The Lady of Han-Gilen (29 page)

“I would never regret it.”

“No?” He smiled and set her hand on his, and began again to
walk. “After Ashan,” he promised her.

He was immovable. He would have her, but not until it suited
his whim. She could not even touch his mind, let alone sway it to her will.

oOo

It was a wondrous feast, the most magnificent she could
remember. Half the royalty of the Hundred Realms adorned the hall: princes and
close kin of princes, high lords and their ladies, chieftains of the north in
kilts and mountain copper, even the ambassador of Asanion with his perpetually
pained expression, as if it irked him to be cast among all these savages.

Mirain sat not as lord but as high-honored guest, and she
beside him, stared at and wondered at. That, she had been born to, and she had
made herself a legend beyond her lineage. Many of the songs sung that night
were of her, or spoke of her.

oOo

For the third time her cup was empty. A page came forward
to fill it. But Mirain’s hand stopped his. “Eat first,” he said to her.

“Are you my nursemaid?” she flared at him.

He laughed, lifted a morsel from his plate, proffered it
with a flourish. For all his merriment, he knew well what he did. Should she
accept, she would accept his suit: the first movement of the formal betrothal.

She considered it minutely, through a haze of wine.
Considered him more minutely still. “Tonight?” she asked.

“After Ashan.”

Her eyes narrowed. Slowly she took what he offered. A bit of
honey-cake, heavy with sweetness.

From her own plate she took another. He was not as slow as
she.

When he had taken it, he rose. The singers faltered.
Scattered voices cheered him. But he turned away from them to the prince and
the princess, and bowed the bow of king to king. “My lord,” he said clearly,
“my lady. You have given me gifts beyond the desire of emperors. Yet in my
great presumption I ask you for yet another. It shall be the last, I promise
you.”

The prince stood to face him. How young he looked, thought
Elian. Scarcely older than Halenan, whose smile flashed white beyond him.

Prince Orsan seldom smiled, and did not smile now, but his
eyes on Mirain were warm, his voice likewise. “You who are my lord and my
foster son know that all I have to give is too paltry a gift for you. Only ask
what you desire and it shall be yours.”

Mirain’s eyes glinted. “Take care, my lord! I may seek no
less than the greatest jewel in your princedom.”

“It is yours,” Orsan said unwavering, “with all else that is
mine.”

“Even your daughter?”

A murmur ran through the hall. Prince Orsan looked down from
his great height at the man who was his king. “Even my daughter,” he replied.
“If she is willing.”

“She is,” said Elian. “She asks that you bless the union,
now, tonight.” She paused, and added with tight-leashed passion, “No, she does
not ask. She begs.”

Mirain turned, outflanked but unsurprised. It was not easy
to surprise Mirain.

Nor was it easy to face him as she faced him now, before the
cream of the Hundred Realms. She smiled her sweetest smile and rose, only to
sink down in a deep curtsey. Softly, demurely, she said, “The choice lies with
the lady, my lords. And the lady, having tarried so long for her folly, would
wed without delay. Will you say the words, Father?”

“I will not,” gritted Mirain, but not for all to hear.

She met his glare and laughed. “I shall be your luck and
your talisman. Am I not fair to see?”

“You are wondrous fair.” His voice deepened with warning.
“Elian—”

“Father,” she said, pressing.

The prince regarded them for a long moment. One could never
tell what moved him, whether mirth or grim anger.

Suddenly the mask cracked. He smiled, he grinned, he laughed
aloud.

His people gaped. His peers and his allies stared
nonplussed. He stretched out his hands. “Come, my son, my daughter. Be wedded
with my blessing.”

oOo

The hall cleared for them, the joy of festival turned to
something brighter and stronger. There could be no garlands in winter; for
flower-clad maidens there were the women of Elian’s Guard; the feast was
consumed, its remnants swept away to make room for the rite. It was never the
wedding Elian had looked to have; yet she would have chosen no other.

She stood in the circle of her guards and tried not to
tremble. Not all was fear. Some was wine, and much was plain weariness.

Her mother’s perfume sweetened the air; the firm gentle
touch startled her. For a moment she rested upon it.

“Child,” said the princess. “Ah, child, how would the
singers live without you?”

