Cheysuli 7 - Flight of the Raven

by Jennifer Roberson

  Aidan shook his head. "Not I, su'fali. I am not my jehan."

  Hart's expression stilled. "Brennan was tricked."

  He did not like being reminded. He protects my jehan as much as jehan protects him. Even now. Aidan made his tone light. "Aye, so he was; I do not hate him for it, or think him due less respect. He was not the first… it happened even to Ian."

  "And Ian still pays the price… I think my rujho does, too." Hart stopped kneading his arm, changing the topic abruptly. "There are the other girls. Young, I know… but such things are not uncommon when House marries House."

  Aidan thought of Cluna and Jennet. Thirteen-year-old hellions. The other was Dulcie, age two. He was a man who wanted a woman, not a child to raise. Not girls who thought they were grown, not knowing what else was expected. While it was true he would not inherit the Lion for many years yet, he wanted those years spent properly, not waiting for a girl-wife to discover she was a woman.

  There is one last thing… He rubbed gritty eyes. "You have no son," he said softly. "What will you do for an heir?"

  Hart did not smile. "Are you promising me one in exchange for persuading Blythe?"

  Aidan sighed. "No."

  Hart pressed himself off the sill and came to the table. He poured himself fresh wine, lifted his cup and sipped. Then set down the cup again. "Ilsa is in bed because she is very near to term. In a week, possibly two, I may yet have an heir."

  The words rose unbidden: "Ru'shalla-tu, su'fali. Tahlmorra lujhalla mei wiccan, cheysu."

  "You sound like a shar tahl." Hart smiled. "Leijhana tu'sai, harani. I, too, hope it is so."

  "So." Aidan rose, kicking back his stool. "There is yet a princess left—an older princess—Keely's daughter, Shona. She is—nineteen? Twenty? Perhaps I should go at once, to set Blythe's mind at ease. She knows why I am here, as does Tevis. It would discomfit them to think I mean to come between them."

  "Stay," Hart said. "There is no need to go in such haste. If Blythe and Tevis cannot survive your presence, they cannot survive a marriage. Stay at least until the birth. You can give the kinsman's blessing."

  Aidan grinned. "And keep the hellions busy?"

  "They will keep you busy." Hart eyed him consideringly. "Are you awake enough to ride?"

  Aidan blinked. "Now?"

  "Dawn is my favorite time, and Rael will be glad of flight. Will you come with me?"

  He had been thinking of bed. But the morning air would refresh him after a night spent in a game, so he agreed readily. Teel would approve, also.

  "Good. Mounts are always waiting; the privilege of rank." Hart swung open the door. "I will show you Lestra as Lestra should be seen."

  Chapter Three

  « ^ »

  Hart led Aidan back through empty halls and corridors, striding purposefully without pause, and out into the bailey. He waited, smiling faintly, and after only a moment horseboys came running from the stable block. A tall black stallion was brought to Hart, saddled and waiting; a bay was given to Aidan.

  "I have a horse," he said.

  Hart's voice was bland. "Undoubtedly weary from the journey. Try this one instead." He swung up and gathered reins into the only hand he had, looking down patiently at Aidan. "What is it?"

  Aidan sighed and gave in. "The way you keep your castle… su'fali, you know I mean no disrespect, but when I came here no one seemed perturbed by a stranger's presence. No one even asked if I was here to see you, or merely a tradesman come for business." He stroked the bay's nose. "And when I went into the castle—"

  "—no one even bothered to ask who you were," Hart finished. "Aye, is it not soothing? No servants underfoot, no 'my lord' this, 'my lord' that before you can even think." He smiled down on Aidan. "I am not much like the Mujhar, drowning in too-helpful servants, and little like my rujho, so weighed down by responsibility that he can barely breathe. Protocol I find tedious… oh, I do what I must when I must—Ilsa sees to that—but I am happiest with my children and the freedom to be what I am." He swung the stallion gateward. "Do you plan to wait all day? Dawn only lasts so long."

  Hastily Aidan mounted, settling into the bay. The stallion had a fiery eye, but his manners were excellent. Aidan smiled with pleasure and turned him after the black.

