Mystic Rider (41 page)

Lissandra ought to be here, Ian thought. Her future was at
stake as well. He had seldom fully understood his sister, and if she possessed
their mother’s need for power, it did not bode well. But Orateur was likely to
lead an uprising if Ian waited for her any longer.

He did not bother stepping to the podium. Gathering a
powerful psychic surge, Ian nudged the room’s occupants to respectful silence.
They stared at him in confusion, since he’d never bothered to use his gifts so
forcefully before. But with Chantal to balance him, he no longer feared the
result of expressing his full power.

“The sun rises in a different position every morning for a
reason,” he said into the sudden silence. “The tides ebb and flow for a reason.
Without their constant movement, the water would stagnate and marine life would
die. For this same reason, we cannot expect to do things as we always have.
Instead, we must correct our actions to make our land productive again.”

His mental abilities did not extend to keeping everyone
immobile forever. Dylys slumped against the arm of her chair and shook her head
in what Ian assumed was despair. His gut knotted in anxiety at her weakness,
but he had to concentrate on listening to his audience. Murmurs rose in the back
of the room and flowed forward like the tide.

“She’s coming,” he heard whispered repeatedly.

His heart ought to sink in dread at the anarchy those words
could represent. Instead, a deep thrill of pleasure caused him to hold his
speech. There could be only one “she” who would so capture the Council’s
interest.

He’d wanted to protect Chantal from the political side of
island life until she’d learned to love his home as he did. But he was still
remembering the delicate lady musician he’d first encountered, and not the
courageous woman who’d ridden a battle charge off a cliff.

He waited proudly, watching the entrance, so that his entire
audience turned to look as well. His mother hissed her anger but remained
seated. Even she knew better than to interrupt the drama.

Interpreting his nod correctly, Kiernan and Nevan leapt to
open the chamber doors.

Chantal entered, displaying his family colors as she’d once
worn the cockade of solidarity for the rebels in France. The gown had once
belonged to Ian’s grandmother, and he’d left it out in hopes that she would
wear it for him. Even Alain grunted his approval as his daughter walked up the
aisle, her golden hair streaming down her back, her head held high, her eyes
steady on Ian.

She was terrified, he knew. It took immense courage for her
to walk through a storm to be by his side. She had to have heard the anger and
fear threatening to tumble the walls and known they were directed at her as
well as at him. He thought he’d burst with love and pride and joy that his
proper Parisian lady dared this public display for him. He opened his mind to
let her in, and she gifted him with a radiant smile that reflected her equal
love and determination.

He held out his hand to help her up to the raised platform
where he stood. When he bent to kiss her cheek, the whole room murmured its
approval.

“You color my world with joy,” he whispered. “I’m glad
you’re here.”

“Don’t be,” she rejoined, planting a kiss on his jaw. “I
have a feeling that like Murdoch, I’m about to make the earth tremble.”

“Then so be it. May the gods speak through you.” He placed
his hands on her shoulders and faced the people whom he was meant to rule.

“May I present my wife, with the Council’s approval, my
amacara, and mother of my child, Chantal Orateur Deveau, daughter of Alain
Orateur.”

Gasps erupted in the front rows when he mentioned his child.
The Council must formally approve his marriage for those vows to be legal, but
only the gods controlled amacara bonds. Dylys could refuse the marriage, but an
Olympus heir would be impossible to deny.

“You are manipulating them,” Chantal murmured.

“And your father does not? And you? Would you speak now?” He
tried not to laugh at her grimace. Point and counterpoint.

“The marriage can be postponed until we are certain of an
heir,” Dylys pronounced from her chair, looking more gray than she had earlier.
“That is not a matter for today.”

“I am sorry for your grief and the loss of your loved one.”
Turning to face her mother-in-law, Chantal spoke in polite French, which not
all the Council could understand.

Her sympathy caught Ian by surprise, but he’d already said
his piece. He did not interfere.