Elian stood straight and lifted her chin. “This may be precipitous,
Mother, but I think it is wise.”

The Lady Eleni glanced across the hall, where a knot of
young men marked Mirain’s place. The king himself was not to be seen, but
Halenan’s hair was like a beacon; Cuthan towered over him, flashing with copper
and gold. From the sound of it, they were more than pleased with the turn the
feast had taken.

“It is wise,” the lady said, “and utterly like you.”

Elian laughed shakily. “Oh, no, I know what a fool I am. But
this folly is so extreme that it can only be wisdom.”

Her mother stroked her hair smooth, settling the fillet more
becomingly over it. “You have always followed your heart, even when you seemed
most to oppose it. Follow it now, and be strong. Has it not chosen the greatest
of all kings to be its lord?”

“It has. I have.” Elian drew a shuddering breath. “I don’t
know whether to be glad or terrified.”

“Both,” said the princess. She kissed Elian’s brow and
turned her about. “Come. The men are ready.”

The tables were gone, the folk in the hall arrayed in twin ranks
with a passage between. A single pure voice soared up in the silence, the song
of the bride brought to her wedding.

The circle of young men tightened to a wedge and began to
advance. Elian’s women faced outward.

Wedge met half-circle. By custom the maids should shriek and
scatter and leave their lady undefended. But these were warriors, and Elian’s
warriors at that. Each laughing man found himself confronting a cold-eyed
woman. The advance halted in confusion.

Halenan, at the point of the wedge, swept a deep bow.
“Greetings, fair ladies,” he said with perfect courtesy. “We come in search of
your queen. Will you help us to bring her to our king?”

“I shall,” said the princess, coming forward to take her
son’s hand. “Come, ladies. Let the king look on our queen.”

Glances flickered round the circle. Smiles followed it. Hand
met hand; men and maids linked in a ring.

Elian stood in its center, face to face with Mirain. He had
his grim and royal look. A corner of her mouth curved upward. His eye answered
it with a brief, reluctant spark. She sank down in a pool of shimmering skirts,
bowing to the floor.

He raised her. Beyond that first glance he would give her
nothing. His eyes fixed on the dais and the prince; his mind walled against
her.

Anger warred with amusement. The hunter hunted, the pursuer
pursued.

It’s a mercy for us all that you always win your battles,
she said to the fortress of his mind: even this small loss is too much for you.

He stiffened but did not turn or respond. Side by side, pace
and pace, they approached the prince. Their followers spread behind them.

Drums joined the lone marvelous voice, beating in time to
their hearts; harps and pipes wove through them. The lamps blazed sun-bright,
dazzling.

“Lady of Han-Gilen,” intoned the prince beneath the complex
melody, “son of the Sun. Elian and Mirain, child of my body and child of my
heart, before Avaryan and before the people of this empire he has forged, I
bring you together, body and body, soul and soul, matched and mated in the
god’s name. Is it your will that I speak the words of binding?”

“Yes,” said Elian with only the slightest quaver, and that
not for herself. Mirain could still refuse. Could still shame her. He was fully
as proud as she, and he could be no less perfect an idiot.

“Yes,” he said distinctly, without a moment’s hesitation. “I
so will it.”

The tension fled from her body. Almost her knees buckled.

She stiffened them; his hands clasped hers, holding fast.
Her father’s settled over them. “Hear then and take heed. On this night of the
goddess’ binding, between two who stand so high in the world’s ways, we forge
not only a bond of earthly marriage but one of mighty magic. As the goddess is
bound below, let these two be bound above; as the god strides free through the
heavens, so shall they be free within their loving: two who are one, greater
together than ever alone.” He raised his arms and his voice. “Sing now, people
of the Sun. Sing the binding that is their freeing.”

oOo

Mirain shut the door of his chamber upon the throng of revelers
and shot the bolts. Their shouts and laughter echoed dimly through the panel,
punctuated with snatches of song and the drumming of fists and feet.

Elian sat where her attendants had left her, in a chair made
into a wedding throne. Cloth of gold covered it; rare spices scented it,
lingering in the air about her. She herself wore a white gown, simple to
starkness, clasped at the throat with a single green jewel.

