Legacy of the Sword Page 5

  He took a single lurching step away from the dais and the woman. “What filth have you told her—?”

  “Filth?” Electra arched white-blond brows. “Only the truth, shapechanger. Or do you deny the gold on your arms, in your ear…the animals your kind call the lir?” An expressive gesture encompassed gold and wolf and bird.

  He felt ill. He wanted to turn his back on the woman and flee the hall, but he could not do it. He would not do it. He would not allow her to win. “Lies,” he said flatly. “And Aislinn knows it. Do you forget?—she has known me since her birth.”

  “I forget nothing.” Electra smiled with all the guilelessness of a child. “But you have the right of it, of course…Aislinn knows you well.”

  Donal stood his ground. “We played together as children, Electra. Scraped knees, tended bee stings, shared one another’s bread. Do you think, lady, such memories can be destroyed with but a few words from you?”

  “I have had her two years, Donal.” Electra allowed the violet mantle to slither to her hip, exposing the low-cut neck of her gown and the pale flesh of the tops of her breasts. “Do you recall what I did to Carillon in two months?”

  He did. And he turned at once to Aislinn. “Two years is more than enough time to fill your head with lies, and she is good at that. But do you forget your jehan? It is Carillon with whom you lived for fourteen years before you came to Electra.”

  A pale hand smoothed the garneted chains hanging from Aislinn’s girdle. Her pinched face told him she did indeed recall their childhood friendship and her girlish attraction to him. “I—believe my mother has told me the truth. We are children no longer…and why would she lie to me?”

  “To use you.” He had no more time for tact or diplomacy. “By the gods, girl, are you blind? Do you forget why she is here? She will try to bring down Carillon any way she can. Even now she stoops to perverting you!”

  Fingers tangled in the garneted golden chains. “But—it is not the Mujhar she speaks of, Donal…it is you. It is you she warns me against, knowing your animal urges—”

  “Animal urges!” He was aghast. “Have you gone mad? You know me, Aislinn—what urges do you speak of?”

  Her face had caught fire, as if to match the richness of her hair. “We were children, then…we are adults, now. You are—a man…and she has told me what to expect.” She averted her eyes from his, staring fiercely at the floor. “I have only to look at Finn, if I want to see what you will become.”

  “Finn?” He stared. “What has Finn to do with this?”

  Aislinn managed to look at him again, though the chiming of her girdle told him how she trembled. “Will you deny that he stole your own mother because he wanted her—as an animal wants another? Will you deny that he stole also the Mujhar’s sister—who later died because of his neglect?” Aislinn sucked in a shaking breath. “I look at Finn, Donal, your own uncle…and I see what you will become.”

  By the gods, Electra has driven her mad. He felt his hands clench into fists, unclenched them with effort, and tried to speak coherently through his astonishment and anger.

  “We will—speak of this another time. In some detail. But for now, I must tell you to have your things packed.”

  “Have you gone mad?” she demanded. “Do you think I will go with you?”

  “I think so,” he said grimly. “It is the Mujhar’s bidding I do, not my own. Aislinn—he bids us end our betrothal. The time has come for us to wed.”

  For a long moment, she simply stared. He saw how she looked at him, appraising him even as her mother had. What she saw he could not say. But her face was very pale, and there was true apprehension in her eyes.

  She turned quickly to face her mother. “He cannot make me go if I wish to stay with you.” The question, even through her declaration, was implicit in her tone.

  “You have been with your jehana two years, Aislinn—longer than was intended,” Donal pointed out. “Carillon allowed you to stay because you wished it. He has been overly generous, I think—but now it is time you returned to him.”

  Electra smoothed the supple silk of her purple mantle. “He is a shapechanger, Aislinn. He can make man or woman do anything, does he wish it.” Her cool eyes glinted as she looked at him. “Can you not?”

  Grimly, he wished he could slay her where she stood, even before her daughter.

  Electra merely smiled.

  “I will not,” Aislinn declared. “I will go nowhere I have no wish to go.”