“It is impossible to replace a great man like your late
husband,” she continued, addressing Dylys. “But he lives on in your son and
daughter. Would you deny him his place in this house?”

Dylys clutched the chair arm to hold herself upright, and
Ian saw her overwhelming grief and frustrated anger. He sensed an outpouring of
compassion and understanding from those in the audience who understood
Chantal’s sentiments and translated for those who did not. Chantal opened whole
new avenues of connection between him and the rest of the world, and in
fascination, Ian studied the results, letting his wife continue without his
aid.
This
was what it was like to be
Chantal, to act on understanding and passion instead of coldly observing.
Terrifying.

When Dylys uttered no response, Chantal turned back to their
audience, even though she must recognize the opposition against her. As she
spoke, her father stepped up to translate.

“I am here today because Ian taught me I must act when I see
injustice. He has told me my observations can make a difference. I do not claim
to be a leader or a ruler or a princess or any of the titles people give to
those who lead instead of being led. I would far rather be sitting down there
with the rest of you. And from what I’m hearing in your voices…”

She looked over the room full of rising murmurs and tilted
her head as if listening to a symphony. “Many of you believe you could lead
this discussion more fruitfully than we are. Perhaps that is where you must
make your first change.”

The chamber exploded with outrage and speculation and bursts
of pure delight. Aware that Lissandra had crept in the back door and stood
beside the platform, Ian signaled for her to join them. She resisted.
Understanding her bitterness and disappointment better now that he knew she and
Murdoch might be amacaras, he glared at her and gave his sister a mental swat.

She glared back and climbed the stair to stand beside him.

Unable to raise her voice, Dylys goaded Ian with a fierce
frown. He obediently nudged the crowd to silence. With a strength of will that
had marked her reign, his mother pushed from her chair to speak. “We are here
to vote on whether or not Ian is the steady influence we need to lead us, not
on whether we want chaos to rule.”

Relieved that his mother was recovering from her momentary
weakness, having made up his mind and no longer worried about who ran the
Council, Ian wrapped his arms around Chantal and Lissandra’s shoulders. In
astonishment, every eye turned to him. He never hugged. He’d always stood aloof
and gone his own way. His action now was a signal of change in itself.

“I am not at all certain I want to lead,” he announced. “Not
if leading means standing here arguing and tearing the island apart when I need
to be searching for the chalice. Recently, I have discovered a preference for
doing instead of talking.”

For the first time in living memory, one of the Council’s
oldest widows rose from her chair and dared interrupt an Olympus. “We need
someone to act as judge in questions of law. Is your chosen bride capable of
that?”

“Without a doubt, better than I am,” he admitted, aware that
Alain quietly translated his Aelynn speech for Chantal’s benefit, “but whether
my bride is willing to act in judgment is another matter entirely. She has a
gift for knowing when we speak truly, but there are others here who may have
equal insight and certainly more experience with our laws. We refuse to assume
leadership based solely on family name and wealth.”

Gasps of horror and disbelief passed around the room, not
the least of which came from his mother, who grabbed her arm again and used the
chair as a prop to remain standing. Without flinching, Ian continued.

“Perhaps, after the war in the Other World passes, Chantal
and I may be wise enough to take our places as leaders, should the Council
agree. But for now, you would be better served to
elect
a judge to settle matters of law, another as speaker to guide
your meetings.” He glanced toward Alain, who scowled at him from beneath bushy
eyebrows. “And a spiritual leader.” He turned to Lissandra, who was too stunned
by his suggestion to find her normally sharp tongue.

“There are three of us. We can do all that as we have been,”
Dylys rasped weakly, gripping the chair with one hand. “An Olympus has always fulfilled
those duties.”

“They should only do so if qualified,” Chantal said
pleasantly. Her words, and her father’s translation, rang over the clamor and
confusion rising in the audience. “Inherited power is not the strongest or the
best means of leadership. Nor is power based on riches, or power for its own
sake. You should choose your leaders on the basis of their ability to carry out
their duties.”

