White Pagan, page 23
part #6 of Kestrel Harper Saga Series
They were not the songs he had written that morning, however, but something that grew and formed in response to the energy in the room. Delicate, somber notes that spoke of grace and forgiveness, of love and joy and the sense of redemption he could feel in Bhríd’s aura. It had taken more than twenty years for the Lachlan Champion to find himself after the loss of his sons and his wife; now in this new family, with the promise of new life awaiting him, he felt redeemed for whatever transgressions had cost him so much.
Kavan allowed the music to next follow Editt, notes of calm and joy and grounding that she had been for Bhríd since their first meeting. This was not a union born of fire but one born of the everlasting earth, solid as the unshakable mountains, a union that would endure until years took her from Bhríd’s side. There would be no loss in childbirth. Kavan was certain. Nor did he foresee any upheaval of persecution to come between them and rip this child away. Kavan believed, as Tusánt wrapped the velvet joining cord around their clasped hands to begin the ceremony, that Bhríd had found the peace he longed for, that would allow him to live, not merely exist day to day.
Thoughts shifting to Raebhá’s energy, though he refused to look at her, he wondered fleetingly if he might have found the same thing…except for the unfortunate detail of her marriage.
No elaborate vows were spoken. There was no ringing of bells or chanting lessons, no letting of blood or laying blessings on the couple from the small gathering. Though Kavan had spoken of persecution, of prejudice and periodic hatred, none of those in this room seemed divided by such things. These kindred willingly served the taeré rulers, who in turn showed them the deepest respect, admiration, and affection. This simple ceremony, complete after an exchange of verbal promises between husband and wife and a kiss to seal their life-pact, was among the most hopeful ceremonies Raebhá had witnessed.
Less complicated in many ways, free of superstition, than her wedding had been.
Facing their guests, Editt’s hand in his, still united though no longer bound by the cord he had tied into a belt about her waist, Bhríd bent his head in gratitude. “Thank you for being here. The Queen has provided a banquet in the Hall; we would be honored if you join us. Others will be there…and my lord,” he bowed to Kavan, “I hope you will see fit to attend us with further music.”
Kavan accepted the request with a bowed head; it was a role he expected whenever he came to Rhidam and one he welcomed for it was the most comfortable for him to fill. Though he briefly considered dances with Raebhá, he knew he would not do so. A public display, the spell she would weave around him if he touched her, would raise questions, draw attention and reveal details about his feelings to too many. He had admitted those feelings to himself on the altar steps in Alberni, but he had not spoken them to her. While he believed she knew, he was not ready for anyone else to know how he felt about another man’s wife.
He lingered at the altar as the others began to file out, but when he realized Ártur was intent on staying, that Syl’s company at Raebhá’s side would not be enough to deter Dhóri, Kavan got to his feet and hastily joined them.
He could not avoid his cousin’s questions indefinitely, but he intended to do so as long as possible.
Curved wooden tables in the Hall were filled with an array of delicacies and treats, enough to feed the collection of lords, ladies, advisors, and other guests. Most were aware that they were there to celebrate the Duke of Levonne’s marriage, though they assumed it had taken place in Levonne some time ago and was now being honored by the Lachlans he served. Most did not care if they had been included in a ceremony. After so many years away from the Lachlan House, most of those Bhríd had been close to were no longer present, no longer living. Guests were here to drink and eat of the royal bounty before dearth robbed the royal house too. Many hoped to score moments of the queen or regent’s precious time. They would feast for any reason the Lachlans gave, or for no reason at all, so long as it was at the Lachlans’ expense.
The advantage of Kavan’s position on the throne’s platform with Bhyrhán sometimes beside him meant that he could watch Raebhá’s movements as she wove through the crowd with a statesman’s ease, speaking most often to those with influence, to those with information or knowledge that she could take home when she left. How better to learn the ways of an unfamiliar land and unfamiliar people? He worried that she might reveal too much about her origins, so that people would think her mad, or would say too much about their relationship, whatever that relationship was. But Kavan sensed no negativity or undue distress in the room and no one looked at her, or him, with disdain, or concern. No one paid her unusual attention, other than Ártur Sóbhán, the prince, and Dhóri whenever he succeeded in coaxing her into a dance.