  Hart led him through the winding streets without apparent confusion—Aidan expected none—and up toward the line of hills on the western outskirts of the city. When at last they climbed to the summit, Aidan was suitably impressed. Whitewashed buildings damp with dew glittered in the sunrise, pale pink and silver-gilt. Skeins of woodsmoke drifted from gray stone chimneys, knotting and tearing apart; Aidan was abruptly reminded of the Weaver's colorless yarns and the brilliant tapestry.

  He shivered. One hand touched the two heavy links depending from his belt. Still there. Still real. He had dreamed none of it.

  "There," Hart said.

  With effort, Aidan took his hand away from the links. His palm was damp, but oddly warm, as if the metal had warmed it. The sensation was unsettling. Surreptitiously he wiped his hand against a leather-clad thigh, and looked for what Hart indicated.

  At first he saw nothing; then a blot against the dawn. He squinted, trying to distinguish pale blot from new daylight. White wings clove the air in powerful, graceful sweeps, then flattened gently to soar.

  "Rael," he murmured aloud.

  The dark-eyed hawk was magnificent. White edged with jet, each feather delineated. He swept through the air with deceptive ease and grace, riding the currents of dawn.

  Through the link there came a sardonic whisper. Aidan smiled, tilting his head. "And there."

  Frowning, Hart glanced over. "Where?"

  "There." Aidan pointed. "Not so large as Rael, perhaps, but feathered nonetheless. His name is Teel."

  Hart looked, smiling. "Brennan wrote me when you received him… somewhat out of the ordinary, I think—there has not been a raven lir for more than one hundred years. They tell stories about him."

  "Lorcha," Aidan agreed. "His lir died in the qu'mahlin. And as for stories, well…"He grinned. "I think Teel will inspire more. If not, he will make his own."

  Hart tipped his head back as Teel, following Rael, sliced through the air. Then he looked at Aidan. "How is my rujho?"

  "Very well—" Aidan began dutifully, then dismissed the platitudes. Hart knew Brennan better than any. "Settled," he said quietly. "The rank is heavy, aye, but he likes the responsibility. You know how he is… it makes him feel needed."

  Hart's smile was faint. "He would make a good shepherd."

  At first he was astounded. Then Aidan laughed out loud; he had never heard his father's competence phrased in quite that way. "Aye, so he would… and the flock would prosper for it." He shifted in the saddle, leaning forward on braced arms. "I know what you ask, without asking it." He did. "How does the marriage go? Is my jehan happy? Is he content within himself?"

  "All of that, and more." Hart sighed, hooking reins over the pommel. The leather cuff rested on one indigo-clad thigh. "He writes, of course, and often—but it is not the same. There was always a private place in Brennan, a place where he went away from everyone."

  Aidan was startled. "Even away from you?"

  "I think he believed I could not—or would not, more likely—understand what he felt." Hart's expression was momentarily ashamed. "And I admit, I was not the most perceptive of rujholli. Twin-born, I understood him better—but not everything. Brennan and I are different. He was always the shepherd—" briefly, he grinned "—and I always the black lamb wandering too far from the flock."

  "And Corin was the dog?"

  Hart laughed. "Corin? No, not the dog… more like the fox in the henyard, making trouble for the cook."

  Aidan shrugged. "Well, Kiri is a fox."

  Hart's tone was solemn, though his eyes glinted amusement. "The gods are always wise."

  Aidan looked for Teel, found him; the raven still circled, even as Rael. Are they? he asked intently.

  Teel's tone was
bland. You know them better than I.

  "So," Hart said, "he and Aileen have made their peace at last."

  Pulled back out of the link, Aidan shrugged. "They were never at war."

  "No, but—"

  "But?" He raised ruddy brows. "Do you want me to tell you things my own father has not told you?"

  Hart was unabashed. "If you know those things."

  To delay, Aidan plaited mane. He felt odd discussing his parents, even with his uncle. The thing he now knew as kivarna made him far more perceptive than anyone else, yet also more intrusive. And now Hart wanted answers to questions Aidan found discomfiting.

  "They are content enough," he said finally. "Jehana would be happier if there was another son, or two… but I am in no danger of dying—at least, not as I used to be—and I think Council is no longer so vocal about the Prince of Homana looking to another princess."

