A Tapestry of Lions

by Jennifer Roberson

  “Devin, wait—” But he rode on, ignoring me. “Snow cats can be dangerous. If it is sick, or injured…” He heard none of it. I turned my own mount and followed, irritated. “Wait for me.”

  He halted his horse roughly. As I saw the cause, I reined mine in as well. “By the god,” I whispered.

  Not a snow cat after all, but a black mountain cat. She crouched upon a ledge not far above our heads, keening a wail that echoed throughout the canyon. Great golden eyes glared.

  I caught my breath. “Beware—”

  But the cat did not spring. She merely held her crouch, staring down at him. Then, as I rode forward, she looked directly at me and screamed.

  I reined in abruptly, apologizing inwardly to my mount. But the spell was broken. The cat turned and ran, leaping up through a wide crack. She was gone almost at once.

  I released a breath. “Thanks to Asar-Suti…” I rode up to Devin. “I thought she would have you.”

  He stared after the cat.

  “Devin.”

  His eyes were empty.

  “Devin!”

  At last, he looked at me. “Lonely,” he said. Then, “Let us go home.”

  I was glad to turn my horse and ride back toward the defile, side by side with Devin. I did not like the pallor of his face, or the bafflement in his eyes.

  As if he were incomplete, and now knew it more than ever.

  Five

  He cried out in his sleep and woke me, so that I sat upright with a hand clutched to my breast to still the lurching of my heart. He was still asleep, but he thrashed; I saw him grasp at his naked hip as if he meant to draw a knife.

  “Devin.” I put a hand upon his shoulder and felt the rigidity of muscle. “Devin—no.” He came awake at once and lunged upward, one hand grasping my throat as if he would kill me. “Devin!”

  His eyes were wild in the shadows of the chamber. Then sense came back to him, and horror. He knew what he had done. “Gods—”

  “I am well,” I said at once, seeing the look in his face. “Only somewhat surprised by your ferocity.” He seemed no better for all my irony. I dismissed it. “I promise. I am well.”

  One hand raked hair from his face. Moonlight was gentle, but I could see the scars on his back from where the river had embraced him. His eyes were still full of realization: he had nearly strangled me.

  I touched his shoulder and felt it tense. “What did you dream?”

  “The cat.”

  At first I did not understand. Then the memory came. “The mountain cat we saw two weeks ago?”

  “No. Another.” His eyes were black in the darkness. “It was a lion.”

  “A lion!” Lions were mythical beasts. “Why would you dream of a lion?”

  “It stalks me…” He let his breath out on a long sigh, and the tension went with it. “Only a dream.”

  “Then I will chase it away.” I caught the fallen forelock in my fingers and stripped it back from his face. “I know what to do.”

  “No.” His hand was on my wrist, pushing it away. “Not—now.” He turned back the covers and slid out of the curtained bed. “I need to go out.”

  I was astonished. “In the middle of the night?”

  “I need to walk. Just along the battlements. I need to be alone.” He slipped into a linen shirt that glowed in the dimness. “I beg you, understand—there is a demon in me. Let me exorcise it, and I will come back to you.”

  I reached again for irony, so I would not sound too petty, too clinging, too much in need of him. “By morning? Or is this a difficult demon?”

  “Difficult.” His smile was strained. “But my memory of you will vanquish it.”

  “Go, then.” I yanked the covers back over my breasts. “But do not be surprised if I am fast asleep. It troubles me not at all to have an empty bed.”

  He knew it for what it was, but the smile did not reach his eyes. He finished dressing, pulled on a fur-lined cloak, and went out of the chamber.

  I stared into darkness. Resolution set me afire. “I can banish a lion. I am Lochiel’s daughter.”

  * * *

  He came up hours later. I was not asleep. He knew it instantly and apologized for keeping me awake by his absence.

  I held the blankets up so he could climb beneath them. “Do you think I care?” His face was worn and bleak as he stripped out of his clothing; we had but an hour before dawn. “Have you destroyed the demon?”