  Inwardly, he sighed. “Then you defy your jehan, Aislinn. It is Carillon who wants you back in Homana-Mujhar.” Not me, he thought. Oh gods, not me.

  “And you do not?” she demanded triumphantly, as if she had won the battle and proved her point.

  Donal laughed, but the sound lacked all humor. “No,” he said bluntly. “Why should I?”

  Slowly, so slowly, the color flowed out of her face. Her gray eyes were suddenly blackened pits of comprehension. Color rushed back and lit her face. “Do you mean—”

  “—do I mean I do not want you?” he interrupted rudely. “Aye, that sums it up. So gainsay your foolishness, Aislinn, and order your belongings packed. Carillon wants you home.”

  The breath rattled in her throat. “Wait you—wait you—” She shut her mouth, tried to recover some of her vanished composure, and frowned at him. “To gain the throne, you must have me.”

  “Oh, aye,” he agreed, “but have I ever said I wanted it?”

  “But—it is the throne—” She gestured. “The throne of all Homana…and now Solinde. The Lion Throne.” Her frown deepened. “And yet you tell me you do not want it?”

  “I do not,” he said distinctly. “Do you understand, now? We were betrothed because Carillon had no sons, only a daughter—and no cheysula—no proper one—to share his bed and bear him any more children.” His eyes went to Electra, standing stiffly on the dais. “And so, by betrothing his daughter to his cousin’s son, Carillon gets an heir for the throne of Homana.” He spread his hands. “Me.” The hands flopped down. “That is why I am here, no matter what your jehana tells you.”

  Aislinn gathered the heavy girdle in both hands, wadding the chain into the soft flesh of her palms. She was pale, so pale; he thought she might cry. But she did not. He saw her reach within herself to regain her composure.

  She looked at her mother. She looked at her mother, and waited.

  When he could, Donal looked at the woman also. She stood but two paces from him, close enough that he could put out his hands and throttle her. He knew, for the first time, a measure of the futility Carillon had experienced, and knew himself a fool for undervaluing the woman.

  Gods…even now she does not give up. She will hound him to his death— He was brought up short. Which is what she wants. Even now. Even imprisoned on this island, she will do what she can to slay him…even to using her daughter. He felt ill. I cannot deal with this—

  Electra regarded him quietly. “Do you see?” she asked. “You may win back a part of her, in time—I do expect it, of course—but there is a portion of Aislinn I will always hold.” Her right hand scribed an invisible rune in the air between them, as if she dallied idly. She smiled composedly. “Her soul, Cheysuli wolfling. I have made that completely mine…and what is mine is also Tynstar’s.”

  Donal watched her hand, so slim and pale, as it closed upon the invisible rune. By the gods, what has she done to Aislinn?

  He looked at the girl. She stood very still, staring fixedly at her mother, and Donal felt an uprush of chilling apprehension. There are Cheysuli here—Electra can practice no magic. And yet he knew, watching the woman, that she retained a measure of her power. How much or how little he could not say, but there was power in her eyes. And Aislinn, Homanan and Solindish, was completely unprotected. Vulnerable to her mother.

  Before a Cheysuli, the Ihlini lose much of their power. But not all! There are still tricks they can perform. Electra may only know such tricks as Tynstar taught her, being no Ihlini herself, but I
cannot say she is as helpless as we thought—

  Donal looked sharply at Aislinn. He saw how pale she was, how she continued clenching the golden girdle with all its rich cold stones. Her hands were shaking, and yet her voice was quite steady, quite calm.

  As if she has made a discovery, and is strengthened because of it.

  “Is that why you wanted me?” Aislinn did not move. “For the Ihlini?” She ignored Electra’s abortive attempt at speech. “And are you so certain your perverted magic has worked on me?”

  Donal stared at Aislinn. So did Electra. The silence was unbroken in the hall.

  Garnets rattled as Aislinn clutched the girdle. “I have listened to Donal just now. I have listened to you as well, hearing you mouth all the things you have told me these past two years. And—I know you better than ever before: I know you.”

  “Aislinn—” Electra began.