  Hart was aghast. "They would have asked it of him?"

  "They did. When I was young, and ill for the thousandth time." Aidan sighed and looked across Lestra, frowning in recollection. "No one meant her disrespect, of course… they promised a courtesy title and a generous yearly pension, and all the honor due her. I think they hoped she would take herself back to Erinn, so things would not be so awkward—"

  Hart's laugh was a curt bark of sound. "Brennan would never stand for that."

  "No. Nor did he. And now they know better." Aidan shrugged. "But I know it troubles her. There are things other than a sickly childhood to threaten the Prince's heir. Niall had three sons; everyone, I think, would be happier with that."

  Hart said nothing for a long moment. The morning was loud with silence. Then, quietly, "It must be especially difficult for you."

  Aidan looked at him sharply.

  Hart shrugged. "To know so many people crowded around your cradle, fearing you would die… and even when you outgrew that, they still attached the question—" He sighed and rubbed at red-rimmed eyes. "When they discussed your jehana, did no one think of you?"

  It was an odd thought. "Why should they think of me?"

  Hart looked squarely at him. "I grew up without a jehana—a true blood jehana—because she was sent away. But it was made clear, at an early age, that Gisella was quite mad. That she had done the unspeakable and tried to give her sons to Strahan. Exiling her was just."

  Uncomfortable, Aidan waited.

  Hart's voice was very quiet. "But you grew up differently. You had a jehana—a true blood jehana—more than fit to claim the name. Yet they thought to send her away because she bore only one son. And that devalued you. Surely you must have known it—must have felt it."

  Surely he had.

  Aidan looked away, staring down into the city. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "No one knew I knew. No one thought about the servants, talking among themselves. I was very young… no one knew I was there."

  "Did you ever say anything to Brennan?"

  "No." Aidan unplaited the mane. "No. What was there to say?"

  "To Aileen?"

  "No. To no one." Except to the Lion. And, later, of course, to Teel.

  "No, neither would I." Hart smiled at Aidan's startled glance. "We all of us have our secrets. I will leave yours to you." He shifted in the saddle, resettling himself. "For all they may have believed in the need for more princes, they overlooked the obvious. Niall had two other realms to portion out to extra sons. Brennan lacks the luxury, now that Solinde and Atvia have Cheysuli on the thrones. He would find it much harder if there were more boys than you to place, like a hound keeper with a litter much larger than expected."

  Aidan smiled back. "As hard as you do with four girls to marry off?"

  It hit home. Hart grimaced with a wry twist of his mouth. "Blythe would have been enough… but after her there were the twins who died in the summer of sweating fever—both girls—and then Cluna and Jennet. Next, Dulcie." Hart smiled as a wisp of wind ruffled hair. "I would trade none of them—but how does a man deal with four marriageable girls?"

  "Well, Dulcie is a bit young to count as marriageable."

  "Not when it comes to royal fledglings." Hart sighed. "You have been very fortunate. The eldest son—the heir—is always the most important in the scheme of who marries whom. My poor rujho was betrothed to Aileen before either of them were born."

  "And Keely to Sean." Aidan nodded. "There was never any pressure… never any discussion—at least where I could hear. Until now." He grinned. "But I am amenable. They have let me have my freedom with never a whisper of duty. Perhaps the time is right."

  Hart's stallion stomped and pawed at damp turf. He caught up loose reins with his hand and quieted the horse with a single spoken admonishment. "Well, regardless of common practice, I will not offer Cluna and Jennet even to Homana. They are too young." He laughed at Aidan's expression, part guilt and part relief. "Even if they were older. They are hideously willful girls."

  Aidan's tone was elaborately mournful. "Which leaves only Blythe, and she is already promised."

  "Not promised," Hart said quietly. "As I said, nothing is settled—"

  Aidan shrugged, dismissing levity. "It does not have to be. You can see it in their eyes."

  Hart sorted out reins, resettled his weight, stroked the black satin neck. Then stared down at his city and sighed his resignation. "It would go far toward healing old wounds."

  It startled Aidan. "Why? I thought them all healed with your marriage to Ilsa."