Dhóri seemed to take a perverse joy in wooing her into dances Kavan could not give, but Kavan refused to be baited. Her reluctance each time Dhóri asked, as if deferring to Kavan in some way, the distance she kept between herself and the younger Cliáth, her irregular refusal in favor of whatever dialogue she was engaged in, was enough to reassure Kavan that she was not favoring Dhóri.
She was a diplomat. A queen in a foreign land. She understood the gracious discretion of obliging her hosts while preserving her dignity. She deserved to enjoy herself, deserved to learn what she could of her kindred and the Teren they were allied with. She deserved things Kavan could not give. He would not dance, not in front of these people he knew so well, not when he believed they would harshly judge him, and her, for his involvement with a married woman.
Not that any of them except perhaps Dhóri knew that truth.
Dhóri would not be judged for it; he was young, impulsive, and did not have the burden of public history Kavan carried. There were expectations on the White Bard, expectations that would keep him far from Raebhá until the evening ended.
Two hours into the revelry, a group of minstrels entered the Hall, a group Kavan recognized who often performed for the revelries Diona hosted. Local men and women who were not a permanent part of the court. They played for events when Kavan was unavailable, filled in the stretches of silence when he took pause during those events where he was, and continued into the nights whenever he quietly excused himself. After an exchange of greetings, the ensemble relieved the playing pair of their duties. While Bhyrhán returned to the queen’s side, preventing her from pestering the bard for answers Kavan would not give, Kavan was swept into the State Room by the regent before he reached the bottom of the platform steps.
“Lady Raebhá is a good match for you,” Merrek began after closing the door and draining the goblet he carried. His crimson cape was slung over one shoulder, revealing the royal colors of his attire, the black vest with the amber tunic beneath. His cheeks were ruddy with drink but thus far he maintained his head and his composure and when Kavan glanced into the goblet now set upon the table, he could tell that whatever had been in it was no longer alcohol. Merrek had never been one to lose his head to drink.
“We are not…” Kavan began, feeling the blood drain from his face and his hands tighten around the harp he refused to leave in the Hall.
Merrek chuckled as Kavan took two hasty steps back as if retreating from an accusation. “I meant you are like-minded, learned, of similar ideologies. It is little wonder she finds your company stimulating.” He perched on the edge of the table after pushing the goblet aside so it did not fall. “She’s not the only one who does, of course; I’m never surprised when strangers fall under your spell. She’s equally elusive too, for she would not speak of her home…”
Sensing that Merrek was fishing for details, Kavan murmured, “That is complicated.”
“So I guessed. It is far from here, that much is certain…and you want to escort her there.”
Kavan sighed at the question in that statement. “She does not know how to get there from here. Enesfel is unfamiliar to her, our languages, our customs, foreign. Expecting her to make such a journey alone…I could not allow a lady to make such a perilous trip without escort, nor would I ask any man to go if I am not willing to go myself.”
“Perilous…?” Merrek scowled.
“Possibly. For others at least. For her, certainly. Someone tried to kill her. I would be remiss to send her into harm’s way without defense.”
“There are no Gates? You expect to make this journey on foot?”
“Perhaps.” Kavan sensed his cousin’s presence outside the door, the healer listening to the conversation. It was just as well, for it would spare Kavan the need to answer the questions again. “She does not know how to use the Gates. She has told me there are very few near her home and she could not direct me to one if any are near enough. Using a Gate to an unfamiliar destination can be difficult…and dangerous.” Difficult and dangerous for most Elyri, but less so, Kavan believed, for him. If he could pinpoint any Gate in her land, using it might be simple enough, but he had no idea yet how to locate one.