  He climbed in beside me, shivering, and drew me very close. At first he was gentle; then he held me so tightly I thought I might shatter. He shuddered once, twice. “Ginevra—” It was muted against my hair, but a cry nonetheless. “Gods—”

  I had known it was coming. He had been wound too tightly. Now the wire snapped.

  I held him tightly, wrapping arms around his shoulders and legs around his legs, until he was cocooned in flesh and hair. “Be still,” I whispered. “I am here for you. I will always be here for you.”

  “I think—I think I am going mad.”

  “No. No, Devin. There is no madness in you.”

  “I wake in the night, in the darkness—”

  “I know.”

  “—and there is nothing there, nothing at all, save emptiness and anguish…and then I recall there is you, always you—Ginevra, here, for me. And I know that you are my salvation, my only chance for survival—and I am afraid—”

  “What do you fear?”

  “That—you will go. That I will prove myself unworthy. That I will be turned out of Valgaard. That you will repudiate me because I am not what Lochiel needs me to be.”

  I stroked hair from his face. “You said he is pleased by your progress. And I have seen it also. There is nothing to fear, Devin. What can come between us?” Then, when he did not answer, “Where did you go?”

  He said nothing at first. Then he shifted onto his back, cradling me in one naked arm. My head rested in the hollow of his shoulder. “I went below,” he said finally. “To the undercroft.”

  For the merest moment I believed he meant the Gate. “The cats,” I blurted.

  “Aye.” He was very still. The storm had passed, but the aftermath was as painful to see. His expression was wasted. “They are wild things, Ginevra. They were not made to be caged.” His breath gusted softly. “Nor was I.”

  A hollow fear began to beat in my breast. “They are cats.”

  “I looked in their eyes,” he said. “I saw the truth in them. They know what they have lost. They long for it back.”

  More desperately, I repeated, “They are cats.”

  “So am I, in my own way. I am very like them. I am caged by ignorance.”

  I knew it suddenly. “You want to set them free.”

  His hand settled in my hair, winding it through his fingers. “If we did, he would only replace them with others. Perhaps even the black one we saw in the canyon. I think—I think I could not bear to see more imprisoned then he already has. No. Let them alone. They have known their cages too long.”

  I drew him closer yet, warming his body as I wished I could warm his spirit. How long? I wondered. How long will you know your cage?

  How long would I know mine, in the prison of his arms?

  As long as I permitted it. As long as I desired it.

  Forever is frightening.

  * * *

  The door opened very quietly as I sat before the polished plate and combed my hair. In the reflection I saw Devin’s face, peeking around the door, and the expression he wore.

  I stopped combing instantly and turned on the stool. “What?”

  The set of his brows was comical in dismay. “I wanted to surprise you.” But he did not seem so disheartened that the smile left his face.

  “What?” I repeated.

  He gestured me down as I made to rise. “No. Wait.” His expression was serious now, and very intent. His outstretched hand was held palm up. He watched it closely; I watched him. I saw the concentration, the effort he used, and then the startled wonder he
suppressed instantly so as to hide his childlike pleasure in a task at last accomplished.

  In his palm danced a tiny column of pure white flame. Slowly it twisted, knotting itself, then reshaped itself into the aspect of a bird, brilliant as a diamond.

  I held my breath. The bird made of flame became a bird in truth.

  Devin extended the hand. “For you.”

  I put out my own hand, took the bird onto a finger, and suppressed the urge to cry. It was a tiny white nightingale, perfect in all respects, and very, very real. It cocked its head, observed me from glittering eyes, then began a jubilant song.

  Devin’s eyes shone. “Lochiel says it is because of Valgaard. That though I have no recollections of power, the power simply is. We are so close to the Gate…he says there is power for the taking; that we breathe it every day. A man—or a woman—need only know how to use it. Even a Cheysuli, given enough time, if he claims the Old Blood.”

  The bird’s tiny feet clung to my fingers. I could not look at Devin for fear I would see the change as I gave him the truth not all men would tolerate. “You do know, do you not…that I am also Cheysuli?”

  He laughed. “Since your mother is a halfling, one would assume so.”

