Aidan very nearly smiled, thinking of the Hunter, the Weaver, the Cripple, but she would not understand. Instead, he appealed to her taste for confrontation. "Then prove yourself stronger. Vanquish it." Aidan turned to face her squarely. "If we believe a falsehood, it gains strength. So challenge this kivarna to a duel. Find out which of you is stronger."
Level brows knit. "Why?" she asked. "You saw me but hours ago, and now you argue a commitment to something that could well destroy us. We're not required to marry… we're neither of us betrothed. 'Tis n't like your parents, or mine. We're bound to nothing at all." She shook her head. "How can you be so willing to set aside personal desires and chain yourself to a stranger in the name of kivarna?"
He shrugged. "Because this kivarna may well be linked to my tahlmorra. Which is part of the prophecy…" Aidan sighed, scratching idly at his neck. "I am somewhat accustomed to doing what is expected, by gods and by parents."
Shona grimaced. "Tahlmorras, prophecies—" She looked harshly at Teel, still perched upon the bedpost, then shook her head with an expression of impatient tolerance. "Oh, aye, my mother told me all about such things…" Tolerance faded abruptly. Shona turned away and took two paces toward the door before swinging back. "D'ye really believe such blather? I know my mother does; do you?"
Aidan's right hand closed around the chain threaded onto his belt. "Aye," he said. "I do."
She stared at him, judging his commitment. When she saw he meant it, her tone was incredulous. "And because of these beliefs, you're willing to pay the price of the kivarna? That if one of us should die, the other is sentenced to a life of abstinence and loneliness?"
Aidan shrugged. "Considering the cost of the lir-bond, I find the kivarna's demands rather tame."
Her tone was venomous. "And you're a liar, my lad."
"Am I? I?" Aidan laughed at her. "You should know, my lass. Use your accursed kivarna."
Brown eyes were nearly black. Her strong chin was thrust upward in challenge. "How am I to know you can't lie with it? 'Tis only a matter of feelings, not words. And even then I'm not knowing everything you feel—"
"Words lie," he told her. "Feelings, even those well-hidden, tell only the truth."
Shona swore. "Full of sweet words, are you? Forgive me if I don't swoon, but I'm not that weak a woman."
"Good," he said flatly. "I am a man who wants a companion, not a serving-girl."
Shona's contempt was plain. "Don't forget whose daughter I am. They neither of them raised a fool."
Aidan scooped up his pouches. "Not a fool, " he agreed. "Just a stubborn, blinkered mule." He slung the pouches over his shoulder and walked by her through the door.
Lir. Are you coming?
Teel's tone was amused. I will go out the casement. The air is clearer, out of doors. He flew from bed to casement sill, then slipped out the narrow slit and into the sky beyond.
Aidan turned to the right, heading toward the spiral stair leading down to the bottom floor.
"Aidan. Aidan!"
He continued walking.
"Come back here, you skilfin. D'ye think I'd be letting you walk out of here like this?"
His pace did not slow.
She came up behind him. "What would my parents say if they thought I was the cause of you leaving without a proper welcome or guest-gift?"
"You are," he answered briefly, into the corridor. "You may as well face them with the truth… or are you a coward?"
"I'm not afraid of them. They give me no cause."
"No. What you're afraid of is the kivarna itself." Aidan went down the winding staircase, attuned to her nearness. Her steps did not flag as Shona followed him down.
For several moments all he heard were her footsteps, echoing his own. And then strong fingers caught in the wool of his cloak, clenching through to the leather jerkin. "Stop," she commanded.
He stopped, even as she jerked her hand away, and turned. She stood two steps above, which made her tower over him. She braced either hand against the staircase walls, as if to hold herself in place. Loose cuffs fell away from her arms, baring strong wrists and sinewy forearms more suited to warrior that woman. The thick braid fell across one shoulder, dangling past her breast, her waist, and hip to brush the top of her wool-clad thigh. In the dimness of the narrow staircase much of her expression was muted, but he saw the set of her jaw; the fierceness of her eyes; the upward slant of cheekbones too blunt for Cheysuli elegance, yet striking all the same. The sheer power of her personality, reflected in expression, stature, spirit, stripped the words from his mouth; all he could do was stare.
