The Betrayal (39 page)

Pashani sat down again, frowning. Ehranan nodded thanks to Jharan.

“I was young at the time of Westgard, newly armed and hastily trained for the wars. I felt then as you do now, Lady Pashani. Yet in the centuries since, I have pondered why the Bitter Wars had to be fought. I made a point of seeking out all of the councillors from that time who were still in flesh and asking them what they remembered of the deliberations. One who has
since crossed told me something that is not in any history I have found. He told me that Clan Darkshore claimed a change had come upon them.”

A murmur went around the chamber. Turisan sat forward in his chair, intent upon Ehranan's words.

“Some of Darkshore's members became afflicted with a hunger that could only be slaked by the blood of kobalen, or—beg pardon, Lady Pashani—of other ælven.”

A gasp went up from the councillors, and Turisan also sucked in a breath. This he had not heard.

“That cannot be true!”

Ehranan nodded grimly. “Other ælven. It happened only once that I heard of, and the offender later yielded his life in atonement. Not only did this hunger afflict them, but they became unable to tolerate daylight. It went beyond a preference for night. The sun's light actually did them harm. You all know that the alben shun the sun.”

The councillors murmured. Jharan gestured for silence, and Ehranan continued.

“All this speaks to me of some ailment of the flesh. What I now wonder is, could this be a sickness, and could Clan Sunriding be at risk of suffering the same fate?”

Turisan sat back, stunned by the implications of Ehranan's suggestion. He wished Eliani were there.

Pashani stood again, glaring at Ehranan. “The alben are a separate race.”

“We have called them so, but in truth they are separate only because we have imposed separation upon them.”

Angry voices rose again. This time Jharan let the councillors vent their outrage and dismay.

Turisan leaned toward him. “Could this sickness
Ehranan suggests have changed the alben so that they truly are a different race?”

“Possibly.”

“I wonder if healers have ever tried to counter it.”

Jharan turned a direct look on him. “That is a salient question.”

He stood up and reclaimed the attention of the councillors, begging them to take their seats again. The chamber quieted.

“Lord Ehranan, Lord Turisan has raised a question in regard to your theory. If the alben suffer a sickness, have healers ever tried to cure it?”

“I know of no such attempt. None of the councillors I questioned ever referred to them as suffering a sickness; that is my own surmise.”

Heléri spoke into the silence that followed this remark. “If it is a sickness and can be healed, then it is possible the Bitter Wars were needless.”

Pashani's fist hit the table, rattling her goblet. “No! The alben had to be stopped!”

Heléri did not flinch. “We cannot change the Bitter Wars, but we can perhaps prevent another.”

Pashani glared at her. “How?”

“By crying truce with the alben and offering them our help to fight this sickness, as we should have done from the first.”

Ehranan's face darkened with doubt. “We are beyond making peace with them, I think.”

Felisan stood up, staring at Jharan with a dark frown. “This theory implies that the courier now riding south with my daughter could be afflicted with this sickness.”

Turisan felt a jolt of alarm, then shook his head. “No. She said he was a Steppegard, not a Sunriding.”

“A Steppegard?” Pashani let out a crack of laughter
and leaned back in her chair. “Playing courier for Fireshore's governor? I think not.”

“She seemed quite certain. She said she knew him.”

Felisan turned to regard him. “As far as I am aware, she knows only two Steppegards. One was recently handfasted to a cousin of ours, as you witnessed, Lord Turisan. The other we have not heard from in many years. Did she give his name?”

“No.”

Turisan's misgiving increased, for Felisan seemed as unhappy about this Steppegard as had Eliani. All the anxiety he had felt before his ride to Skyruach had returned.

Rephanin's deep voice rang forth. “Your pardon, Lord Felisan.”

Turisan glanced up at the magelord, who had risen in his place at the council table. Rephanin's gray gaze flicked his way, then returned to Felisan.

“I do not like to increase your concern for your daughter, but I must point out that this Steppegard, whoever he is, must have resided in Fireshore for some time if Governor Othanin entrusted him with a message for Lord Jharan. If Fireshore is indeed the source of some affliction, it is possible that he is affected.”