  I set the nightingale on the edge of my mirror. “The House of Homana and my own House are so thickly intertwined, it is a wonder we keep our identities straight.” I looked at him now. “You do not mind?”

  He came to me and threaded fingers into my hair. “Cheysuli—Ihlini…what difference does it make? What matters is that we have one another.”

  “It is tainted blood. The Cheysuli desire to destroy us.”

  “So we will destroy them first.” He laughed. “It is a matter of upbringing, not blood. Prejudice and hatred is created, not born. You serve the Ihlini because you know nothing else…but had you been raised in Homana you would serve the Cheysuli instead.”

  “I never could!”

  “If you knew no better, of course you would.”

  “But I do—”

  “So you do. And so you serve the Seker.”

  It could not go unasked. “What about you?”

  Devin smiled. “I will do what must be done. If the god grants us immortality, it would be a sorry thing to repudiate his grace—and therefore watch forever as our race dies out at the behest of the Cheysuli.”

  I guided his hands and pressed them against my belly. “We will not die out. Not while the child within me lives.”

  Wonder engulfed his face. His fingers were gentle as he pressed them against the folds of my skirts. “Here?”

  I laughed. “Thereabouts. It is too small for you to feel. But in six months you shall have your son.”

  He cradled my face in his hands. “Thank you,” he said. “You have made it possible for me to be a man.”

  I found it odd. “But you are a man!”

  “An incomplete one. Do you understand? Now we can be wed. Now, at last, I can go before the god and let him weigh my value.”

  Against my ear I heard the beating of his heart. Behind us, the bird stopped singing. When I looked around, the nightingale was gone.

  Illusions are transitory. At least Devin was not.

  * * *

  I had seen the Gate many times, and the cavern that housed it, but never through Devin’s eyes. It made it new again.

  I took his hand as we stepped out of the passageway into the cavern. He did first what everyone does: tipped his head back to stare up at the arches, the glasswork ceiling alive with reflected flame. The symmetry was incomparable. So many layers of ceilings, so many soaring arches, and massive twisted columns spiraling from the floor. We were required to pass through them; at the end of the colonnade lay the Gate itself.

  Devin was puzzled. “Where does the light come from? I see no torches.”

  I smiled. “It comes from the Gate. See how it is reflected time and time again, multiplied one hundredfold in the columns and the arches?” I watched his avid eyes. “The Gate itself is in the ground, but it is open, and its light is uninhibited. It is godfire, Devin—it is the light of truth, so that the Seker can illuminate the dark corners of your soul.”

  The light was in his eyes. I could see no pupil in them, only a vast empty blackness filled now with livid godfire. “He will see my weakness.”

  “All men are weak. He will draw it from you and replace it with strength.”

  “Is that why you have no fear?”

  “I have fear.” I touched his hand. “His glory is terrible. When one looks upon his aspect, one knows he—or she—is insignificance incarnate.” I closed my fingers on the still flesh of his hand. “The Seker awaits.”

  “Ginevra!” He drew me back as I turned toward the columns. “Ginevra—wait.” His face was graven with lines of tension. “I need you.”

  I carried his hand to my mouth. I felt his minute trembling; he feared as all men do, who must face Asar-Suti. Against his palm, I said, “I am here for you. Before the god, I swear it: I will always be here for you. We are bound already by the child in my body. Once we share the nuptial cup, we will be bound forever.”

  His voice was raw. “I am—unworthy.”

  “Of the god?” I smiled. “Or of me?”

  Devin laughed; it was what I had hoped for. “Of both,” he said.

  I arched haughty brows. “Then neither the god nor I have grounds for discontentment. Things are as they should be.” I glanced toward the Gate, then looked back into his face. “Come,” I said gently. “There is no sense in delaying the truth.”

  “Truth,” he echoed, “is what I fear.”

  I held his hand tightly in mine. “Why?”

  “I am what you have made me. Ginevra’s Devin, whatever—whoever—that is. I know nothing at all of my past…what if Devin of High Crags is a man who aspires to waste his coin in tavern wagers and his seed in roadhouse whores?”