Shona came down one step. Palms scraped against the walls. "I am afraid," she admitted. "But you're knowing that. You have only to use what I use, when I want to know the truth of a person." One more step; her head was level with his. "I know the sword and the bow and the knife. I am more content with men's things than with women's—I have that of my mother…" Briefly, Shona smiled. "But there's more to me than that. There's another woman inside me, one who wants a man the way other women do… the way they dream about. The one who wants a man to love her, and to love him back—" She lifted a staying hand as he opened his mouth to speak. "No. D'ye hear? D'ye feel? What I'm saying is the truth: I want all of it, Aidan, the way the stories promise. A man and a woman meet, and they fall in love, and they marry…" Her mouth jerked briefly. "You give it to me twisted. You give it to me empty."
After a long moment he nodded. "I never meant it to happen this way. I came so we could meet, to see if we suited one another, as friends first. I never meant to pressure you, or make you feel trapped. I promise you that. But when you reached out and took my hand, the choice was taken from me. The time the stories promise was stolen from us both—"
"I know." Shona drew in a deep breath and released it heavily. " 'Tis a capricious thing, the kivarna; you're knowing that as well as I." She caught hold of the braid and flipped it behind her shoulder. "D'ye see? 'Tis n't right for either of us. You'd do better with a woman not so bound up by Erinnish magic—a Cheysuli woman, perhaps, or a Homanan—and I'm thinking I'd do better with an Erinnishman, a big, brawling islander who has no kivarna at all, so we neither of us will suffer."
Which us? he wondered. You and your brawling islander? Or you and me?
"Aidan."
It was not Shona, who stared past him in open curiosity, but her father, who waited at the foot of the stair. Aidan turned. "Aye, my lord?"
Sean's face was solemn. "You'd best be coming with me."
How could they know already I intend to leave? He frowned faintly, trying to find the proper words. "My lord—"
"Aidan, come with me. It has to do with Gisella."
For a moment, the name was alien. Aidan stared at Sean. "Gisella—?" And then he knew. "My granddame?"
Sean nodded. "Corin has sent word from Atvia. Gisella is dying."
Keely's face was a travesty, a mask made of stone. Only the eyes were alive: blue and bright as glass, glittering with emotions. There was anger, shock, resentment, even hatred. But mostly there was a cold and abiding commitment to feel nothing at all, no matter how much she wanted to.
No matter how much she had to.
She waited as they came into the hall: Sean, Aidan, Shona. She stood rigidly by one of the chairs,, but did not sit; nor did her posture indicate any intention to sit. A folded, crumpled parchment lay discarded on a nearby table. In her hands she gripped a silver goblet. The pressure of her fingers against the metal turned them white.
"So," she said, "it comes. Too many years too late, but at last it comes."
Sean did not go directly to her. Instead he moved by her as if to sit down in the chair she disdained, and then paused. One big hand settled upon her right shoulder. A moment later the other shoulder was also engulfed. Very gently, he squeezed, and Aidan saw the tension of Keely's fingers relax almost imperceptibly. Now the goblet shook.
Aidan looked at her face. Is it comfort he offers her? Or restraint?
; "So," Keely repeated. "Gisella is dying, and wants to see her kin."
It startled him. Slowly Aidan sat down, conscious of Shona drifting toward the fireplace. His senses chafed at the distance, but he studiously ignored them. If this was what kivarna was, this strong physical tie, he was not certain he wanted to obligate himself to it. Understanding the feelings of others was bad enough.
Aidan cleared his throat. "Will you go?"
Keely's astonishment was blatant. "I?"
"Aye. She is your jehana. If she wants her kinfolk, surely she means you."
Keely laughed once, mirthlessly. She gulped from the goblet, then thunked it down upon the table. "Whether she means me or not makes no difference. She gave up any claim to me more than forty years ago, when she tried to hand my rujholli over to Strahan." Keely's face hardened. "I renounced her in life. Now I renounce her in death."
Sean's hands remained on her, gently working the taut tendons stretched between neck and shoulders. "Lass, 'tis Corin you should be thinking of. 'Twill dishonor him if no one goes."
"Corin will understand." Keely's eyes were hard as stone. "I thought perhaps Aidan might go."