Turisan leaned toward his father. “I will speak to her and ask his name.”

His father's hand on his arm stayed him. He met Jharan's gaze even as he felt the eyes of all the Council upon him.

“Ask her to inquire of him whether there is sickness in Fireshore. Only that. Suggest no details.”

Turisan nodded. With a glance at Rephanin, he closed his eyes.

Eliani?

He felt her startlement, the jolt of alarm as she nearly
lost her balance. He sensed swift movement, a hint of wind and dust.

I
—
we are riding.

Can you slow your pace for a moment? I have a question to ask you on behalf of the Council.

Very well.

He kept his eyes closed as he waited, aware of the councillors murmuring. He almost wished he had stepped out of the chamber for this, but as a simple question or two would take mere moments, he had not thought it worth the trouble.

We have halted. What is your question?

We have been discussing Othanin's letter and trying to understand the reason he chose not to attend the Council. Would you ask his courier if there is sickness in Fireshore?

Sickness?

Yes.

I will ask.

Turisan drew a deep breath, trying to relax as he waited. He kept his eyes closed, but small sounds in the room distracted him: whispering voices, a chair shifting, the click of someone's goblet against the table.

He says there is no sickness there beyond what is usual.

Do you trust his answer?

A moment passed.
He seems sincere.

Turisan gripped his hands together. He did not want Eliani to think he mistrusted her.

Who is he, Eliani?

Her pause was much longer this time. Turisan felt his pulse throbbing in his temples. He was frowning, he knew.

His name is Kelevon.

It meant nothing to him. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry.

Thank you.

Ask Heléri to tell you who he is.

I will. Thank you, my heart.

Turisan.

Yes?

He looked up as if she were before him and for a moment was distracted by Rephanin's face across the room. The magelord was watching him intently. He glanced away.

I will speak to you when we halt to rest the horses.

Yes, do.

He felt her touch slip away and was suddenly lonely. He raised his head and glanced around the chamber, unsurprised to find that everyone was watching him.

A cup of water stood on the table before his father. Turisan reached for it and took a sip before addressing the Council.

“The courier claims there is no unusual sickness in Fireshore. His name is Kelevon.”

“Kelevon!” Pashani laughed aloud. “Othanin made Kelevon his courier? He must be duller than I thought!”

Jharan regarded her. “What do you know of this Kelevon?”

“Well, he knows his horses. He would not be my choice for a courier, though. He is … not the most reliable soul.”

Turisan glanced at Lord Felisan, who was staring at the table before him, frowning. Kelevon was not the one who had handfasted lately in Highstone. He must be the other Felisan had mentioned.

“Would this Kelevon falsely deny sickness in Fireshore?”

The very question was outrageous, but Pashani seemed to take no offense on the part of her clan brother. She merely looked a little grave and tilted her head in thought.

“That would surprise me. I have not known him to tell untruth.”

Jharan turned to Ehranan. “Then we may hope that your theory is unfounded, Lord Ehranan.”

Ehranan acknowledged this with a slight bow. “I will be glad to learn that is so. We have not learned it yet, however.”

“No.” Jharan glanced around the chamber. “Gentles, there seems to be no more we can decide until we have seen Kelevon and questioned him ourselves. I suggest we adjourn until his arrival.”

He waited a moment and, when no one objected, signaled for the chime to be rung. As its tone echoed through the chamber, the councillors stood and began to talk. Few moved to depart, but among those who did were Heléri and Felisan.

Turisan hastened after them, catching up with them just inside the doorway. “Lady Heléri, may I beg the favor of a word with you?”

Dark blue eyes gazed at him steadily. “Of course. Will you accompany us?”

“Thank you.”

He walked with them to their suite on the upper arcade, past braziers that had been lit against the evening's chill. The fires gave light and warmth but no reassurance.

Felisan was unusually silent. Heléri appeared calm as she always did, but even she seemed troubled. She did not smile, nor speak until Felisan paused beside his chamber door.

“Will you join us, Felisan? Lord Turisan, you have no objection?”

