Aidan moved aside as Blythe swept out of the chamber. Tevis followed after a brief bow in Hart's direction. The door thumped closed behind them.
Hart looked at his nephew. "I have had him watched from the beginning. The. reason Dar nearly succeeded was because I did not take him seriously, and because I did not know what he was doing. This way, Tevis does nothing without my knowledge."
"Commendable, su'fali."
Hart smiled faintly. "But you think I am wasting my daughter when there could be another man more suited to her… a man more suitable for the throne."
Aidan moved to the nearest chair and sat down, sipping at last from the wine Tevis had given him. He shrugged. "I will have a throne, su'fali. Do I need another?"
Hart laughed. "The Lion has proved most selfish in the past. I doubt it would change now."
In companionable silence, they took up the Bezat bowl set on the table between them and began to play. There was nothing to do, but wait.
Aidan looked at his uncle, whose bowed head as he studied the game pieces hid much of his expression. We wait, he reflected apprehensively, on the future of Solinde. And then, as Hart drew from the bowl, Was it this difficult for my parents, waiting to see if I would live or die? If the Lion would have an heir?
Hart turned over the piece. It was blank on either side.
"Bezat," Hart said quietly. "You are dead."
Aidan put down the winecup. His taste for the game was gone.
He was very nearly asleep when at last the servant came. The hours, as Hart had promised, were many; it was evening, well past dinner, and they had drunk too much wine. Aidan did not have a head for so much, and wanted no more than to go to bed. But Hart had desired company to pass the time, and they had shared the hours in discussion of all manner of things. Aidan could only remember part of them.
He was jerked into wakefulness as the servant opened the door and murmured something to Hart, who was less circumspect. The Prince of Solinde leaped to his feet, moved to buffet Aidan's muzzy head in an excess of joy and emotion, and told him there was a son.
"A son," Aidan echoed dutifully, but by then Hart was gone. "A son," he said again, brightening with comprehension, and pushed himself out of the chair.
Most of the family and a few servants gathered in an antechamber near Ilsa's royal apartments. Tevis waited by a deep casment, leaning into the sill, as if trying to hide himself in shadow. Blythe, uncharacteristically, was not with him; instead, she waited nervously by the door even as Aidan entered. Cluna was not present—probably sleeping out the fever—but Jennet was. She, like Tevis, stood very quietly out of the way, half lost in the shadows. Her bedrobe was clutched in two rigid fists.
Aidan knew at once. He crossed the chamber to her. "Come," he said gently, and led her to a chair. She sat down as he asked, then stared blindly at him as he pulled over a stool for himself. Aidan took her hands into his own. "Speaking of it will help."
There was none of the pert forwardness in her manner he had come to expect. Fair hair was loose for sleeping, shining palely in candlelight. She wore a white linen nightrail and rich blue woolen bedrobe, tangled around her ankles. Her hands in his were cold.
Jennet drew in a very deep breath. "I am glad there is a son. A prince for Solinde."
Aidan nodded. "But you believe his coming will make your jehan blind to you."
Jennet's mouth trembled. "It will." Another breath. "He has Blythe. She was always his favorite. And now he has a son, and there will be no more room for Cluna and me."
"You have asked him this, of course."
Blue eyes widened. "No!"
He affected mild surprise. "Then how can you know?"
"I just do."
She was not Erinnish. There was no kivarna in her, only fear and loneliness. Aidan squeezed her hands. "It is better you do not put words in his mouth or feelings in his heart, unless you know them for fact. It would hurt him deeply if he knew you felt this way."
"But—what if he does?"
"I promise you, he does not. On the life of my lir, Jennet—and you know how binding an oath that is."
Clearly, she did. But her misery was unabated.
Aidan squeezed again. "You yourself are a princess, meijhana. You are old enough to understand that a realm needs a king, and the king an heir to follow. For too long Solinde has been without that heir. But princesses are important as well. Solinde has need of them also."
Jennet's mouth flattened. "Only because jehan can marry us off to men he wants to please."
The bitterness far surpassed her years. Aidan looked at her with renewed attention. "Has someone told you that?"