  My laughter echoed throughout the cavern. “Then the greater truth will be that Devin of High Crags is now a changed man.” I shook back hair. “And they may spin the tale that it was the god’s doing—or lay credit where it is due.”

  He was suspicious now. “Where?”

  I set his hand against my heart. “Here,” I said, “deep in my soul. What other truth is there?”

  Devin looked beyond me. “Then let us get it done. Have them bring the nuptial cup. I am very thirsty.”

  * * *

  My father waited for us at the Gate of the netherworld, clothed in black that the godfire dyed purple. In his hand was a rune-scribed silver goblet; at his feet lay the god himself.

  “Where is he?” Devin breathed.

  “There.” I dipped my head. “Beneath the ground—that pool is the Gate.”

  I heard vague surprise in the timbre of his tone. “That hole in the ground?”

  “His greatness is such that he requires no sepulcher,” I said it more tartly than I intended; I expected Devin to be more circumspect in his worship of the Seker. Everyone else was.

  Devin stared at the Gate. Light lapped at the edges, and smoke rose up. It wound around my father and clung to the folds of his robe. His gaze was fixed solely on Devin.

  “Come,” Lochiel said.

  Devin’s grasp tightened. “What is that?” he whispered.

  He meant the pedestal just behind my father. “A chain,” I whispered back. “A keepsake from a Cheysuli who thought he could defeat my father.”

  “It is in two pieces.”

  “The Cheysuli broke it. He surrendered to my father and broke the chain in half.” I squeezed his hand. “Enough. There is a task we must do. Or do you mean to put off the ceremony that will make us one in the eyes of the god?” Devin’s smile was fleeting. He stared at the cup.

  “Empty,” Lochiel said from the other side of the Gate. He held out the goblet. “Fill it, Devin, if you would have my daughter.”

  The tension spilled out of Devin. He turned to face me, brought my hand to his lips, and kissed my fingers. Then he released m
y hand and turned to Lochiel. He extended his arm across the maw of the Gate.

  So vulnerable, I thought. The god has only to rise and swallow him whole.

  But the Seker did not do it. Devin accepted the cup from my father’s hand, then knelt at the edge of the Gate. Without hesitation, with no sign of fear, he dipped the silver goblet into the pulsing godfire.

  Illumination engulfed him. Devin laughed, then dipped the cup lower. When it was filled, he rose and inclined his head in tribute to Lochiel, then turned to me. The cup’s smoking contents flared, burning more brightly, so that the light stripped bare all shadows from Devin’s face, washing the darkness from him. His eyes burned brilliant green.

  I placed my hands over his and guided the cup to my mouth. I drank liquid light and let it fill me. Cold fire burned as my blood responded to it.

  Gods, but it was sweet. Such a sweet, cold fire…I laughed and shook back my hair, then guided the cup to Devin.

  He drank. I saw the widening of his eyes in shock; I feared, for a horrible moment, he might spew it from his mouth. But he swallowed. He shivered once. When I saw the emerald of his eyes replaced with livid black, I knew it was done.

  My father’s voice was an intrusion. It took effort to listen. “You have shared the blood of the god at the god’s own Gate. His blood is yours. There can be no parting you now.”

  Devin turned. “Is there more?”

  “There is always more.” Lochiel extended his hands, and Devin placed the goblet in them. My father smiled, then dropped the goblet into the light and smoke. “But you have begun already. Kneel down, Ginevra—here, beside the Gate.”

  I knew better than to question.

  “Remain there. It must be you first, so the child, too, is blessed.”

  I dared not look at Devin. I knelt there beside the Gate, thinking of my child, and waited for the god.

  He came all at once, without warning. I knew only that I was blinded as the light sprang forth, and then it engulfed me. I felt hands touching me, reaching through my clothing to pluck at my flesh, until I feared it might be stripped from my bones. I shuddered once, then stilled. The god’s hand was upon me.

  I knew only what my father had told me: that the hand of the god, the light of the Seker, would reveal the inner soul. Hidden truths would be uncovered. Small vanities displayed. The insignificant desires of a human would be mocked for what they were, so they could be replaced with perfect service to the god.