The Betrayal (30 page)

Felisan wore a circlet of bronze set with crystals from Clerestone. Heléri might have worn one as a former governor of Alpinon, but had chosen not to.

Several of the Ælvanen from Eastfæld wore multiple interwoven bands of gold, including Lady Rheneri, the governor's sister. She was present to represent her brother at the Council, and to Eliani she seemed very beautiful, tall and slender with dark hair spilling almost to the floor from beneath her circlet.

Nowhere in the hall did Eliani see the gray and orange of Clan Sunriding, governors of Fireshore. She leaned toward her eldermother.

“Who is that Ælvanen lord who stares at us so?”

She nodded toward a tall black-haired lord whose circlet was different from those of the other Eastfælders. It was of plain silver and bore at the brow a
small white stone. His robe was of white also, though golden threads glinted in its weave.

“That is Lord Rephanin. He is master of Southfæld's magehall.”

“I had thought Lord Rephanin was a Greenglen.”

“No. He came here from Eastfæld long ago.”

Something in Heléri's tone made Eliani look at her, but she could read nothing unusual in her face. “Did you know him there?”

Heléri met her gaze, then slowly smiled. “Yes. We both studied magecraft at Hollirued.”

Eliani nodded understanding, looking back at the magelord. “He seems rather stern.”

Heléri made no answer, sipping her wine instead. Eliani saw Lord Rephanin start across the hall toward them and straightened in her chair, made nervous by the intensity of his gaze, which moved from Heléri to herself as he approached.

Her father rose from his chair. “Rephanin! How good to see you again after so many years.”

“It is a plea sure to welcome you back to Glenhallow, Lord Felisan.”

Rephanin's voice was deep and quiet, his eyes gray and penetrating. His glance fell on Heléri, and he bowed.

“Lady Heléri. I believe you have not visited the city before.”

“No, she has not. Nor has my daughter, Lady Eliani.” Felisan gestured toward Eliani.

The gray eyes turned to her, and Rephanin bowed again, then continued to gaze at her for a long moment, making her feel she was being studied. He tilted his head slightly.

“Has the Lady Eliani any interest in magecraft?”

Felisan laughed. “Not since she was a child listening to cradle tales. She would rather be hunting kobalen.”

Feeling her cheeks prickle with color, Eliani answered Lord Rephanin. “I have not the aptitude, I fear.”

“Nor the patience.”

Heléri spoke over Felisan's chuckling. “Lady Eliani has been much occupied of late with service in Alpinon's Guard.”

Lord Rephanin's gaze shifted to her, and one eyebrow rose slightly. Eliani wondered if he was speaking to Heléri in thought. She knew that was supposed to be his skill, and the idea that he might even speak to herself suddenly made Eliani uncomfortable. She gestured toward Luruthin beside her.

“My cousin Luruthin is also in our Guard and is theyn of Clerestone as well.”

Lord Rephanin nodded greeting to Luruthin, gazing at him briefly before returning his attention to Heléri. “Welcome to you all. The Council will be enhanced by your presence.”

He bowed, then moved away toward the head table. Beyond him Eliani saw Turisan watching, but his attention was called away from her gaze.

Turisan was at last able to slip away, though many of the guests remained talking in the hall long after the feast had concluded. He changed his robes for a comfortable tunic and legs, and went out in silver moonlight down to the fountain courtyard, carrying his lute with him.

Thoughts of his earlier conversation with Eliani followed him through the stone pathways, accompanied by the myriad voices of the fountains. This night they sounded mournful—his imagination, perhaps, inspired by the celebration of Crossed Spirits. He had lit candles for his mother and other loved ones now in spirit, but had found no peace.

He passed through the Whispering Walk and into
the wooded avenue beyond. Sitting on the low parapet that flanked the pathway, he rested his back against the courtyard wall. Its stones still yielded a shadow of warmth from the day's sun.

He settled the lute on his lap and lightly fingered a tune. The structure of the music pleased him, a fluid thing but with finite dimensions, easy to control in its defined complexity. No master musician, he played for plea sure and had little leisure for that, but his skill was sufficient to the demands of the piece.

It was an old ballad, a story of gallantry and reward, though he did not know the lyric. More important to him was its mood of quiet satisfaction, which made the muted sound of fountains behind him seem less sad. He played the song twice through, lingering on the final chords even as he became aware that he was not alone. A change in the khi of the garden set his pulse speeding.

Looking up, he saw Eliani standing nearby, watching him from just within the Whispering Walk. His heart gave a sharp thump as she stepped forward, her face dappled in tree shadows.

“Beautiful music, my lord.”

“Thank you.”

He set the lute down, leaning it in the corner where the parapet that was his seat met the courtyard's wall. Her presence set his nerves afire, and he had to restrain himself from standing and catching her in his arms.

She moved away from the Whispering Walk, and her khi sharpened in his awareness. He watched her, drinking in every small movement. A fleeting smile crossed her lips.

“That ballad is a favorite of my father's.”

“Do you play?”

“A little. Not on the lute.”

“We must play together sometime. If you did not bring an instrument—”

“I brought one. A flute.”

Turisan fell silent. Her tone did not suggest eagerness to play music together.

Eliani crossed to the parapet and looked out over the orchards. He watched her for a few moments, then spoke.

“I am glad you chose to attend the Council.”

“I understand Fireshore has sent no delegation.”

