Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 05 (34 page)

           
Trapped, she glared at him. "Do
you want to go?"

           
"No," he said succinctly.
"Do you?"

           
Keely opened her mouth, then snapped
it shut. After a moment she shook her head a little. "Defy him. What could
he do to you? You are his son. Moreover, you are a part of the prophecy."

           
"A dutiful son does as his
father commands. A part of the prophecy knows better than to defy him."

           
"But you have never been
dutiful," Keely retorted, "and who is to know what your tahlmorra is
but you " She shrugged. "Come back to Homana-Mujhar and face him
down, Corin. Defy him. Refuse to go. He cannot have you tied up and hauled
bodily to Atvia. It would soil his own honor as much as yours." Keely
grinned. "If we both faced him—"

           
"If we both faced him, it would
only underscore the need for discipline," Corin said grimly, "and all
the while Brennan would be standing there like the dutiful son-nodding,
agreeing, supporting our Jehan—because that is what he does best. Jehan need
only look at his heir to see the sort of son he desires, and then he would
order me tied up and hauled bodily to Atvia."

           
Exasperated, she glared at him with
rigid hands clamped on hips. "Then what do you intend to do?"

           
"Go to Atvia." He sighed
and rubbed the roan's muzzle. "With a stop in Erinn, as jehan has
ordered."

           
Keely's eyes narrowed. "You
would do well to listen to yourself sometime, rujho. On one hand you blow and
bluster and threaten to do this or that ... on the other you meekly give in and
do what you have been asked—or told—to do. If you intend to do as told, why
make so much noise in the first place?"

           
For an answer, Corin turned sharply
and walked on, taking the stallion with him. And then he stopped short,
swinging to face her again. "Listen to yourself," he suggested
curtly. "It is no wonder Deirdre despairs of ever making a woman out of
you."

           
"Oh?" Her tone was
infinitely deadly.

           
Corin indicated her clothing.
"Do you ask why? You are in leggings every time I see you, disdaining
skirts or gowns . . . you talk our su'fali into teaching you the knife and
sword and bow when the Homanan arms-master will not. . . you absent yourself
from Homana-Mujhar to run wild in the wood . . . you spend no time with
Deirdre's women, learning how to behave as the Lady of Erinn must . . ."
He shook his head. "You drink usca, Keely, and dice nearly as much as
Hart—"

           
"—and nearly as well." She
smiled grimly. "Go on, Corin. Do not stop now."

           
He signed. "And you persist in
denying a willingness to wed a man who will one day be king of Erinn and,
through you, a part of the prophecy. You deny your own tahlmorra, and then tell
me to do the same with mine."

           
"It is hardly a denial of
willingness when I do not wish to wed him," she said coolly. "As to
the others, I will not deny that I would be as soon forswear womanly things
altogether. Given a choice, I would be warrior in place of wife."

           
"And man in place of
woman?"

           
Keely laughed in genuine amusement.
"No, you fool—even you seek the easy answer! I have no desire to be a man
. . . what I want is to be myself. I want the freedom to choose what I will do
instead of fulfilling expectations of my behavior." She shrugged. "I
would do better in the clan than at Homana-Mujhar, but even there I would not
know the freedom I crave. There are no women warriors . . . and I am the
daughter of the Lion. They see that before all else." She sighed and
tugged pensively at her braid. "Shall we go, rujho? I ache to see
Hondarth. I have never been anywhere but Clankeep or Mujhara."

           
Corin considered ordering her home;
discarded it at once. He considered suggesting she go home; he knew better. For
all she prated of having no freedom, she claimed more than most. It took a
stronger man than he to enforce his preferences when Keely's determination was
so firmly entrenched.

           
I will leave it to Sean. Corin
surrendered, nodding. "I am walking, for the moment. The roan needs
rest."

           
"So I see." Keely shook
her head. "Better you shout at me, next time, than burden your horse with
your anger. At least I know when to defy you."

           
"
Defiance
," he muttered. "Is that all you
know?"

           
"Better to ask the same of
yourself." Sweetly, she smiled at him. "Shall we go? Hondarth
beckons."

           
He raised his brows and pursed lips
thoughtfully. "Hondarth will never recover."

           
But he said nothing more as he
started walking and Keely fell in beside him. His lir trotted ahead, head
dipping as she sniffed grass and dirt. The day was warm, the sun bright, the
sky infinitely blue. Moreover, he was Cheysuli; it made him a man truly
blessed.

           
Abruptly, unexpectedly, Corin was
content. If he had to go to Atvia, at least he had the best company he could
think of.

           
They sold the stallion in Hondarth,
much as Corin hated to part with him. There would be no room on the ship for a
mount, and he could get another in Atvia. He would have sent the roan home with
Keely, except she refused to go back. And so with their purses considerably
plumper, they stopped before a tavern.

           
Keely gestured. "As good as
another, rujho."

           
He looked askance at her. "A
waterfront tavern? I think not. We would do better to go farther from the
docks."

           
She stood with booted feet planted.
"I want wine, and I am hungry. If you fear trouble because I am a woman,
remember I have a knife."

           
"See how I shiver from
fear?" Corin asked dryly. "I think the men who frequent taverns of
this sort will hardly be deterred by a knife in a woman's hand."

           
She shrugged. "Then I will
resort to lir-shape, if they force me. Corin—let us go in—" She caught his
jerkin and dragged him toward the door, even as he craned his head to look for
Kiri.