"Me!" He stared at her in surprise. "I have never even seen her. Gisella is nothing to me… Deirdre is my granddame, if only in name." He shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. "I have no desire to see a dying old woman."
"Her blood is in your veins," Keely said. "It is what makes you a part of the prophecy, Aidan—" But she pulled free of Sean and strode away from them all, turning back awkwardly when she had gone three paces. "I cannot go. I cannot make myself go, even if I should. I have spent a lifetime hating that woman… she is old and sick and dying, and mad…" Wearily she rubbed her brow, stretching the flesh out of shape. "Someone should go, for Corin's sake if nothing else… and for Gisella's. But not me. I would look at her, and see the woman whose actions nearly destroyed me, and I would hate her. And no one, dying, deserves hatred. She deserves forgiveness—" Keely's face was frozen. Tears glittered briefly. "There is none of that in me."
Sean's voice was quiet rustiness as he looked at Aidan. "She's seen none of her grandchildren, lad. I've no doubt she's a lonely old woman, now—it might ease her passing if she saw you."
"I know, but…" Aidan sighed, giving up. "Aye. I understand. If nothing else, I can carry word home to my grandsire that the Queen of Homana is dead… it might be best from a kinsman, rather than a messenger." He pulled himself out of his chair. "I will go."
"Wait." It was Keely. "If you go, there is something you must do."
Aidan nodded, willing.
Her gaze remained steady. "You must leave your lir behind."
"Leave Teel! Why? How can you even ask it?"
Sean's voice was placatory. "There is reason, lad."
"I cannot leave my lir behind."
Keely shook her head. "You must, Aidan, or risk losing him. In Atvia, ravens are death-omens. They shoot them whenever they can, so the birds cannot bear tidings of death to the next one meant to die."
It was unbelievable. "But Corin rules. He is Cheysuli. Surely he has taught them what a lir is."
"They understand," Keely told him. "But Kiri is the only one they know, and she is a fox. For centuries the Atvians have killed ravens. That sort of habit is not easily overturned, even by a king—especially a foreign one…" She sighed. "Is it worth taking the chance? Leave Teel here."
He shook his heat. "If he remains here, I have no recourse to the lir-gifts. No shapechange, no healing—"
"Will you need either, there?" Keely put her hand on his arm. "Stay a week. A ten-day, at the most. Then come back—" she cast an enigmatic glance at her daughter "—and do whatever you must do to settle your affairs."
Aidan looked at Shona. For a long moment their gazes locked. Then she turned her head, staring into the fire resolutely, and his reluctance to go to Atvia evaporated. Perhaps the best thing for them at this moment was to part, to put things in perspective. To better understand precisely what the kivarna meant, without feeling its presence so tangibly.
Aidan looked back at Keely. "First I will speak to Teel, Then I will go."
Sean's smile was faint. "No need to run, lad… stay the night while we feast you. I'll see you fetched across the Dragon's Tail first thing in the morning."
Aidan nodded. Shona turned on her heel and strode out of the hall.
Chapter Nine
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Clearly, the Atvians had expected Keely, or someone of her household. When only Aidan arrived, a stranger unattended by even a single servant, or a message from the Lord and his Lady, they displayed polite bewilderment, then belatedly mustered the appropriate courtesy and ushered him into a chamber. To wait, he was told, for a proper personage.
Aidan, left to ponder the wisdom of his coming, idly walked the room. Rondule was, much like Kilore, a fortress built to defend Atvia, not a dwelling designed to offer excessive comfort. There were chairs, tables, benches; three pelt rugs; a newly lighted fire. The beamwork was rough-hewn, hacked out of massive timbers, and left purposely crude. Not much like Homana-Mujhar's fine, silk-smooth beams, arching in graceful waves beneath the dark stone groins.
Aidan sighed and halted by the fireplace, warming morning-chilled hands. The brief voyage across the Dragon's Tail had been accomplished with speed and skill, but he had a landsman's belly. He was pleased to be aground again.
Over the mantel hung a massive wooden shield bossed with brass. The shield was obviously quite old, with an honor all its own; gouges pocked the dark wood and the brass was dented in places. Pieces were missing here and there, displaying the dark outlines of the original ornamentation beneath. Aidan knew better than to believe it a keepsake brought by Corin from Homana; more likely it was left over from the wars between Atvia and Erinn.