She shrugged. "I heard Blythe say something like to Tevis earlier." Blue eyes flickered. "She was angry."
Aidan did not smile. "Aye, so she was."
Jennet's worried expression came back. "I do not understand. Blythe has always wanted to marry Tevis. From the beginning."
Aidan could not help himself. "Does she not anymore?"
Jennet shrugged; Blythe was not, at the moment, her concern. "She told him she would… that between them they had made certain she would have to." She frowned. "I did not understand that."
"No," Aidan agreed, thinking it was best. "I think you need not worry about such things yet. And I think, when the time comes, you will have even less to worry about—I think no one could force you to marry a man you did not wish to." He smiled. "Now, as to the new prince… I will not lie to you, Jennet. It may seem your father has forgotten you at first, in the newness of having a son, but it will pass. Your jehan will never replace you with anyone. He could not; not one else is Jennet."
She studied him solemnly, judging the worth of his words. "Do you promise that on the life of your lir?"
She was, he thought, a true daughter of royalty, seeking assurances in everything. He smiled, released her hands, touched her head briefly as he rose. "I promise."
Hart came into the chamber from the adjoining apartments. As he saw them he smiled, eyes alight. "Solinde has a prince," he announced with quiet pride, "and a healthy queen."
Jennet threw herself across the chamber and climbed into his arms as he caught her. He laughed aloud; so did Jennet. She shed the burgeoning maturity Aidan had seen and was merely a child again, at peace in her father's arms.
Aidan looked at Tevis and found him looking back. The young lord of High Crags wore an odd expression, and once again Aidan found his feelings masked. The kivarna was silent.
Tevis smiled. It was a smile of bittersweet defeat; of comprehension and acceptance. Something glittered in his eyes. A brief, eloquent gesture told Aidan Tevis fully understood the import of the boy's birth; his hopes for the throne, through his son, were extinguished. All Blythe could give him now was a nephew, much as he was himself. A royal nephew, perhaps, but absent from the line of succession.
Aidan looked at Blythe. She also watched Tevis, as if judging him even as Aidan did. Her expression was unreadable.
Reflexively, Aidan went into the link to Teel. Do you think there may yet be a chance?
But then Blythe crossed the chamber to Tevis, who cupped her face in his hand.
Aidan sighed. No.
From Teel there was nothing, who undoubtedly had known.
Chapter Eight
« ^ »
In three days' time, Hart called for an official naming ceremony. Cheysuli custom decreed the father must examine the naked infant for physical flaws, after the ancient ways mandating wholeness in a warrior; then, finding him unblemished, name him aloud to the gods and those kin assembled.
But for the newborn prince there was more: according to Solindish custom there must be named a second-father, a man bound to keep the child from harm should anything befall the natural parents. So Hart assembled everyone in a private audience chamber to appease both halves of the child's heritage.
Hart, with Ilsa beside him, stood on a low dais. On a polished perch behind them was Rael, jet-and-white in sunlight. The infant
boy was cradled against his father's leather-clad chest in strong, dark arms shining with lir-gold. Hart had never looked happier, Aidan thought, as he smiled down into the baby's sleeping face. His pride was manifest, and yet Aidan wondered if the Cheysuli portion of the ceremony would bring unexpected anguish. Hart would be required to examine his son for physical flaws before he could name him, yet he himself was kinwrecked, expelled from the clans because of his missing hand. It was a harsh reality once required in times of hardship, yet no longer necessary. Brennan had tried to have the custom changed by appealing to Clan Council, but had failed to sway the men who declared too many of the old ways already had been lost.
It is Ilsa who keeps the pain at bay, Aidan reflected, gazing at the woman who stood at Hart's left side.
One pale, slender hand gently rested on his arm. The trace of fatigue in her face was tempered by a transcendent joy illuminating her already considerable beauty. There was an elegance in the woman unmatched by any Aidan had seen. He was, as always, taken aback by it. Even the glittering jeweled clasps fastening the coils of pale hair to her head could not compete with the brilliance of her eyes as she gazed out upon the people called to witness the naming of her son.
