The Betrayal

by Pati Nagle

  Eliani—

  I do not like causing pain to those I love. I do it far too often.

  He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away all her worries. She would have let him, he knew, if she were there. Instead, leagues of doubt lay between them.

  I have faith in you.

  He felt a ripple of emotion from her, so quickly damped that he could not tell what it was. He waited.

  I should go.

  Very well. I will see you when you return.

  Yes.

  He wanted to tell her he would think of her every moment until then. He wanted to warn her against Kelevon, but that would be folly. He could not win her trust by trying to bind her to him. He had to let her find her own path.

  Spirits guard you, Eliani.

  And you.

  She slipped away. Turisan let his breath out slowly, then reached for his tea.

  Heléri returned and warmed both their cups from the ewer. “I hope all is well.”

  “She wanted to know if I had talked with you.”

  “Ah.”

  Turisan watched Heléri sip her tea, searching for a trace of Eliani in her features. They were very unalike, but if there was a resemblance, it was in the determination of her chin. He smiled.

  “Thank you, Lady Heléri. I am in your debt.”

  “We shall soon all be in your debt. Yours and Eliani's.”

  He gave a small shrug. “Perhaps not. Fireshore has sent word at last.”

  “There will be other calls upon you.”

  He met her gaze, thinking of the kobalen at Midrange. Yes, there would be other occasions for the mindspeakers to serve their people. With some surprise he realized that he no longer doubted Eliani's willingness to serve in that way. She had accepted their gift as her fate. He knew it with certainty.

  The rest was still in question. Kelevon's return might have destroyed his own chance of happiness with Eliani. Or it might, as Heléri had suggested, enable Eliani to resolve her feelings at last.

  By the time Eliani's party reached Glenhallow again, dawn was spreading pale fingers into the sky. Kelevon wore a constant frown and gave clipped answers to Eliani's occasional attempts at conversation. Eliani was actually glad to see a small crowd of well-wishers gathered at the outer gate.

  Turisan? We are arrived.

  Welcome.

  Should we go to the circle?

  No, ride straight to the palace stables. My father made no announcement of your return, though it is known. The Council will be summoned when you have had time to refresh yourselves.

  Eliani glanced at Kelevon. Good. Our courier is in a sullen mood.

  Why so?

  The sun is near rising, and he is a night-bider.

  She sensed sudden dismay from Turisan, a breath's length, no longer, before it vanished. He had hidden it quickly, but not before she felt it.

  What is it?

  Nothing. Bring him to the great hall. My father and I will meet you there.

  Very well.

  She looked back eastward. The sun was not up yet, but golden streamers were rising into the sky. She saw Kelevon draw the hood of his cloak forward to shade his face and was reminded of Heléri, who went veiled whenever she was abroad in daylight because the sun hurt her eyes.

  Maybe it was so for Kelevon as well, though she did not remember his being troubled thus in the past. He had changed, perhaps. So had she.

  She urged her weary mount to a trot and hastened to the stables, sparing smiles and waves for the scattered crowd that greeted her return to Glenhallow. In the stable yard, she slid to the ground with a small grunt of weariness and gave her reins to the groom who approached.

  “Coddle them. They have been ridden hard.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  She slung her packs over her shoulder and looked around the yard. Kelevon had stepped already into the passage that led up to the palace. She joined him in the archway, pausing to wait for Luruthin, who was talking with Vanorin.

  Kelevon moved a little deeper into the passage. “You are well loved here.”

  Eliani shrugged. “It is the mindspeech. They do not know me.”

  “Not many do. I am not certain I ever did.”

  The gentleness of his tone surprised her. She glanced at him and saw regret in his face.

  “Eliani … I believe I owe you an apology.”

  Within the shade of his hood his golden eyes glowed, sparking memories both fair and painful. She felt confused, not knowing if he meant to apologize for rushing them to Glenhallow or for something else. Before she could ask, Luruthin joined them, somewhat breathless.