  “Listen to me!” Aislinn’s shout reverberated. “I will hear no more lies about my father—no more lies. Oh, aye…I know what you sought to do—I know why you sought to do it! Make the daughter into a weapon against the father.” Aislinn’s voice shook. “He told me—he told me: once he truly loved you. But you gave yourself to Tynstar. You wasted yourself on an Ihlini sorcerer! And now you think to twist me in spirit as Tynstar has twisted my father in body?” Hysterically, she laughed, and the sound filled up the hall. “I do know Donal—and he is not what you say he is!”

  Electra’s lips were pale. She stood very still on the marble dais. “He is a shapechanger. What I have told you is true.”

  Aislinn shook her head violently. “What you have told me are lies! Did you think I would not know? Did you truly believe I would listen to that vile filth you spewed when I have known him longer than I have you?” Again, Aislinn laughed. “You do not live up to your reputation, mother! I am amazed at how easily I saw through your plans.”

  Electra’s face was bone-white. Suddenly, even through the magnificence of her beauty, she was old.

  But still she summoned a smile. “Then I will tell you the truth in one thing, Aislinn—heed me well, I do not lie. What is mine is also Tynstar’s, and I have made you mine.” One hand stabbed upward to cut off Aislinn’s angry words. “Wait you, girl, and you will see. Do not seek to denigrate my power when you have hardly known it.” This time, it was Electra who laughed. “Run along, then, and pack your things. Perhaps it is time I sent you home to the cripple who sired a useless daughter when all he wanted was a son.”

  “Aislinn, do not.” Donal’s quiet tone overrode the beginnings of Aislinn’s outcry. “Let it be. You know what she is.” He touched the girl’s arm. He felt her body tremble. “Go. Pack your things. And look forward to seeing your jehan, who truly loves you.”

  White-faced, with tears staining the fairness of her cheeks, Aislinn turned and ran from her mother’s hall.

  When he could better master himself, Donal turned back to face Electra. “I am grateful to you.” He said it very quietly. “You have let the girl see for herself precisely what you are, and I need never say another word. You have made my work easier, Electra. I thank you for it.”

  “Do you?” The overwhelming beauty was back and all the odd fragility was banished. Electra was once more herself. “Then I am heartened. It will make it so much sweeter when my plans are quite fulfilled.”

  Donal shook his head. “You have power, lady—that I willingly admit—and no doubt Tynstar has taught you how to use it, but you forget. You forget something very important.” He forced a smile. “Aislinn loves her father, Electra…and the power of that love you can never destroy.”

  Electra considered a moment. “Perhaps not,” she conceded, “but then must we always speak of Carillon? Why not of you, instead?”

  “Does it matter?” he demanded. “You have lost her entirely.”

  “Have I? No, I think not. She may believe so for now—she is welcome to that innocence—but she will soon see that she cannot deny me. I am no idle practitioner of the little love-spells other women like to think they weave. No, no—I am much more. Tynstar has made me so.” Slowly, she gathered up the red-purple mantle and draped it over one velveted shoulder. “Aislinn is all mine. You will see it. So shall she. And in the end, I shall win.”

  “What can you do?” he demanded derisively. “What spell do you think you can cast? You have seen and heard your daughter, Electra—she is none of yours. How can you think to gainsay us?”

  The woman smiled slowly, with all the seductiveness in her soul. “Quite easily, as you will see.” Electra laughed once more. “Surely you know the law, Donal: No marriage is binding if it is not consummated.”

  The ship creaked as she broke swells on her way back toward the mainland. Behind her lay the mist-shrouded island. Already the sun shone more brightly, even as it sank toward the horizon and set the seas ablaze.

  “I am sorry for what I said to you in the hall.” Aislinn, standing before Donal as he leaned against the taffrail, ignored his dismissive gesture. “I said them because my mother made certain I would, though I did not realize it then. She had told me so much of you, and I almost believed her.” The lowering sun set her hair aglow. “I am—shamed by my behavior, which was not fitting for a princess.” Her voice trembled. “Oh Donal—I am so ashamed—”

  “Aislinn—”

  “No.” She made a chopping gesture with her right hand. Her young face was blotched and swollen with tears, so that most of her burgeoning beauty was replaced with anguish. “I almost believed her. Though I have known you for so long. And then, when I heard her confidence—when I heard how she intended to use me—I could not bear it! I thought of my father as I looked into your face, and I knew what she meant to do.”

