The hand dropped to the bed. He was exhausted.
"If I knew it once, I have forgotten."
I dismissed my own rune. It was somewhat discomfiting to discover an Ihlini who could not even form the simplest rune, but not surprising. He would recall it. For the moment his mind was empty of power, of the knowledge of his magic, like a young child. "It will come again." I paused. "If it does not, be certain I will teach you."
The lips moved faintly, as if to form a smile.
But his eyelids dropped closed. The root was reasserting its control.
I rose quietly. He looked very young and vulnerable. Against his hand the lifestone was black.
Black, not red.
"It will come back," I said.
At the door, as I lifted the latch, I heard a sound.
I turned back and saw the faint glint of green eyes.
"Ginevra," he said, as if to try out the fit of my name within his mouth.
I smiled. "Aye."
The lids closed again. "Beautiful," he whispered.
Nonplussed, I did not answer. I did not know if he meant my name, or the woman who bore it.
Then I thought of my mother. I could not help but smile. You gave him to me, I thought. Now let you see what comes of it.
I went at once to my father. With him was my mother, who sat upon a window seat in my father's tower chamber and gazed down upon the smoky bestiary before the gates. I thought she was very like the fortress, strong, proud, and fierce. I wished I could like her, but that had died. I knew her heart now, and the knowledge bruised my own.
"He remembers nothing," I told them. "Not even his name."
My father stood before a burning tripod brazier.
It turned his eyes bronze. He waited.
"I told him. I told him mine as well, and that we are to wed. I told him where he is. But he recalls none of it ... not even that he is Ihlini."
That brought my mother's head around. Bells tinkled in her hair. "He forgets that?"
I refused to flinch beneath the contempt. "He has been badly injured. It will come back."
"Did you test him?" my father asked.
I flattened my palms against my skirts and held my hands very still. "What magic he knew is forgotten. Even bel'sha'a. He is a child, my lord father—an infant empty of power." I took a careful breath, knowing what I said was incredibly important. "If you sought a tool, you could not find a better one. He has nothing on which to rely save what we give him. There are no preconceptions. How better to teach the man how to serve the master than by replacing the old memories with the new?"
Only the faintest glint in his eyes betrayed his interest. I knew I had caught him. Now there was no need for subtlety.
My father smiled. I saw him glance at my mother who watched him with narrowed eyes.
Hers, too, are pale brown, though not like his; hers are almost golden except when the light hits them fully, and then the Cheysuli shows.
"He shall be mine," Lochiel said.
I put up my chin. It was time I declared myself lest she do it first. "But you will share him with me."
My father laughed. "I shall do better than that. He shall be your charge until I believe the time is right . - - you may have the training of him. In all things."
I could not help the burst of pride in my chest.
Never had he bestowed upon me such a gift. It was a mark of his acknowledgment of my blood.
He was giving me the opportunity to serve my heritage.
Still, I hesitated. "Are you sure I am worthy?"
He laughed. "You need not fear that you might tarnish the vessel. I will be here for you ... I will see what you do. He is meant for the god, Ginevra, as you are. Do you think I would give him immortality only to have you watch him sicken and die the way others do?"
"Lochiel!" my mother cried. "You promise too much."
"Do I?" His tone was cool. "Do you wish it for you in place of your daughter?"
Color stained her face. "You have never suggested it. Even when I asked—"
He made a subtle gesture with his hand. I had seen it before; I had tried to mimic it desperately because it always silenced my mother. "Melusine," he said, "you live here on my sufferance."
Her red lips trembled, then firmed. "I am your wife."
"That does not make you worthy of the Seker's favor."
Her eyes blazed almost yellow. "You promise it to her.”
He stood next to me. His hand was on my shoulder. The fingers crept into my hair, which hung loose to my hips, and I felt the warmth of his flesh through the velvet of my gown. "Ginevra is the flesh of my flesh, the blood of my blood, the bone of my bone," he said quietly. "Her mind is mine as well. You are none of these things ... I used you to get the child, and now I have her."
"Lochiel!"
His other hand rose. I could see it from the corner of my eye. I looked at my mother because I could look nowhere else. "Melusine," he said, "I have cared for you. You bore me a child. You suckled Kellin of Homana when I bid you do it. You have served me well. But you surely must see that you and your daughter are destined for different ends."
"I bore her!" It was her only chance now.
"In blood and pain; I know it. But so do the mares, and the cows, and the ewes . .. and they are not elevated by the honor of the Seker." He paused. "Surely you must see."
Her face was very pale. "You mean me to die, then."
"Not before due time."
"Before her time!"
Lochiel sighed. "You are a shrew."
It was incongruous. He was the most powerful sorcerer in the entire world, yet all he did was call my mother a name.
It infuriated her; I saw then what he did. "A shrew! In the name of Asar-Suti, are you mad? A shrew?"
My father laughed. There was something between them I could not understand. "Melusine, do you believe you have displeased me? You are all I could wish for. You suit me."
Her eyes glinted yellow. "Then why do you threaten me?"
"To relieve my boredom." He smoothed my hair, then released it. "She is lovely, our Ginevra ... and this binding of the bloodlines will insure our survival. But Devin must go before the god. The blessing is required."