“They may be on their way.”

“We have kin there—Davhri, my father's sister. We have not heard from her in some years.”

Turisan shifted on the stone wall. “My father has sent an armed party northward with a second message for Governor Othanin.”

“That is well.” Her gaze wandered the orchard as if seeking a friend or a memory. “I fear we may face war, and not just with kobalen.”

Turisan let out a long breath. He thought she was right, and he wished to talk of something else. The words that came to mind—that she was beautiful in the shadowed night—seemed inappropriate. He contented himself with watching her, enjoying the lines of her throat and face, the drape of her cloak across her hip as she leaned against the half wall.

“Your trees still have their leaves.”

“We are not as high here as in your mountain woods.”

“Yet I feel winter's bite in the air. Or is it always so cool here at night?” She turned to look at him, eyes glinting in the starlight.

“It cools, but you are right that winter is in the air.”

“Davhri wrote to me once that in Fireshore the heat may not let up for days and nights on end.”

“You have never been there?”

“No. Have you?”

“No.” Turisan rose and came to stand beside her,
gazing out over the orchard, savoring the hum of her khi in the air. “My visit to Highstone was the farthest north I have been. I liked Alpinon very well, perhaps because it is similar in many ways to this land.”

“Well, you are welcome to visit whenever you please.”

She had said something like that before. Turisan gazed at her, trying to read her face.

“Do you mean that you prefer me to remain a visitor? Is this a gentle way of refusing me?”

She glanced up, looking startled. “No, I—I have not decided.”

Her manner implied that she did not wish to discuss it, but at least she denied a refusal. Turisan nodded and gazed at the trees, satisfied for the moment.

Into the uncomfortable silence Eliani spoke, her voice softer. “You must understand … I am very bad at such things. I only cup-bonded once, and it was disastrous.”

“You have cup-bonded? I never dared to.” Her look of surprise made him smile. “It would have raised hopes I had no intention of fulfilling, so I avoided it.”

Eliani tilted her head. “Do you mean me to believe that of all the beautiful ladies in your father's court, none ever caught your fancy?”

“Many caught my fancy. None my heart.”

She gave a wistful smile. “Not even for a year and a day?”

“Not until now.” He stepped nearer. “If you would prefer a cup-bond—”

“No.” She shook her head, her smile fading. “I will not cup-bond again.”

He nodded understanding, pleased that she did not retreat from him. He was close enough to feel her warmth, taste a hint of her scent, hear her breath. Her
khi shone in the air, tickling his awareness, making him yearn to touch her. She met his gaze, watching him with eyes large and seeming unafraid.

Slowly, gently, he bent to kiss her. His lips brushed hers, soft and sweet, then, as he sensed her welcome, again and more deeply. His heart thrilled as he closed his eyes, drinking in her scent, her taste, touch—emotion.

She wrenched away from the contact. Turisan winced at his error.

“Forgive me. I meant not to do that.”

She let out a rough sigh, and after a moment spoke in a shaken voice. “I doubt you could help it.”

He retreated to the wall, sitting down again and staring out at the trees, angry with himself. He heard her step past him and thought she had left, but a moment later she laid her hands on his shoulders from behind.

It startled him, but he kept still. She began to rub at the tension in his muscles, hands warm through the cloth of his tunic, her khi lightly meeting his. He closed his eyes, reveling in the pleasure of even this limited contact.

“It is not you, Turisan.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. “I have been alone for a long while. I expected to remain alone. I took up the sword …”

He reached a hand over his shoulder to clasp her forearm through her sleeve. She permitted it, but he knew it would do him no good to reach for her in that way. He let go instead and turned to face her.

“Let me then speak to you as a fellow guardian. We are close to war, as you say, and will soon be called upon to serve our people. We will have need of every weapon within reach, every tool, every advantage. My lady—”

He checked himself, choosing his words carefully,
keeping his voice level. “I will accept any limits you impose, but I pray you, do not set aside this gift. Not now. Our people will need it.”

She looked away, her face troubled. She took a step toward the wall, then restlessly to one side.

“I cannot talk of this now.” Abruptly she turned and hastened through the archway into the Whispering Walk.

Well, Turisan thought, there is no more to say. I have laid all before her, and she must choose.

He picked up his lute and, laying it across his lap, caressed the silent strings. He had no heart for music now, and the fountains had returned to mourning.

The Ælven Council convened just after sunset on the first day of winter. The day had been occupied with more ceremonies and festivities, this time in honor of the season. Eliani was weary of formality by the time she and her kindred entered the council chamber.

Like the other public rooms at Hallowhall, this one was circular, though considerably smaller than the great hall. Hangings of Greenglen colors on its curving walls muted the voices of the councillors. The table was surrounded with dignitaries from all the ælven realms but one. Fireshore still had not arrived.

An attendant offered water with the golden petals of some flower floating in it, in tall cups of leaf-thin pottery that glowed with translucence in the torchlight. Accepting one with thanks, Eliani glanced toward where Turisan stood conversing with Eastfæld's councillor, Lady Rheneri.

As if he sensed her gaze, Turisan looked up at her. Eliani felt a small shock at the meeting of their eyes. She was intently, almost intolerably aware of him, had been since she had entered the chamber. It was as though her khi came afire in his presence. She looked
away, sorry for having yet left him unanswered, but there was no mending that now.