Blythe stood quietly with Tevis; Cluna, mostly recovered, stood with Jennet. Dulcie resided in Aidan's arms, though a nursemaid waited nearby to release him from the duty should the child prove tiresome. For the moment she was fascinated by the torque around his neck; smiling, Aidan unwound thin fingers from it and tried to bribe her with a coin so she would not tug quite so firmly.
Hart smiled brilliantly at them all. "This child is a child of two realms and two heritages, and both should be honored. No man should turn his back on any part of himself, for it is the sum of those parts that makes him what he is. So we have assembled you today to name this child after the fashion of Solinde and Homana, so no gods may be offended, and no race be overlooked."
Aidan glanced at Tevis, standing quietly to one side, and wondered how much it chafed the young lord of High Crags to see his hopes dashed so publicly. Tevis' face was expressionless, save for a brightness of his eyes as he looked at his liege lord and newborn prince. He gave nothing away of his thoughts.
Hart's voice jerked Aidan's attention back to the dais. "A Solindish child—and particularly a royal one—must have a second-father. It is not so different from the Cheysuli custom of a liege man in Homana, set to ward the Mujhar from physical threat… a second-father also tends the welfare of the child."
Hart settled the infant into the crook of his left arm and carefully peeled back the linen wrappings, unfolding the child from his cocoon. When he was free of the wrappings and entirely naked, Hart counted aloud the fingers and toes, looked into the tiny, flat ears, examined the unfocused eyes and made certain the small manhood was intact. Then he displayed the child to all of them.
"Before the gods of Homana, who are everywhere, I declare this child whole and free of blemish, acceptable to kin and clan. There is no taint in flesh or blood. By this naming he becomes a true Cheysuli, destined for a lir and loyal service to the prophecy." He drew in a breath and steadied his voice; even across the chamber, Aidan felt the upsurge of emotion. "I name this child Owain, son of Hart and Ilsa; now known as Prince Owain, heir to the throne of Solinde. I do this with the full blessing of the gods, and can only hope they gift him with a worthy tahlmorra." Briefly, he looked at Aidan. "No man may choose his, and certainly not a child."
Aidan turned as the nursemaid came forward and settled Dulcie into her arms. Then he stepped forward to bow his head in brief homage to Hart. Carefully he took up Owain's tiny right hand and kissed it. In his heart he murmured the words of a private kinsman's blessing, wishing health and happiness on the child; aloud he spoke similar words in the Old Tongue, feeling the weight of two gold links at his belt as he did so.
Finished, he inclined his head once again, made the Cheysuli gesture of tahlmorra, and turned to face the others.
"This child is a child of the gods. His tahlmorra is theirs to impart; their service is his to perform. Tahlmorra lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu. May the gods grant this child a perfect service to the prophecy of the Firstborn, and to the people of Solinde, whom one day he will rule."
He waited. The expected response came from those who knew it: "Ru'shalla-tu." May it be so.
Aidan smiled. His part in the ceremony was done. He returned to his place, took Dulcie back, waited.
"Leijhana tu'sai," Hart said quietly, eyes aglint, then rewrapped the newly-named Prince Owain. He left one hand and arm free. "It is a second-father's duty to care for this child, should something befall the natural parents. It is his duty to raise this child as his own, treating him as his own, sparing him nothing he would not spare children of his own body, giving him no more or less than he would give children of his own body.
"Upon reaching manhood the child shall go out of the second-father's house and make his own. But he will forever honor that man as his true-father—his jehan—with all the honor he would also give to the gods." Hart's face was solemn, but something lurked in his eyes. "The choosing of a second-father is never undertaken lightly. It is an honor bestowed a man who has proven himself strong and loyal. It is a mark of respect and trust, and is never undertaken without the full understanding of its responsibilities."
Hart's eyes rested briefly on Aidan. "A kinsman is often chosen, because there is like blood flowing in the veins and blood binds a man to another man more firmly than anything else. But others are honored as well." Hart smiled. "Tevis, Lord of High Crags."
Clear brown eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "My lord."