My mother was less angry now, but still unsettled. She hated to be used; before, I had not seen it. I was old enough now to begin to understand.
"And if the blessing is denied?" She cast me a glance. "What happens to Devin then?"
"He dies,” Lochiel said.
My mother looked at me and laughed.
I could not echo her. I knew she hoped he would.
Three
"A fool," I told him.
He ignored me. He sat up anyway and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. I watched not the splinted leg itself, which was at issue, but the face of the man who struggled to redeem himself in the eyes of the woman he was meant to wed.
It meant something to him. It meant a great deal to him. It pleased me to know why; that of all things in the world to come unexpectedly, we would make a match between a man and a woman who loved one another.
His color was much improved. A lock of black hair, now clean and glossy, fell forward over his forehead. The swelling of his face was gone, so that the clean lines of nose and brow formed a perfect melding, complementing the oblique angles of his cheekbones and the clarity of his eyes framed in sooty lashes that rivaled my own.
"A fool," I murmured, applying it to myself though he believed it meant for him. Never had I thought I could love a man the way I loved Devin, and we not even wed yet. We were, as yet, nothing but intendeds; but they all knew, everyone, despite our circumspection. It was easier for them to know than for us to admit it. As yet, we said nothing of it.
The ends of the splint tapped down; Devin winced. It would not stop him, I knew; I had learned that much of him in the past few weeks.
A stubborn, intransigent man.
And entirely beautiful, in the way a man can be who is clearly a man. Mal
e, I thought, Expressly, completely male, like the cats in the undercroft.
I wanted to laugh. My mother had lost. It pleased me intensely that he was as I expected, as I had dreamed between sleep and wakefulness, when my body would not be quiet. I understood, now, what lay between my parents.
"Devin—" I shook my head. "It is not necessary. I know you are not a weakling ... let it heal."
His mouth was compressed in a grim. Flat line.
He intended to try again. I sighed and set my teeth; he would only damage himself.
I made a slight gesture from my chair, so that the bindings undid themselves and the splints fell away. Unbound, the leg was ill-suited to standing.
Devin looked at the fallen linen and the wooden sticks. "You did that."
I arched my brows. "I did warn you."
"No—you called me a fool."
"That was my warning."
He scowled. Beneath black brows, his eyes glittered like glass. "I cannot stand without aid."
"No."
He sighed. "The lesson is duly learned. Will you bind it up again?"
He would not admit it, but the leg hurt. Forgoing magic, because I longed so much to touch him, I knelt on the ground and bound it up by hand again. The flesh was flaccid and soft. The bones inside knit, but the muscles were wasting, He watched me as I tied the knots. His voice was hoarse, as if he held back something he longed to say. "If we Ihlini are truly as powerful as you say, why leave healing to splints and linen bindings? Why not ensorcell my leg?"
I sat down in my chair again. We spent much time together in the small chamber, as I taught him what he knew already but did not recall. "My father desired you to know limitations."
"Ah." His mouth hooked down.
"And there is another reason. Healing is a Cheysuli gift."
"It would seem a benevolent gift. Perhaps if I had a Cheysuli here . . ." He grinned. "I see a storm in your eyes."
"You should. Besides, a Cheysuli here in Valgaard would have no power. It is because of the Gate—the Seker is too strong. The only magic here is that which he makes himself."
Devin's expression was serious. "And when will I see him?"
"When my father wishes you to." I sketched ori’neth. "Try it, Devin."
"I have tried."
"Again."
He put his hand into the air. His other was naked of lifestone; he had taken it off because, in losing weight, the ring would not seat itself properly. "Your father has not come to me again. How is he to know when I am ready?"
"Make the rune. He will know."
"Because you will tell him?"
"No one tells Lochiel anything; no one has to. My father knows things." I sighed. "Devin—"
He tried. Fingers warped, twisted, mimicking the patterns. Only the barest outline appeared, and then he let his hand drop. "There. You see?"
"You mastered bel'sha'a," I reminded him.
"Ori'neth comes next."
Devin was glum. "I have no aptitude."
I laughed at him outright. "Aptitude! You are Ihlini." I smiled at his disgruntlement. "It was better. This time I could see the air parting. When you can separate the air and put the godfire in the seam between air and air, you will have learned the trick." I paused. "You learned bel'sha'a."
"In six weeks," he said. "I will be an old man before I learn the third level, and useless as a husband." He scowled at me. "What use are such tricks, Ginevra? They could not stop a man."
"These could not, it is true .. . but these are the first runes, Devin. This is a baby's game, to keep the child occupied." I laughed as the scowl deepened. "But you are a baby! I could make bel'sha'a when I was three years old. A six-month later I mastered ori'neth. I have no doubt it was the same for you—you have only forgotten. The river stole your wits."
"I may never get them back."
He was depressed. I pulled my chair closer, hesitated a moment, then leaned forward and caught his hand. It was an intimacy I would not have dared two weeks before, but something I needed now. I wanted to lessen the pain of his weakness.
And increase your own?
I went on regardless, ignoring my conscience.
