then went on bitterly. "Except you cannot lose what you never had."

  They stared at one another for a long moment, unable to look away, knowing only that he had said what was better left unsaid, between them; between the woman meant for his brother and the man who wanted her for himself, even as he had wanted so many things Brennan had. But this time, this time, he wanted less to win her away than simply to win her, period.

  Slowly, she put out her hand and touched his, gently; he felt the trembling in her fingers. "For that, I am sorry."

  Corin pulled his hand from hers and made a gesture: an upturned hand, palm bared, fingers spread. “Tahlmarra lujhalla mei wiccan, cheysu," he said grimly, "and I can change the fate the gods have given us no more than I can change the order of my birth."

  He stood before the Lion Throne and faced the man within it. Not his father; Niall was gone. In his place was Brennan.

  Corin inclined his head. "My lord," he said politely, "I wish to steal your queen."

  He sat up with a muffled shout. All around him was darkness and the swathing of the bed. And once again, as always, he reached out for Kiri.

  Lir, oh, lir, I think I am going mad.

  No, the vixen said, you are only losing sleep.

  He was. Each night. He slept, dreamed, wakened, then repeated the cycle. He was ashamed of some of the dreams. He had thought, fleetingly, of bedding one of the serving girls, if only to banish the dreams, but the thought died nearly the instant it was born.

  What he wanted was Aileen herself, not one of Aileen's women.

  Corin rolled over onto his belly. If I went to Atvia now— But he knew he would never go. While Liam was from the palace, he had every right to wait. No one could suspect him of remaining for anything else.

  Not even Aileen could.

  He slept. He dreamed. He awakened.

  "My lord," he said politely, "I wish to steal your queen."

  In his hand there was a sword—

  Aileen touched his shoulder and the vision fled at once.

  "Where are you, Corin? I see the look in your eyes."

  He blinked, knowing himself back in Kilore. No more Lion, no more Brennan. Only Brennan's betrothed.

  "Nowhere," he said curtly, rising from the stool.

  They had shared a meal, exchanged favorite stories of mishaps suffered by their kin, told tales on one another, recalled childhood games. Now they sat before one of the giant fireplaces within a private chamber, and he knew they tempted fate.

  "Corin—"

  "Will Liam never come home?"

  Aileen, still seated, stared up at him as he turned to pace away. Back and forth he moved, restless and angry, swallowed by desperation. She saw it in him, and grieved.

  "I can send for him," she said at last. "I didn't do it before only because you said there was no need for urgency."

  "No. No need for urgency." He stopped pacing and swung back. "What I need I cannot have."

  Clearly she understood him. She did not look away.

  "Who is saying you cannot have it?"

  "Brennan—"

  "Brennan is not here."

  Corin watched her rise. No more than three paces separated them; he knew he dared not take them. Yet hoped she would, so he could live with the guilt. And knew it was unfair.

  "Aileen—"

  "You came unknowing," she said, "intending nothing. I received you in place of my father, offering nothing more than courtesy. And, eventually, compassion and understanding. From that grows the vine that tangles us in its thorns."

  "Then I will cut us free."

  Aileen's smile was bittersweet. "Will you, now? But how?"

  "By telling you the message I have for Liam is that the betrothal is to end." He saw the whitening of her face."A wedding is desired; Brennan requires an heir."

  Aileen said nothing for a long moment. And then she clenched her hands in the folds of her heavy skirts. " Tis a sharp knife, Corin . . . sharper than the thorns."

  "Brennan will bind the wound."

  "And who will be binding yours?"

  "Oh, gods—Aileen—“

  But she took the paces and closed the space between them, closing his mouth as well with cold, slim fingers.

  "No," she said, “no. I'm wanting no cruelty from one another, nor for one another. Ah, Corin—will ye hold me? I've been wanting it so long—“

  He held her, as she asked, thinking he might fool himself into believing he did it only because she asked, but he knew better. He knew. He was lost, and so was she.

  And so was their innocence.

  Lir, Kiri said, and someone threw open the door.

  They broke, but not quickly enough. And then the dogs were begging for Aileen's attention, so many dogs, all wolfhounds, pushing them apart, and he knew Liam was home at last.

  "Lass," her father said mildly, and then he looked at Corin.

  Oh—gods—

  Liam grinned and strode into the chamber, parting the sea of dogs. He was a big man, a strong man, with Deirdre's brass-bright hair and Aileen's green eyes; wind-chafed, weather-bumed, hardened from years of war-fare. He was fifty, Corin knew, but the years did not weigh him down.

  "Niall’s lad," the lord of Erinn said in a vast and abiding satisfaction. “ 'Tis in your face and your color, though you lack the height and weight." He caught Corin in a brief, bearish hug, then set him back for perusal.

  Green eyes glinted; beyond him, white-faced, Aileen stared. "I see none of Gisella in you."

  Corin drew in a deep breath. "My lord—"

  "So, have you come to woo my lass?" Liam strode to a table and poured wine
. "Or is she already won?" He grinned and raised his cup. "To Brennan and Aileen, future king and queen of Homana."

  For one insane moment Corin wondered if it were possible to keep Liam in ignorance. Hart, he knew, might try it, merely to win a wager.

  But this was not a wager; Aileen was worth far more.

  "No," he said hollowly.'

  One thick blond brow rose. "No?" Liam echoed. "Will you not let me drink to your happiness?"

  "You may drink to the happiness of Brennan and Aileen," Corin said with as much control as he could muster. "But I am not part of it."

  Liam lowered the cup. "Are ye daft, lad? D'ye insult my daughter so soon after you kiss her?"

  "My lord." Corin moved to face Liam squarely, no longer able to see Aileen. "My lord, you saw what you saw. But I am not Brennan."

  "Not—" Liam broke off. He set down the cup with a thump; wine slopped over the rim. "Then who are you, ye skilfin, and why were you kissing my daughter?"

  "I am Niall's son, my lord ... he has three, if you will recall. I am the youngest of them."

  Liam's levity and high spirits were banished, replaced with a frowning intensity. The sheer power in the man's gaze made Corin want to squirm. But he held his ground, unmoving.

  "Corin," Liam said finally. "That much I know from Niall's letters." He flicked a glance past Corin to Aileen and his mouth tautened. "Well, lad, have you come to tell me Brennan and Hart are dead, and you are heir to the Lion?" His tone was harsh. "I'll accept no other explanation for why you would take the liberty of kissing Brennan's betrothed."

  "Will you take this one?" Aileen spoke for the first time since Liam had entered the room. She moved forward to stand by Corin, facing her father even as he did, but with less courtesy. "Will you accept it when I say I'll be taking Corin in place of Brennan?"

  Corin snapped his head around to stare at her in shock, Liam's brows rose. "Will you?" he asked mildly. "D'ye think it so easy, then?"

  Corin had expected more than that from him. But when he looked back at Liam, he saw the light tone did not entirely dispell the intentness of his manner. He put Corin in mind of a mountain cat feigning indolence until it was time to leap. But who is prey? he wondered uneasily. Aileen, or myself?