The king turned his back to the door and the tumult and
folded his arms. “Well, my lady? Shall we let them in?”

The shouts had come together into a song reckoned bawdy even
in Prince Orsan’s guardrooms. Elian, who had been known to sing it without a
tremor, felt the blood rise to scald her face.

Mirain seemed quite frankly amused, as if he had surrendered
wholeheartedly to her will; but however complete her triumph might be, she had
never known him to yield without a battle. And Mirain was one who laughed as he
fought.

She swallowed. Her mouth was dry. “It is for my lord to
choose,” she said.

Since my lady has
chosen all the rest of it?
He smiled with a wry twist. “By custom we should
let them look on you and sing to you, and in the end put you to bed with me. In
Ianon a chosen pair, man and woman, would remain to see that the rite was
performed in full.”

Her blush fled.

“But,” he added after a pause, “neither of us is a great
follower of custom.”

He left the door. Involuntarily she stiffened. He passed her
with scarcely a glance, stripping off his ornaments, casting them into their
casket. His cloak followed, flung over a chest. Again he passed her, again with
eyes forward, striding toward the bathing-room. He loosened his braids as he
went.

She hissed in sudden, furious comprehension, and sprang to
bar his way, forgetting the peculiarity of the bridal robe. Its clasp gave way;
the heavy fabric fell free. She wore nothing beneath it but a chain of gold and
emeralds, riding just above the swell of her hips.

Mirain halted as if he had struck a wall. Had she been less
angry, she might have laughed.

His face disciplined itself. His eyes hooded. “You may bathe
first,” he said, “and take my bed. I shall sleep well enough in your old one.”

Elian did laugh then, sharp and high. “Oh, no, Mirain. You
wanted me, now that you have me, you can’t cast me off.”

“I wanted you in the full and proper time.”

“Don’t be afraid,” she said acidly. “My father has no
intention of withholding my dowry.”

“I don’t
want
your
damned—” He broke off and spun away from her, tearing at his plaits. A cord
snapped; pearls flew wide.

“You’re angry,” she said. “You wanted me on your terms, and
yours only. So then, I tricked you. I trapped you. I admit it. Can you forgive
me? Or have you been king too long to remember how?”

He wheeled with blazing eyes. “You self-centered little
fool! You see what will be; have you no comprehension of what is? I will go to
Ashan. I will not be encumbered with a wife—one who is all too likely to be
carrying my child.”

“All the more reason for us to be wedded now. Then, if
you—die—”

“If I die, the world is well rid of me. If I live, I swear
by my father’s power that I shall give you such a wedding night as never a
woman knew before.”

She approached him, stepping softly, to lay her hands upon
his shoulders. “Give it to me now.”

“A choice,” he said, “and a bargain. I shall give you what
you ask for. More: the full three days of the wedding festival. Afterward I
shall go to Ashan. You will remain here in safety.”

“Or?”

“Or I ride to Ashan in the morning, and you ride with me,
wedded in name only.”

“I would go with you no matter which you made me choose.”

“Not if I laid a binding on you.”

“Could you?”

Under her hands his shoulders flexed; he breathed deep.
Power sang in her mind’s ears.

She smiled. Like an eel, like a golden fish, she slipped
through all his shields, deep into the bright waters of his mind.

They roared; they seethed. She rode at her ease in the
depths where no storms could come, in halls of pearl and fire, wrapped about in
the protection of his inmost will.
Bind
me
, she said. I welcome it.
For if
you do it, you too will be bound; and that will keep you from Ashan
.

Nothing will keep me
from Ashan
. His voice was a distant booming, like waves upon stone.

And nothing will keep me apart from you, she said.

Not even this surety? Our union will bring forth an heir.
And our enemies will know it. They will strike at you then, at the life new-waked
within you, and through you both they will destroy me.

Or be destroyed, said Elian.

No. I will not allow it.

I will do it whether you allow it or no. Elian drifted closer
to his voice, swelling with her own strong power. Listen to me, Sunborn. Alone
you may defeat your mortal enemies, but never the dark that stands behind them.
It is too strong, and too well aware of your strength. But with me you may have
hope. More than hope. Victory.