A cheer rang out from the back of the room where those of
minor position stood. The elders in the front rows looked less certain.

“How can you allow me to lead if you do not believe me when
I say the Outside World is part of our future?” Ian asked over the growing din
in the chamber. “How can I be a leader if I have no experience or understanding
of that world?”

“Please…,” Dylys whispered with a note of panic.

Before Ian could whirl around to see what was wrong,
Lissandra shouted “Mother!” and pushed past him to the chair where their mother
had been standing.

Slowly, as if pressed beneath a heavy weight, Dylys was
crumpling to the floor. Lissandra had felt the disturbance first. Now, without
consulting the stars, Ian felt the impact as his mother lost her grip on consciousness.
Grief welled inside him. Squeezing Chantal’s shoulder, he abandoned her to help
Lissandra lower their mother. Shocked silence filled the chamber —

Then Chantal’s clear, high voice broke into a hymn of prayer
that rose high to the rafters and spread like wildfire.

She did not even speak their language. The island hadn’t
heard music for as long as Ian could remember. But her voice conveyed the power
of prayer, and tears stung Ian’s eyes as others slowly picked up her refrain
and began to repeat it in voices rusty with disuse until the chamber echoed
with pleas to heaven.

Even Alain joined in, translating rapidly for those who did
not have an aptitude for language. That the man who’d been scorned and driven
from his home by their Oracle could join in a prayer for her well-being spoke
of a character strong enough to stand in Ian’s place for as long as was needed.

Glancing at Lissandra, Ian saw tears streaming down her face
as he lifted their mother and carried her from the room.

As predicted by the gods, Chantal had brought change and
possibly rebellion to their quiet life. Whether it was for good or ill remained
to be seen.

For once, he did not need to see the future. He believed
Aelynn’s wisdom in choosing her for him.

That was enough.

“I feel like an assassin,” Chantal murmured, leaning
against her husband while they watched the schooner prepare for departure. “No
wonder your family banned ours from this paradise.”

“My mother has been unwell for some time. And she is alive
yet. You have not killed her. That you have changed me is for the better.” He
hugged her tightly and pressed kisses in her hair.

“Do the stars tell you that?” she whispered hopefully. “I am
tearing you from your home when they most need you. How can that be better?”

She’d had months to adjust to Ian’s home while he and
Lissandra had helped develop a new political structure, and the island’s most
skilled physicians tried to save their stricken Oracle. Chantal understood why
Ian loved this place of peace and prosperity. Her father had grown stronger and
been elected to Council leadership. With no opposition from Dylys, Ian’s
marriage had been approved with little debate. She was a wife in all ways now,
with so much to lose….

Ian patted the slight swell of her belly. “Because I want
this as much as you do. We’d be foolish to believe life is meant to be a
cheerful rainbow. Paradise must be earned. Our purpose is to share our plenty,
to work at making the world a little better for everyone. And you are doing
that by carrying my child and helping me to understand how your world works so
I know better how to help mine.”

“In England,” she said with only a hint of regret.

“Because the chalice is there and France is not safe,” he
reminded her. “It is still my duty to find the chalice or understand why it has
left. You can help me understand Other Worlders anywhere we live.”

“I love you,” she murmured into his shirt. “I don’t deserve
you, but I’m never letting you go.”

He chuckled and swept her into his arms. “Oh, you’ll come
around and want to argue with me just as everyone else does. I’m counting on
you to remind me that I’m not the only person in the world.”

She clung to his neck as he carried her on board. “I doubt I
can cure you of arrogance. If you mean to breed my father’s racehorses while
learning about my world and chasing Murdoch and the chalice around England,
you’ll learn quickly enough that you cannot control the fates. I can, however,
teach you etiquette so you behave in a more civilized manner. I believe even
the English require some degree of politeness these days.”

He snorted. “I am not the only arrogant one in this family.
You’re a snob.” He set her down on the deck and turned her to face the beach.