  "There was a man," Hart said quietly. "A proud, strong man, dedicated to Solinde. He disliked Homanan usurpers. He wanted the throne for Ilsa, so he could be Consort. So his son could become king. The first Solindish king since Carillon killed Bellam."

  Old history. Older enmity. "A patriot," Aidan said.

  "A true-born Solindishman of one of the oldest lines." Hart shifted again in his saddle. "I had him executed."

  Aidan, who sensed old grief in his uncle as well as a trace of shame, looked at Hart's cuffed stump. "Do you mean the man who cost you your hand?"

  "Dar of High Crags; aye. Tevis is his nephew. Son to Dar's youngest sister."

  Astonishment overrode caution. "And do you mean to say you will give Tevis Blythe to pay him for Dar's death? To wash your guilt away, even though none is deserved?"

  "Aidan—"

  "The man cost you your hand… and very nearly your life! It was Dar who gave you to Strahan—do you think my jehan has said nothing of it?" Aidan, appalled, shook his head. "He told me all about it. Dar deserved to die. It was the only thing you could do."

  Hart's face was tight. "Do you think that is the only reason for this marriage? It is politically expedient, aye—I have learned something of kingcraft—but it is not the sole concern. There is Blythe and Tevis also… and you have seen that yourself."

  Aye, so he had. He had even said so to Hart. "Aye. Aye, su'fali…" Aidan sighed. "But my marriage is politically expedient also… Blythe is my age, and half Cheysuli, and everything else as well—except Erinnish, but I have that." He scraped hair back from his face. "I left Homana to find a bride. One who would serve the role as well as the prophecy." He slanted a glance at Hart. "Do you blame me, su'fali? Your daughter is beautiful."

  Unease evaporated. Hart's grin was brilliant. "I thought it might come to that!"

  "She is." Aidan felt no shame. "What man alive would be blind to a comely woman… especially when he needs to put a cheysula in his bed?" He paused. "And on a throne."

  Hart frowned a little. "You did not come expecting to win her, did you?"

  "I thought my chances good." Aidan smiled disarmingly. "I am your twin-born rujho's only son, the only one there can be, and heir to the Lion Throne. Part of the prophecy."

  White teeth shone in a dark face. "Stooping to kinship pressure, are we? Thinking to convince me through bloodlink alone?"

  Aidan arched brows. "It was certainly worth the try. And there had been nothing said of this Tevis of High Crags in your letters to my jehan… how was I to know?"

/>   "Aye, well… Tevis only came to Lestra four months ago. He grew up in northern Solinde, high in the mountains… the mountain Solindish are different from the rest of us. They keep themselves isolated."

  " 'Us'?" Aidan echoed.

  Hart made an acknowledging gesture. "I am their lord, after all. And different enough already, as I am often reminded. There is no sense in rousing old griefs… this is my tahlmorra, Aidan. And there is Solindish in me as well as all the other bloodlines."

  "Not all of them." Aidan grinned, then felt the amusement die. "I thought you told me Tevis came to marry Blythe. If he did not know her already—"

  "You did not."

  "No." He refused to be turned aside. "But you made it sound as if they had known one another for years."

  Hart reined in a restless stallion, pulling the fine black head away from the bay Aidan rode. "Did you know this is Bane's son? I sent the mare to Brennan four years ago for breeding, and this is the result. I am quite pleased… he is a willful young lad, but worth it."

  Aidan liked and respected his kinsman, but something inside would not allow him to hide from the knowledge Hart was all too human. Although Aidan was, by everyone's reckoning, fully an adult, in his eyes his older kin were above reproach. Yet the kivarna showed him reproach was due his elders as much as anyone else.

  The kivarna, Aidan thought, showed him entirely too much.

  Quietly, he said, "You are avoiding the issue, su'fali."

  Hart glanced at Aidan, then sighed in surrender. "Tevis' jehan died ten months ago in a fall. Ilsa, being distant kin as well as queen, sent a letter of personal condolence to the widow. They began to correspond, and soon they traded news of various children, including Tevis and Blythe." Hart shrugged. "It is what jehanas do."

  Aidan nodded. "And so eventually Tevis was sent in person to win the hand of the princess."

  "There was no reason for him not to come. He had bided for many years in the fastness of High Crags… he was due a visit to Lestra to see his lord—"