There were certain Gates scattered throughout the Sovereignties, like the one in Fiara, that connected to unknown, unfamiliar locations, specks of light linked to destinations Kavan could not identify and had never investigated. Were any of those near her home? Could he reach her land from such a Gate?
Did he dare try and risk ending up in the sea?
“I have not ruled out a Gate. By foot is not ideal, and we’ve found no ship willing to risk the Yellow Sisters. I did not save her life to send her on such a journey without protection, not if some seek her death.”
Merrek squeezed Kavan’s shoulder. “If you do this…who will protect you? Who will protect Lorant?”
“The Prince is healthy and strong.”
“He is a child, small and…”
“Growing stronger each day. There are three healers and a physician to see to his care. I cannot control miracles, My Prince, but I promise you he will live to be king. Perhaps that does not dispel your fears, but I pray you believe me.”
Merrek’s hand fell. “You would not say it if you did not believe it to be so, if the signs did not reveal his future, but trust, in this instance…” He shook his head. “Arlana fears for him more than I.”
“You love your son. Worry is natural.”
“I love and worry for you as well, Kavan,” he murmured, “as did my father and grandfather. As does the Queen. Without Captain Delamo to…” He stopped at the flash of pain burned across Kavan’s eyes and hung his head. “I’m sorry…”
“No, you are right. He will not be at my side. Not this time.”
“Rhyrdan would…”
“No.” Kavan took a breath, knowing the word was said hastily, released it to calm himself, and then shook his head. “Not this time. I can protect myself. If I make this journey, Dhóri will need Rhyrdan to help manage Alberni while I am gone. I must do this alone.”
“If? Do you think the trip may be unnecessary?”
Kavan regretted the moment of hope he had inadvertently given, even though it mirrored the hope he carried. “Only if she chooses to remain in Enesfel, which I do not foresee. She is nobility, a queen to her people. She needs to find her way back. If there is a way…”
“She must return.” The duty of rule was something Merrek grew to understand more each day now that he shared the crown with Diona. Kavan had helped Arlan reclaim the Lachlan throne; of course he would help Raebhá too. “I cannot say I’m pleased about you not being here if I need you. Enesfel has relied on your council for so long…”
Merrek straightened and tugged on his vest as he stood. “I have all of the knowledge and wisdom you could bestow. I have faith and I have men and women of good council. I can rule without you…and perhaps doing so will prove to the naysayers that no Lachlan requires Elyri guidance to rule fair and wise. You have no more obligation to me, to us, than what you have freely given…no more than any other lord in Enesfel. In truth, I believe Enesfel must repay you for the services you selflessly tender. If you see to Alberni’s care, arrange with Níkóá to provide your people, your house, what they need…and you swear that you will come to me as soon as you return, swear that you will return…I shall not prevent you from going…and I will do my best to sway the queen.”
He held out his hand, seeking to clasp Kavan’s rather than seeking a promising kiss to the Lachlan ring, but it was the kiss that Kavan gave from one bended knee, his head bowed in respect. “I will do as you ask, My Prince. Thank you.”
Both relieved and disappointed, Kavan realized that some part of him had expected to be denied the opportunity. That he had hoped to be refused so that he might use that refusal to convince Raebhá to remain, at least until the plague had passed. In time, she might even grow to no longer desire leaving. But he suspected she would instead be inclined to undertake the journey without him. She did not expect Kavan, or anyone else, to travel with her, so long as he could point her way and offer her enough support to begin her voyage.
“You will not leave before the end of the evening, will you?” At mid-afternoon now, the revelry was likely to last as long as people were sober enough to remain on their feet.
“Until she wishes to return to Alberni, I will be here.” Kavan did not anticipate travel within the next few days, unless using a Gate became a viable option. At the moment, he was not interested in investigating the possibility.