  Donal turned from the rail to face her directly. “Do you say, then, you did not know before today what it was she sought to do?” He asked it gently, knowing it needed to be asked; knowing also she was extremely vulnerable to the pain engendered by such questions.

  The wind played with Aislinn’s red-gold hair, though she had braided it into a single plait for traveling. The rope of hair hung down her back to her waist, bright against the dull brown of her traveling cloak. Stray curls pulled free of the braid and crept up to touch her face.

  Impatiently, she stripped them back with one hand as she brushed more tears away. “I—knew something of what she intended. At least—I thought I did.” Aislinn shrugged slightly. “Perhaps it is just that now I wish to deny what sway she held over me, so I can find some pride again.” She turned away from him. “Toward the end, during my last days, I began to understand better what she wanted. And I knew I wanted no part of it. But I was—afraid. I thought—if I told her I wished to go home to my father, she would forbid it. So—I waited. And when I heard you had come, I thought I would ask you to take me back. But—I heard what you said to her, how you reviled her, and I recalled all the things she had told me–about what the Cheysuli can do—and I became afraid again.” She lowered her eyes.

  She was young. So very young. He was unsurprised Electra had chosen to use her; even less so that Aislinn had so easily been taken in. He could not begin to imagine what it had been like for her in Homana-Mujhar, princess-born and bred by her father the Mujhar, knowing all the while her exiled mother was imprisoned on the Crystal Isle.

  “Aislinn.” He put out his hands and drew her away from the railing, cradling her shoulders in his palms. “I am sorry for the scene involving your jehana. But that is done now, and you must face the things that lie ahead.”

  Almost at once he felt ludicrous—he was not the girl’s father, but her betrothed—and here he was speaking like a wise old man when he was more ordinarily an unwise young one.

  Donal smiled wryly. “Listen to us, Aislinn. One would think we hardly know one another.”

  She moved closer, seeking solace. “I think perhaps we do not.” Her eyes beseeched his. “Will you be easy with me? I am sometimes a foolish girl.”

  “And I am sometimes a foo
lish boy.” Donal set a hand to her head and smoothed back the blowing hair. “We will have to grow up together.”

  Aislinn laughed a little. “But you are already grown, no matter what you say. While I feel like an infant.”

  “Hardly that. You should look in the polished silver.”

  A glint crept into Aislinn’s eyes. She arched her brows. “I have.”

  He tugged her braid. “And vain of what you see, are you?” He laughed at the beginnings of her protest. “I am no courtier, Aislinn, but I can tell you this much: you are a woman now, and quite a beautiful one.”

  She touched his bare arm lightly. “My thanks, Donal. I was afraid—I was afraid I would not please you. And I do desire to please you.”

  It was earnestness he heard in her voice, and honesty, not seductiveness. And yet even in her simplicity, there was a powerful allure about her. She lacked Electra’s guile, but none of her mother’s power to bind a man.

  He disengaged from her as easily as he could and stepped away. He could not afford to be bound.

  The same Homanan sailed them back to the mainland, silent now in his astonishment at what he heard and from whom he heard it. Sef sat on a coil of rope nearby, watching Donal and Aislinn with the rapt attention of a hound guarding his master. Taj perched upon a spar high above them. Lorn, deck-bound, paced the length of the ship again and again, as if something troubled him.

  Lir? Donal asked.

  Something. Something. I cannot say. And Lorn would say no more.

  Taj?

  The falcon’s tone was troubled. Nor have I an answer.

  Aislinn clutched at the taffrail for support as the ship broke swells. Donal reached out and set an arm behind her back. “Forgive me, Aislinn—what I must ask is harsh, I know…but you must realize that others have known what Electra is for years. How can you have escaped it?”