Anne Kelleher - Silver's Edge

She stared up at him, taken aback. “If I ever forget that I am the wife of the Duke of Gar, I am always reminded soon enough.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Kian, I wish we could leave all this behind us. This is Donnor’s war—Cadwyr’s war—it doesn’t have to be ours. We could go somewhere, anywhere—south, perhaps, to Lacquilea—leave this whole dangerous mess—” she broke off, as sobs of frustration and fatigue choked her.

“Ah, Cecily.” With a sigh, he pulled her into the circle of his arms, cradling her head against his rain-damp chest. She relaxed against him, savoring the blend of horses and damp wool beneath the acrid tang of his sweat-stained linen. He pressed his cheek against the top of her head, and she heard him draw a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was low with regret. “You know we cannot do that. Would you have us be outlaws, exiles, unwelcome at every hearth? We must just be patient a little while longer, until—”

“Until what?” she asked, as the tears spilled down her cheeks and she twined her fingers in the rough wool of his plaid. His dagger’s leather hilt dug into her waist, but she pressed closer uncaring. “Until our cause is lost?”

“Hush now, don’t say that. We will prevail. It’s just the northern chiefs are somewhat slow to rouse themselves—”

She pulled back and met his gaze with a stubborn chin. “Don’t pretend to me, Kian. I see the look on your face—on Donnor’s. I see the number lying here and I see how many didn’t come back at all. And now you say they’ve found a goblin of all things. What difference does it make if we stay or go?”

“You have but to say the word, lady, and ten thousand men of Garannon and Garleugh both would march beneath a standard of your raising. It is you should reign in Brynhyvar, not that old lion run to fat. And Cadwyr crowds close behind—think you the throne will pass to you, should Donnor fall?”

“Cadwyr is loyal to Donnor,” she choked out.

“Aye, to Donnor for he is Donnor’s heir, but what if Donnor falls in battle? I do not trust Cadwyr—his eyes are slippery and he unpockets his smile at will. And Donnor will not listen to me. Oh, he trusts me to preserve his life, for he knows I shall stand upon my word. But ever since Beltane, he hates me, Cecily, and all I say to him falls on deaf ears.”

She lowered her eyes against the pain she read in Kian’s face. They had not, either of them, in fact betrayed the vows they had sworn to Donnor. Beltane was sacred—it was not unheard of for husbands and wives to choose others—although it was usually by preagreement.

But the goddess was on me, she thought, I could not help myself. There was no dishonor, no shame in what they had done. Honor was all, but the goddess and the god must be answered as well. And honor was cold comfort on winter nights, and honor was a lonely partner when memory made the blood run hot. With effort she ignored the recollection of his hands on her breasts, and asked, “So, you want me to go to Donnor…?”

“No.” The force with which he answered took her aback. “Cadwyr, curse him, was right. We should have thrown down the gauntlet long ere this. But we did not, and thus we must play the hand we’ve dealt ourselves. The carcass is burned and I’ve ordered the man who brought it not to speak of it, and thank the goddess he seems to understand the reason not to cause a general panic. But I promised I’d go back with him—back to the village where they found the goblin and organize a search for the smith and possibly the messenger, and make sure nothing else is amiss. And I will see to the gathering of the clans myself. I’ll take a small troop with me—a couple dozen or so. They can fan out across the upcountry, while I attend to this other business.”

“But—but, Kian—” She understood that there was something he seemed to be asking her, but she failed to comprehend what it could be. “Why do you come to me? ’Tis Donnor’s place to bid you stay or go.”

He took her hand and caught it up between both of his, and she curled her fingers around his involuntarily. “Can you not see? Donnor is old, and already defeated. He sees the mistakes he’s made—indeed that’s all he sees. He will not outlive this war, I see it in his eyes. And unless you are content to live in a land ruled by Cadwyr, you are the one with the best claim to the throne of Brynhyvar. You I would follow into the deepest dungeon of the Goblin King himself. Cadwyr I would sooner leave upon a dung heap.”

She made a soft sound of derision and smiled ruefully. “Well, my gallant champion, you are an army of exactly one.”

“You’re wrong, Cecily. You were not trained in sword-craft, and you cannot throw a spear, but you could rule this realm. Too soon your parents sold you out to Donnor. You have a claim in your own right. Donnor is failing—Donnor will fall. And when he does, I do not want to see Cadwyr step into his place, but Cadwyr will take it the moment he has the opportunity, unless another choice clearly presents itself.”

Wonderingly she searched his face. “You truly believe this.”

“Of course I believe it. I will not bend my knee to Cadwyr. I ride out within the hour. Tell Donnor I have gone north to rally the clans. But say nothing of the goblin—at least not yet, and not until we have more information and nothing—nothing at all of any of this—to Cadwyr. He should not be here for another day or two, at least. Donnor sent him into the east to raise up Far Nearing.” He raised his hand and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her, but he only tucked an errant blond strand behind her ear. “I will go to the chiefs, and I shall raise up an army—in your name, not Donnor’s. And when I return, my lady, I’ll bring you an army that marches beneath your colors, not Gar’s. ’Twill remind everyone, including Cadwyr, that there are certain choices yet to be made—and while he may be Donnor’s heir, he will only be King by the consent of us all.”

He bowed and would have swept out of the room, but she held out her hand, and spoke. “Kian—”

He reached for her then, and crushed her to his chest, his arms wrapping around her, holding her close. He bent his head and spoke quietly but harshly, his words hotter than his breath. “Do not think because I do not touch you I don’t want you. I burn for you, Cecily, night and day—” He took her hand and crushed it against the rigid bulge at his groin. She moaned a little and swayed on her feet. “But we cannot let this love we have between us divert us from the greater purpose, and I cannot let this lust keep me from what I know I must do.” He turned his head and his mouth found hers.

The world spun, and she shut her eyes, surrendering to the insistent pressure of his lips. He lifted her hand up, entwining his fingers with hers in a desperate fist. Then he set her back on her feet, and lifted his head. “Stay well, my lady.”

For a long moment after he had gone, she stood motionless, feeling the blood pound in every vein, her mind racing. He was right, of course. If they took off, across the sea, or south, beyond the Marraghmourn Mountains, they would indeed be exiles in every sense of the word—for while Kian’s sword would be welcomed into the service of any foreign lord, the hearths and halls of their own country would be forever barred. It was more than anyone had any right to ask. There was wisdom, too, in saying nothing about the goblin—for it may indeed yet turn into nothing, she thought. Some strange fluke, some odd coincidence. An omen, perhaps, but scarcely a good one. With a puckered frown, she opened the door, and thought she saw, slipping up the staircase behind the dais at the far end of the hall, two tall shapes, both cloaked in plain black. The hood slipped off the first’s head, as he turned around to speak to his companion. He drew it quickly over his head, but not before Cecily saw the unmistakable gleam of Cadwyr of Allovale’s bright gold hair. But how could that be, she thought. Kian had just said that Cadwyr was in the east, to rally the lords of Far Nearing. She hurried closer, trying to make sure, for if Kian’s hair glowed like the full moon, Cadwyr’s shone like the noon sun. They were as different as night and day, too, she thought, as she squinted in the semidark. The second figure, who appeared leaner than the first, followed close behind, and the black cloak he wore blended so perfectly into the shadows, he seemed to vanish. She blinked, and he did vanish, and all she saw was the one, moving up the stairs with Cadwyr’s familiar swagger, two and three steps at a time. As she stepped on the first stair, he reached the top of the staircase, then rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight. By the time she set foot on the first landing herself, she could see that the corridor in both directions was deserted.