It seemed odd now to think of it. But the enmity between the two island realms, separated only by a narrow channel, had forged a bitter rivalry into ongoing hostility, so that two peoples who might otherwise be much alike had spent generations killing one another. Now they were united in a peace forced by Corin's assumption of the Atvian throne and a treaty first with Liam, then with Sean, but Aidan knew better. People did not change their ways so quickly. Only twenty years or so before Alaric had ruled, pure Atvian of the old line, a man dedicated to making Erinn part of his domain. Corin, his grandson by Gisella, had ended that ambition by inheriting on Alaric's death; Sean, married to Corin's sister, had no wish to continue the battles that had, until Liam's time, stolen away a portion of Erinn's manhood every year.
The door swung open. Aidan turned, expecting Corin; instead, it was a woman.
She paused, then entered the room and shut the door behind her. Small Hands were clasped together in the folds of her deep russet gown. The color was most flattering against dusky skin. Dark brown hair was braided neatly back from delicate face and slender neck, then netted in gold and pinned to the back of her head. A rope of dark garnets bound her waist, then dripped down to the hem of her skirts. The dyed brown toes of slippers peeped under the hem as she moved toward him, smiling exquisite welcome.
She was, most obviously, not a serving-girl. Aidan revised his greeting instantly and offered a courteous inclination of his head, explaining who he was and why he had come in place of Keely or Sean.
Huge eyes reflected momentary surprise. Then, still smiling, she gathered swirling skirts in deft, graceful hands and swept into a curtsy. Garnets rattled briefly; then she rose and placed one flattened hand over her heart, dipping her head in eloquent acknowledgment. Beneath lowered lashes, Aidan saw brown eyes rich and expressive. The mouth, curving slightly in a delicate, fragile face of quiet loveliness, made no move to speak.
She was thin, very thin, but with a tensile grace that belied the fragility of her body. The long, slender neck, set off by the netted hair, was exquisitely elegant. He thought of Shona, so tall and broad and strong, and realized next to this woman the Erinnish princess would resemble a sturdy kitchen wench,
albeit one with a royal pedigree. But this woman's strength did not require a body so much as it required eyes; looking at her. Aidan found himself understanding her disability, and why it made no difference.
The door swung open again. The woman turned, skirts swinging out, and Aidan realized she was only mute, not deaf. He saw her delicate face light up as the man entered, and then she went to him and took his hand, drawing him through. Her smile was luminous as she turned to Aidan, still grasping the man's hand; she put out her own, gesturing gracefully, and seemed to say everything necessary with that single motion.
It was, of course, Corin. Aidan knew it at once. There were few men in the world who so strongly resembled the Mujhar, though Niall's stamp was somewhat diluted by the other blood in Corin's veins, and the Lord of Atvia was much younger. He was tawny-haired and blue-eyed, but bearded, like Sean. He also lacked Niall's tremendous height and weight, built shorter and slighter, though no one would name him small. He was, Aidan thought, at least as tall as Brennan and Hart, perhaps even a bit taller. He wore traditional Cheysuli leathers, which Aidan found unexpected in light of Corin's realm. There was gold on his arms and in his left ear, glinting through thick hair. He was nothing at all like his brothers, Aidan realized. But like his sister, aye. Keely was in his face and smile.
Corin nodded thoughtfully, assessing Aidan rapidly. His tone was very dry. "Not so much of a weakling after all, are you? Was it Brennan's righteousness, or Aileen's stubbornness that made you defy all the doomsayers who predicted your death?"
Aidan smiled politely. "And were you one of them?"
White teeth flashed. "Hardly! You forget, haranir—I know your jehana. I never believed for a moment a son with Aileen of Erinn in him would give up so easily."
Aidan had expected more. Sadness. Resentment. Perhaps bitterness, even after so many years. Instead what he sensed was pride, and an undercurrent of approval. It was almost as if Corin looked on Aidan as his own son, and was pleased with what he saw. It was not the reception Aidan had expected.
Cheysuli 7 - Flight of the Raven Page 27