  “Pardon my delay. I think my horse has thrown a splint.”

  Kelevon's eyes snapped to glare at him. Eliani turned and started up the passage.

  “Come. Lord Jharan is waiting for us.”

  She led them to the great hall at the palace's center. She had not been there at dawn before, and the sight of sunlight streaming through high windows to strike the murals on the west side of the gallery, lighting them in shades of green and gold, made her pause in admiration. Beside her, Kelevon drew his hood farther forward.

  Jharan and Turisan stood talking quietly in the center of the hall. Eliani approached them, and Jharan turned, smiling in greeting.

  “Welcome back, Lady Eliani, Theyn Luruthin.” His gaze moved to Kelevon.

  Eliani swept a brief bow. “Governor Jharan, this is Kelevon, who has come from Governor Othanin in Fireshore.”

  “Welcome, Kelevon, and thank you for your service. We are glad to hear from Fireshore at last.”

  Kelevon bowed and handed Jharan the letter Eliani had read. Jharan glanced at it, then indicated Turisan.

  “This is Lord Turisan.”

  Eliani saw Kelevon's eyes narrow as he bowed again. Turisan acknowledged him with a nod, watching him intently. Jharan addressed Kelevon. “You must be weary. Allow me to show you the rooms we have prepared for you.”

  Kelevon hesitated. “You need not have troubled. A lodging in the city will suit me.”

  Jharan smiled. “That is the purpose of a palace, to accommodate visitors of state. Come, I have much to ask you.”

  Jharan led Kelevon away toward the south wing, ascending the curved stairs to the gallery. Silence hung in the air for a moment, then Luruthin coughed.

  “I suppose I should retire.”

  Turisan turned to him. “A meal has been sent to your chambers. To yours also, my lady.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The Council will be summoned later in the morning.”

  Eliani nodded. She felt awkward, embarrassed. Hallowhall's roof was vast, but not vast enough for her to be comfortable sharing it with so many lovers, former and would-be. Suddenly she wanted only to be alone.

  “Bid you both good morning.”

  She strode toward the stairs after Jharan and Kelevon. In her chamber she found a covered tray on the table by the hearth, and a bathing tub placed nearby, with ewers of steaming water and a pile of soft towels on a low table beside it. Calling silent blessings down upon Jhinani, Eliani sighed and began to unfasten her leathers.

  A handful of withered flowers scattered about her feet: the goldencup—no, honeycup—that the child had given her the previous morning. She knelt to pick up one of the blooms, fingering its wilted stem. The petals were still bright, but they were only a shadow of what they had been. How fair, and how quickly faded. Like all her love affairs.

  Eliani's chest tightened. She had expected to have leisure for reflection on her journey to Fireshore. Now she was back where she had been a day earlier, with the added confusion of Kelevon's presence. She felt as if she could not breathe.

  She undressed and emptied the ewers into the bath, forgoing the slender, flower-shaped phial of scented salts. She hissed as she stepped into the hot water and immersed her aching body.

  A day and a night in the saddle, and she was already a mess of aches and stiffness. Glenhallow had made her soft. She regretted re
turning, not having the journey ahead. She was not made for the idleness of living in a palace. This place, with its perfumes and promenades, was too seductive.

  As was Turisan. He wanted her and would soon seek consummation with her. Eliani swallowed as she rubbed her sore muscles in the water's heat. She wanted him also, but not in her present troubled state of mind. She would only hurt him, as she had hurt every male she had touched.

  What now? She closed her eyes, fighting panic. She had agreed to handfast, and now there was nothing to delay it. She was not ready.

  She scrubbed her body, focusing on the flesh and trying not to think about Turisan or Kelevon or any of the questions that circled round and round in her mind. She washed her hair, using a pot of mildly scented soap that the attendant had left for her, and submerged herself to rinse it out.