"Will you, as second-father, swear to raise Prince Owain as your own? Will you take an oath to serve this child as you would serve the Prince of Solinde, and any child of your body? Will you accept him as your liege lord, caring for his needs as he requires it, never failing this trust?"
Tevis, oddly, was pale. "My lord—you have spoken of a kinsman… what of Prince Aidan?"
Hart did not look at his nephew. "Aidan's tahlmorra takes him in another direction. We would have you for our son's second-father."
Next to Tevis, Blythe's face was alight. Aidan understood very well why Hart did as he did; it was, he thought, very clever. And undoubtedly would prove extremely fortuitous.
Tevis drew a deep, slow breath. "My lord… my lord, I will do anything you require. It will be my honor to serve Prince Owain as second-father."
Ilsa's smile was luminous. "We are honored by your oath."
Blythe pressed Tevis' arm. He approached slowly, head bowed in homage. When he stood before the dais, he knelt so as not to lift his head above that of the infant.
"Rise," Hart said. "Take his hand in yours."
Dazed, Tevis rose and reached out for the tiny hand. He stared at the baby's silk-smooth, fragile skin; the crumpled, sleep-creased face. "I swear," he said quietly. "I swear to raise you as a child of my own body. I swear to serve you. I accept you as my liege lord. I will care for your needs as you require it, and I swear I will never fail your trust." Tevis bent his head and kissed the tiny hand.
Blythe, Aidan saw, had tears in her eyes. Cluna and Jennet were solemn-faced, big-eyed; they understood full well the gravity of the ceremony. Ilsa, still clasping Hart's arm, looked on Tevis with great pride shining in her lovely face; Hart himself wore an expression of many things, not the least of them satisfaction and a quiet, contented triumph.
Inwardly, Aidan laughed. Oh, aye, su'fali, you know exactly what you have done.
Hart looked over Tevis' bowed head. His gaze met Aidan's. A new peace entered his eyes.
Aidan nodded acknowledgment. He has his son… his future… and his immortality…
Tevis stepped away. He bowed briefly, then returned to Blythe's side. His eyes were strange. He appeared singularly moved, but Aidan sensed no specific emotion through the kivarna. The gift, as always, was fickle. It would not be manipulated.
But Tevis, as if sens
ing Aidan's look, turned. For a moment his face was quite still, and then he smiled a genuine smile.
Aidan smiled back blandly, but inwardly he felt a tremendous sense of relief. Perhaps, after all, he will be content with this.
It was evening, in Hart's solar. The light was gone from the day, but candles filled the lack and set the chamber alight. They had succeeded in chasing the women from the room so they could forget the talk of new babies and turn their minds to other things, such as good wine, tall tales, and wagering.
Hart laughed aloud and leaned forward to scoop the winnings into his already impressive pile. Tevis swore mildly, counted what he had left, glanced to Aidan on his left. "Someone will have to stop him, before he robs us all."
Aidan grunted. "Not I. You see how little is left to me—you have more than I."
Tevis looked again at his stack of red-gold Solindish coins. It was much diminished, but he did have more than Aidan. He nodded to himself, took up his goblet of wine, drank half down.
Hart pointed. "There is that."
Aidan put a shielding hand over his heavy topaz ring. "This is my signet ring."
"Aye, well… it never stopped me. A man true to the game does not let such petty things as personal possessions stand in the way of a good wager."
Ruddy brows shot up. " 'A man true to the game'? Do you mean a man who has lost control?"
Hart scowled. "No."
Aidan could not resist it. "A man true to himself wagers nothing of importance."
Hart's scowl deepened. "Then what of those links on your belt? They serve no useful purpose."
Tevis nodded briefly. "I had wondered myself."
A hand locked over the links. "No."
"Why do you wear them, harani? Not for ornamentation—"
Aidan waved a hand. "I wear them because I want to. Here, if you are so hungry for a wager…" He pushed out the few remaining coins he had. "There. That will do. Small, perhaps, but a wager."
Hart sighed and rattled the Bezat bowl. The game was run through; the result, this time, was different.
Cheysuli 7 - Flight of the Raven Page 17