"An Ihlini does not gain his powers until he reaches adolescence, and even then it takes years to focus all the skills. I am not so well-versed myself." I was, but no need to tell him that; I was Lochiel's daughter, and the blood showed itself. "I am a child leading an infant, but who better to recall the days when a simple trick proved difficult? See this?" I made a gesture and felt the tingling coldness in my fingertips. The godfire came as I bid it, luridly purple. It hung in a glowing sheet between Devin and me, but our hands remained linked. "This is—"
He jerked his hand from mine and lifted it as if to shred the godfire. I tore it aside before he burned himself; he did not yet know how to ward himself.
A sheen of perspiration coated his face, "Ginevra—"
"What is it?" 1 left my chair and knelt by the bedside. "Devin—what is it?"
"That—that—" His eyes were frightened. "I remember. Dimly. Fire—flame . . ." He closed his eyes. His body went slack against the pillows. "Why can I remember no more?"
"It will come," I told him, as I had so many times.
He shifted against the bedclothes. "How can you be certain? How can you know? And if I am not able to master such things .. ." The chiseled lips compressed themselves flat, robbing them of shape. "An Ihlini with no arts is hardly fit to be wed to Lochiel's daughter."
I took his hand into my own and pressed it against my mouth. "He will be fit," I said. "I will see to it."
Devin's eyes were black. His breathing was shallow and quick. "Can you do such a thing?"
Against his flesh, I said, “I can do many things."
The hand turned in my own. He caught my fingers, carried my hand to his mouth, and let me feel the hardness of his teeth in the tenderness of his lips, "Show me," he breathed.
I shuddered once. "Not—yet."
"When?"
It was a difficult truth, but he was due it rather than lies. "When my father is convinced you are fit to serve the god."
Devin's breath was warm against my hand as he laughed softly. "Fathers need not always rule their daughters in such matters as this."
"Mine does." I pulled free of his grasp. "If you forget that, even once, it could be your death."
"Ginevra—"
"He is Lochiel," I said; I knew it was enough.
The tension in his body fled. His mouth moved faintly into an ironic smile. And then it, too, died, and I saw in its place a harrowing despair. "I have nothing," he said. "I am nothing—save what you make me."
It shook me. "You are Devin."
"I am no one," he said, "save what you tell me. I am denned by you." His eyes burned livid as godfire, save they were green in place of purple. "You are my sanity."
I petitioned the Seker to lend him the strength to find his own sanity, lest mine prove too weak.
And then I left the room. I wanted too badly to give him what he asked.
When the splint at last came off and Devin was able to stand, I learned he was taller than I had expected. He had lost flesh in his illness, but movement and better meals would restore him.
Within the week the crutch was tossed away and he walked freely on his own. With renewed mobility came vigor and curiosity to see where I lived.
He walked easily enough, but I saw the trace of tension in his mouth and around his eyes. I wanted him to see all of Valgaard so he would know it as I did; it was to be his home. It was important that he understand the kind of power contained in the fortress, so he would not forget himself—once he had relearned the arts—and wield it improperly.
He progressed at last from ori'neth to H'ri'a. The rune pattern was roughly worked, but achieved, glowing fitfully in the air. He was most pleased that it smoked and sputtered, shedding bits of godfire; I reminded him that control was more important than appearance.
"You require new clothing
," I told him as we walked the cobbled courtyard.
"I have clothing. And you have already said appearance is unimportant."
"Not unimportant; less important—and that is in wielding magic, not wearing clothing." I cast a sidelong glance. "I want you to have better. These do not fit well enough."
"And if I gain back the weight you say I have lost, the new clothing will not." He touched my cheek. "Let it be, Ginevra. I am content with what I have."
"Then at least wear the ring." I took it from the pouch hanging from my girdle. "Here. I sent it to you last year. The least you can do is wear it in my presence."
He took the emerald from me, studying it. I saw the flattening of his mouth. "Even this I do not recall. Any more than the other ring."
"No matter. Put it on."
He did so. The gold band turned on his finger.
I saw the look in his eye.
"Bind it with wool," I said. "When you are well, it will fit."
He was frustrated and angry. "Will I ever be well?"
"Dev—"
He stopped dead in his tracks, capturing my shoulders in hands well recovered from his illness.
'"Will my memory return? Or am I sentenced to spend the rest of my life but half a man, able only to form the rune a child of two could make?"
It hurt me to see him so affected. If I could provide help—
I could. It was up to me to risk it.
I sighed. "I think it is time . , . come with me."
"Where?"
"To my father."
The black in his eyes expanded. "You would shame me before Lochiel?"
"There is no shame in this. My father understands."
He shut up the ring in his hand as it turned on his finger. "Can Lochiel restore me? Or is that healing also, and therefore anathema?"
"Come," I said firmly, putting my hand on his arm. "Ask him instead of me."
The room was empty as we entered. It was a small private chamber tucked up into one of the towers, draped with rune-worked cloth to soften the walls, filled with a jumble of chairs and tables, and candleracks sculpted to new forms by hardened streamers of creamy wax. My father preferred the chamber when he desired to have private discussions; he saw no need for opulence among his family.
Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 Page 35