  Underwater her hair floated free, soft against her fingers. It reminded her of a time she and Kelevon had gone to the hot springs above Highstone and drifted together in the warm water, making love with aching slowness. It had lasted all night and had ended with a crashing peak she still vividly remembered. Her flesh tingled even now.

  She came up from the water abruptly, shook her head, and wiped at her stinging eyes. Rising from the bath with a great sloshing, she stepped out and wrapped herself in a towel. She used another to rub vigorously at her wet hair, then sat in a chair by the hearth, basking in the fire's warmth.

  Why can I not be free of Kelevon?

  Because it never ended, whispered a small voice within her. The thought coursed through her like the deep vibration of a summoning chime.

  It was true. Her life had ceased in one way with Kelevon's departure, and she had tried to let that corner of her heart die, but here it was, pumping out blood anew through an unhealed wound.

  She closed her eyes. She had tried for two de cades to avoid hurting a lover by the simple plan of having none, but even that had failed. Abstaining from involvement had not served the purpose. She must change tactics.

  She must face Kelevon.

  Impatient to act on the decision, she left the hearth, towels sliding to the floor as she strode across the chamber to where her trunk, still packed, sat against the wall. She opened it and pulled out the first garment she found—her blue gown—and pulled it over her head. Its loose fit seemed too informal for the Council, so she added a violet kirtle sewn with crystals from Clerestone, then dug out a pair of slippers. Donning these, she fetched her comb from her satchel and returned to the hearth while she untangled her damp hair.

  She would have to find Kelevon's chambers. She wondered if the governor was still closeted with him.

  She combed her hair until it was nearly dry, then threw her cloak about her shoulders and left her chambers, striding out to the arcade. The fountains below were still shaded by the palace, though the sun was well up. Drifts of chill mist occasionally reached the upper arcade. Eliani paced its length slowly, hoping for some sign of where she might find Kelevon.

  A chime rang, deep and sonorous. The Council was being summoned.

  Eliani glanced back toward the center of the palace, surprised and a bit irritated, for she had expected to be given more time to rest. She would have to talk with Kelevon later. He might already be in the council chamber. She reluctantly turned back.

  Eliani? May I have a private word with you before the Council?

  Yes, all right.

  Shall I come to you?

  To her chambers—no. Altogether too private. She turned to the nearest staircase and hurried down it.

  I am in the gardens.

  She reached the fountain court and paced its paths aimlessly. A sharp breeze whipped cold spray around her and chilled her ears beneath her damp hair. She drew her cloak tighter.

  She found herself drifting toward a far corner of the court where the sun was spilling down the high wall. She sat on a bench beside a series of curving pools that poured into one another in a gentle cascade, mimicking a stream but with a much slower pace. Closing her eyes against the sun's glare, she turned her face to the light.

  “Eliani?”

  Startled, she blinked and shaded her eyes with a hand. Turisan stood before her, wearing a formal tunic, his hair caught back in a half braid. He looked very like Jharan, she thought inconsequentially. He looked troubled.

  “There is something I wish to tell you before the Council meets.”

  Eliani nodded. With a gesture she invited him to sit beside her. Her cloak fell open as she moved, and Turisan smiled as he joined her on the bench.

  “I like that gown. It always looks well on you.”

  Elinani smiled back but pulled her cloak close again. She felt chilled despite the warm sunshine.

  “What did you wish to tell me?”

  His face became grave again. “Yesterday in Council, Ehranan put forth a disturbing theory. He believes the alben may suffer a sickness that they acquired in Fireshore.”

  “Sickness?”

  “Yes. He believes it to be the cause of their misdeeds, their hunger for blood, their hatred of the sun. Eliani, he suggested that it might even now afflict Clan Sunriding.”

  Fear gripped her heart. Davhri, her father's sister, was a Sunriding.

  “No. We would surely have heard—they would have told us—”

  “Would they? After what happened to Darkshore?”

  She met his gaze, saw deep concern in his eyes. Her heart sank.

  Turisan continued quietly. “If he is right, then it is possible that Kelevon is affected.”