           
Inside, Keely had the good sense to
release his jerkin, which he absently pulled back into shape. He thought
briefly, in case of trouble, he would claim her his woman; a glance at Keely's
face made him think better of it. In sleeveless jerkin, leggings and boots much
like his own, with identical coloring and similar features, no one would
believe it. Their kinship was too evident.

           
Keely sniffed. "Fish."

           
"Hondarth is a seaport."
Corin glanced around the tavern. He had seen better; he had certainly seen
worse.

           
The light was dim, but not
nonexistent. Nothing led him to believe they courted trouble. There were no
covert glances hiding ill will, no rude comments on Keely's apparel, no private
jests about the vixen who flanked one side. The patrons looked at the newcomers
curiously, as anyone would, then turned back to private business without excess
incivility.

           
"A table." Already Keely
was striding toward it, boot heels thumping against hardwood floor. Men watched
her, elbowed partners, made comments, but they watched with an appreciation
significantly lacking in rudeness or raillery.

           
Corin let out a breath, surprised to
discover he had been holding it. All his life he had done what he could to keep
his headstrong sister free from trouble, and sometimes he succeeded. But the
task was more difficult when she seemed purposely to flout convention. He did
not entirely blame her—he himself would go mad as a woman, confined to women's
work—but neither did he fully understand her dedication to defiance. She was a
woman—should she not behave as one?

           
She is also a Cheysuli, and gifted
more than most, Kiri reminded him. She has the Old Blood in abundance. Do you
expect her to behave as a dutiful Homanan woman?

           
The thought of Keely portraying
herself as a meek, docile woman thinking only of her man's pleasure made Corin
grin. But he was doing an injustice to the female portion of Homana's
population; they were not all meek and docile. Certainly enough of Deirdre's
Homanan ladies were spirited, in bed or out of it.

           
Women. Following his sister, he cast
an assessive glance around the tavern. If there was a likely wine-girl present,
he might pass the night pleasurably indeed.

           
And then he recalled Keely. Glumly,
he reflected he could hardly tell his sister to hunt up a private room for
herself while he disported himself with the wine-girl. It would only invite
trouble. He sighed. With Hart or Brennan things were much less complicated;
although Brennan tended to keep himself to court ladies, neither he nor Hart
were averse to spending time with wine-girls, and they certainly made no
protest when Corin did. But Keely might.

           
He reached the table. She was
already seated, hunched forward on a stool, and looking about with interest.

           
Corin could not remember a time he
had taken her into a tavern, even in Mujhara;. away from the palace, away from
Clankeep, they generally frequented inns or road-houses, where the clientele
was different.

           
Corin hooked out a stool and sat
down slowly, one hand touching Kiri's heavy ruff. Her presence, he saw, had
been noted, remarked on, accepted. If there were mutters of beasts and
shapechangers, he heard none of them. And yet he recalled the stories of how
his grandsire, Donal, had met only hatred and prejudice when he had come to
Hondarth.

           
A step sounded behind him. He
thought nothing of it until he saw Keely's hand slip to her knife, and then he
half-turned. He was stopped by a big hand on his shoulder.

           
"Be ye Cheysuli?" asked
the man with the paw of a bear, or so it seemed to Corin. "Or a Homanan
masquerading as such?"

           
Corin tried to shake off the paw.
Keely, he saw, was leaning forward as if to rise; beside him. Kin's lips peeled
back to show sharp white teeth. "Why?" he asked coldly. "And why
should it matter which?"

           
"Because if ye be Cheysuli,
I'll be buying you a drink, you and the lass. If ye only play at it, lad, I've
no business with either of ye."

           
The accent was familiar, though far
thicker than Deirdre's fading lilt. Corin grinned, and even Keely began to
relax. "Erinnish?" he asked.

           
"Aye, lad, name o 'Boyne. But
ye have yet to answer my question."

           
Boyne
was a huge, bearlike man, black of hair and
beard, though gray generously salted both. His nose was bent from some
accident—or fight—in the far past, and he lacked two teeth to boot. But the
smile was genuine, lighting dark eyes as Corin nodded.

           
"Aye, Cheysuli, both of
us." He gestured. "Will you join us?"

           
Keely's jaw was tightly set; he saw
the reprimand in her eyes. But it was too late.
Boyne
had plopped his bulk down on a bench and
was shouting for fresh wine.

           
He grinned at them both, eyes alight
as he looked at Keely. "Captain Boyne," he said, "sailing home
to Erinn on the morning tide. But when I saw the fox and all your gold, I knew
ye must be Cheysuli, and I said to myself I must buy ye a dram before I
sail."

           
"Why?" Keely's tone was
cool.

           
He raised black brows. "Because
o’ the ties between our countries, lass, why else? Erinn's own fair Aileen will
wed into the House o' Homana, and Prince Sean will take the Mujhar's Cheysuli
lass for his bride. Tis good manners to drink to such happiness, lass!" He
reared back as a wine-girl thumped down a jug and three cups.

           
He poured generous measures, then
handed them out.

           
"To Aileen and her Cheysuli
prince; to Sean and his sweet lass!"

           
Following his lead, Corin raised his
cup. Keely's motion was considerably slower, but
Boyne
seemed not to notice as he clacked his cup
against theirs.