Turisan glanced from her gentle face to Felisan's rather somber one. “Lady Eliani bade me ask you to explain who Kelevon is.”

Felisan met his gaze, his frown deepening. “Then you do not need me. I will only bluster away and hinder Heléri's good sense.” He laid a hand on Turisan's arm. “You need not be concerned about Kelevon.”

Surprised at this gesture, Turisan watched him go into his chamber. Heléri led him to her own room at the end of the corridor. She invited him in, going to the hearth, where she laid fresh wood on the fire and hung a small kettle over it.

Making tea. Turisan smiled, comforted by this simple act. Heléri had a soothing way about her.

She beckoned to him. “Come, sit with me.”

He sighed as he relaxed into a chair. Heléri brought out a tray bearing cups, a ewer, a bowl, and several small jars, which she set upon the table between them. She picked up a jar, opened it, and sprinkled a few dried leaves into the bowl, then closed it and reached for another.

“Kelevon is a horse trader, or was when he first came to Highstone. He and Eliani fell in love when she was very young.”

Turisan felt cold understanding wash through him. He nodded.

“I see.”

“Too young, I thought, but Felisan saw how much she cared for Kelevon and gave his approval to their cup-bonding.”

So this was the ruinous cup-bond Eliani had spoken of. It was Kelevon who had made her so shy of sharing her heart. Turisan frowned, wishing now that he had not let Eliani ride north, that he had gone in her stead.

Heléri opened a third jar, smelled its contents, then
seemed to change her mind and put it back. She lifted the bowl, stirred the mixture of leaves therein, and reached for another of the jars.

“Eliani's affection was more enduring than Kelevon's, or so it seemed to me. Before the year was half spent, he became … inattentive. He left to take a herd of horses to the plains farms in Eastfæld and returned the next season with a party of friends who wanted to see Highstone, including a number of females.”

Heléri gave a small sigh as she stirred the herbs with her fingers. “Eliani was—well, she has never been patient, and Kelevon's temper is uneven at best. He admitted no violation of his pledge, nor did any come forward to accuse him, but from then on their bond was increasingly troubled.”

Heléri shook a few dried blue flower petals into her hand from a small glass bottle, then scattered them into the bowl. From another she added petals of a golden hue; still bright though the petals were dry.

“Honeycup.”

Heléri glanced up at him, smiling. “Yes. I have found a number of interesting herbs in the markets here. I hope you do not mind my trying them out.”

“Not at all.”

He watched her stir the herbs, raise the bowl to her face to smell them, and give a nod of approval. She set the bowl down and checked the kettle, which had not yet boiled. Sitting back in her chair, she met Turisan's gaze.

“Eliani felt betrayed by Kelevon, but she also seemed convinced that she was somehow responsible for the failure of his love.”

Turisan frowned. “How could she be responsible?”

“I know not. I suspect he may have told her so.”

The kettle spat, and Heléri leaned forward to take it off the fire. She set it on the hearth, emptied the herbs
from her bowl into the ewer, then poured hot water over them. Fragrant steam rose, laced with the sweet scent of honeycup. Turisan closed his eyes, remembering Eliani's touching him with that aroma. Only that morning it had been, yet he felt as if they had been separated for an age.

“However she reached it, she never lost that conviction and never trusted herself to love again.”

Turisan swallowed and opened his eyes. He looked into the fire and nodded his understanding.

Heléri gentled her voice. “Until recently.”

Hope was remarkably painful, Turisan realized with surprise. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands between them. The fire flickered and danced, and he stared at it until Heléri roused him, offering him a steaming cup. He took it, nodding his thanks, and sipped the sweet scents of summer.

“You have a gift for this.”

“Thank you.”

He leaned back, the cup warming his hands, and met her gaze. “There is nothing I can do, is there?”

“About Kelevon? No.” Heléri sipped her tea. “It may be a blessing that he has returned. She is now wise enough to see his flaws.”

“Does she still love him?”

“I cannot tell you. I agree with Felisan, however. He need not concern you. The gift you and Eliani share is far greater than the shadow of a cup-bond that failed long ago.”