Merrek squeezed the bard’s hand, relishing the contact with the man who had raised and schooled him, been to him the father he had never been able to know. “Good. I shall see you in the Hall.”
Ártur stumbled backward as the prince opened the door and sheepishly attempted to look as if he had just arrived and reached for the handle. “My apologies, Your Majesty,” he murmured with a bow that covered his embarrassment.
“You may speak with him now, Lord Healer,” Merrek chuckled, brushing past to return to the Hall where the merry sound of raucous singing rose from both minstrels and guests. Ártur waited until the prince was out of sight before rising from his bow to see Kavan staring at him expectantly.
“It is true then? What Rhyrdan says?”
One brow raised, Kavan said, “I don’t know what Rhyrdan says.”
“That you and she are…”
Kavan cleared his throat to avoid what he thought Ártur was about to say. “She is a married woman.”
“Whose husband has been killed…”
“Presumably so.” Rhyrdan must have heard that news from Dhóri. Or else Raebhá had told him. “Perhaps he survived the…”
“And you intend to return her home to learn the truth? What if he is dead? Do you intend to remain with her? Convince her to give up her throne to return to Alberni?”
“I…”
“What if he is alive?”
Though he was used to Ártur pushing for answers, these were questions Kavan had not answered for himself. No matter what scenario he concocted, he could not foresee or foretell the outcome. The Sight showed him nothing. The future was hidden from his efforts to plan for it.
“I know only that she should not make this journey alone. If anything were to…” He opened the window and looked across the courtyard into the cloudless blue sky so as not to look at Ártur. “I would never forgive myself.”
“You would never know.”
“I would know.” She was in his soul now, rooted so deeply that he knew he would never be free of her, no matter the distance between them. Nor did he want to be.
Ártur scowled, opened his mouth to protest, and then clamped it closed with wide-eyed amazement. Kavan had close bonds with others, with the Lachlan monarchs through the pendant pieces they shared, with friends he was closest to, with some of his kin. This woman was not kin, was no Lachlan. From the way Kavan spoke those words, the healer did not think this was a matter of friendship. There was only one certain way she could be so bound to his cousin, and it was something Ártur had doubted Kavan would find.
Hoped, yes, but like Kavan, he had given up on the belief that such a bond, except with Wortham perhaps, was likely to happen.
“You’ve…” he stammered.
The bard’s shoulders tensed. He swallowed, relaxed, and they slumped again but the stance of defeat did not last long. Only Wortham or Ártur would have been able to divine this truth. That the healer could see it, sense it, did not surprise Kavan. “I should feel shame, Ártur…I should regret this…but I do not. k’Ádhá knows…the guilt I feel is because I do not regret it.” He felt ashamed for not feeling guiltier, a conundrum he did not know how to resolve. “Wherever she is, whatever the future…she is…” It seemed premature to call her the other half of his soul, the way he had called Wortham such, but it was how he viewed her. More fully his other half than anyone he had ever known. Similar to Wortham…but not the same.
She was the piece he had been missing. She filled the vacancy Wortham had left and overflowed it. How could he regret that?
“What about Dhóri?”
“I don’t know. He hopes, he wants…but she is not…does not want what he does.”
Ártur nodded and pulled a chair from the long oak table and sank into it. He had watched her reluctant accommodation of Dhóri’s attentions, had watched the young man’s unabashed infatuation from the moment they arrived in Rhidam. “She should tell him, not you…but I wasn’t thinking about…I meant…” He took a breath and shrugged. “If you do this, if you leave with her, what becomes of Dhóri? Sóbhán? Rhyrdan? Alberni and St. Kóráhm’s? Have you considered them?” He did not speak his name but believed his inclusion was implied.
“St. Kóráhm’s is in good hands.” Kavan was not involved in the daily management of the chellé, only served as its benefactor and worked to procure books and manuscripts for the library. Others did that as well, however, and the payments from his estate would not cease if Kavan was not there to see it done. “Rhyrdan is capable of managing the estate.”