  “Kelevon!”

  He nodded. “I wished you to know my concern.”

  Eliani stared at the graveled walk beneath their feet. Turisan wished her to believe that Kelevon was afflicted with a sickness—the sickness of the alben.

  “No. He is perfectly well.”

  “He shuns the daylight.”

  She felt a flash of annoyance. “So does Heléri! Is she sick as well?”

  “Eliani—”

  She jumped up from the bench and began to pace. “This is too much conjecture. Ehranan may be right, or partially right, but until we are sure of that, we can make no assumptions.” She halted before Turisan, glaring a challenge. “Kelevon showed no sign of being unwell.”

  “I did not mean to anger you.”

  “I am not angry!”

  He drew a breath, then said nothing, instead pressing his lips together. A small frown creased his brow.

  I know you and Kelevon were once very close.

  Turisan—

  Such feelings might make it hard for you to be objective.

  I would rather not talk of this now.

  I am concerned for your safety.

  She inhaled and stopped herself on the edge of a cutting reply, hastily turning away instead. It was all she could do not to stride away from him.

  So it began. Even with Turisan—gentle, patient Turisan, whom without doubt she loved—she could not keep from strife.

  The pools before her silently flowed on, the last of them at ground level, grown with reeds and lotus, though no blooms just now. She wondered where the water went from there. It seemed still, but could not be or it would have flooded the path.

  She breathed deeply, willing herself to be calm. After a moment she turned and saw Turisan watching her, his dark eyes filled with worry. How she longed for his touch, for the smell of him, the taste of him.

  Turisan, I need to be alone.

  His face was momentarily stricken; then he glanced down, and the neutrality of the courtier fell into place. He stood up.

  Very well.

  He stepped toward her. Despite herself she flinched, and he hesitated before gently laying his hands on her shoulders. He kissed her brow, a feather's brush of khi tingling over her face, then stepped back and with another fleeting smile turned and walked away.

  She watched him go, unable to move or speak. The summoning chime rang again. Council was called.

  She glanced once more at the pool by her feet, s
uddenly remembering the shade she had seen back home. They were portents of ill, some said. Slowly, numbly, she turned away and walked back into the palace.

  Hallowhall

  Evening could not come too soon for Eliani. She spent all day in Council, trying to attend to the discussions, but was too distracted by thoughts of Kelevon. Turisan was carefully inattentive, which rather than soothing her, filled her with frustration. She wanted to speak to him but refrained for fear that they would only argue.

  When the Council recessed for the evening meal, she escaped at once to the arcade and sought out Kelevon's chamber. She had asked a palace attendant to show it to her earlier, and now that the sun had set, it would not be rude to call upon him.

  Kelevon answered her knock and opened the door wide to her. He wore the same formal clothes, though he appeared to have bathed. His bronze hair curled richly about his face and shoulders.

  Eliani nodded in greeting. “I came to ask if you would join me for the evening meal.”

  For a moment his face looked strained, then he smiled. “Thank you, but I would prefer a walk. I understand there are fair gardens here.”

  “Yes, the fountain court. Shall I show you?”

  His smile softened. “Please.”

  She waited while he fetched his cloak, then led him along the arcade and down the stairs to the court. He stood a moment at the foot of the stairs.

  “All this water. Do you not find it disturbing?”

  “I dwell near the Three Shades.”

  “Ah, yes.”

  They strolled through the court, and Eliani dredged up bits of what little she remembered about the fountains. She could recall some of the points of construction, a few of the names of governors who had commissioned various works, and none of the fountains' creators.

  “Jhinani can tell you much more. I fear I did not pay close attention when I arrived.”

  “Jhinani is Jharan's lady?”

  “No, his lady has crossed. Jhinani is her sister. She is hostess here at Hallowhall.”

  Kelevon nodded absently, looking around the court. He glanced at her with an apologetic smile.

  “I fear I do not find this very restful. Are there no other gardens?”