The Betrayal Read online

Two guards fell into step behind her, along with Galir, who carried a basket of headbands for the hunters. She did not look back at Dareth, though she felt his khi follow her.

  The crowds parted before her. A child skipped out toward her and was swiftly caught back by its father, who wore the badge of the Crafters' Guild. His eyes met Shalár's in one fearful glance before he bent to whisper to the child.

  The hunters had gathered along the shoreline, some hundred and fifty all told. Some were experienced, some came from the ranks of her guard. Others had come to Nightsand for the first time, having left their rural homes for the hope of a kobalen or two to bring back to their families. They all fell back before Shalár, who paused to look over their ranks, a sea of silver-haired hunters with sharp, eager faces. Hungry faces.

  Three captains were to command them: Ciris, Yaras, and Welir. Their brows were bound in Darkshore colors of ælven make, brilliant and distinct.

  Shalár looked closely at Yaras's face and saw no remaining sign of sun-wrought damage from his ill-fated journey across the Ebons. Yaras was among the best of her hunters; that was the reason she had chosen him as a watcher. He had gained further honor by fathering a child, conceived on a previous grand hunt.

  She summoned Galir with a gesture. The youth stepped forward with his basket. The headbands it held were black tipped with red at each end, made in Nightsand, the colors not as vivid as she could wish, but they would serve. She took a handful and began walking along the ranks of the hunters, giving each a headband, nodding or saying a word to those she recognized. It would have been quicker to have others pass out the tokens, but Shalár wanted to look each of her hunters in the eye. They were to become a pack this night, and must bond together as a pack before they made their first catch.

  When the last headband was given out, she returned to where the captains stood. “Divide them into three companies and follow me.”

  She strode along the shore to where the catamount's keepers wrestled to hold it still. The great pale cat fumed and snorted, eyes furious above the muzzle. Under starlight its fur was a warm amber-white, darker at the ears and tail.

  The catamount spied her and stopped its fretting. Shalár felt dull recognition in its khi, mixed with anger and fear. It pinned back its ears and growled low in its throat.

  She focused her khi, then sent it forth and took the creature's mind, coiling her will around its fury, making it her own. She went so far as to look through the cat's eyes for a moment, seeing many reedy, two-legged creatures that should have been easy to kill but were not, herself a menacing figure with pale hair.

  She drew back from the catamount's perception, keeping an iron hold on its khi. Without hesitation she reached out and unstrapped the muzzle, letting it fall to the ground. The keepers' ropes attached to it fell slack. Someone behind her gasped.

  The cat made a strangled, gargling sound. Shalár did not permit it to move, though its eyes flashed with rage. She climbed upon its back, taking hold of the loose skin at its shoulders, the fur warm and coarse against her fingers.

  Only when she was comfortably seated did she allow the beast to let out the roar it so wanted to voice. The sound began as a growl and rose to a high scream, echoing along the cliffs of Nightsand Bay.

  She smiled. If kobalen were skulking across the bay, that sound had alerted them to what was coming. She was untroubled by this. Kobalen lived short lives and were simpleminded. Even if any lived among them now who were old enough to remember the last grand hunt and warn their comrades of what the cat's cry meant, they could not escape.

  Kobalen were swift but not as swift as Shalár's people, and they saw poorly in darkness. They were no match for a hungry pack.

  Shalár made the catamount pace southward along the shore, aware of the tension in its limbs, the rage that seethed within it. Catamounts were large—one beast might weigh as much as five Darkshores—and vicious. The effort it cost her, the khi that she spent to control the beast, was well worthwhile. Her people would never forget seeing her thus.

  Behind her the captains called their hunters to order with whistles and bird trills. No one spoke. All had said their farewells in the city.

  She glanced up at the Cliff Hollows, saw the pale form standing alone on the dark ledge, and smiled. Sentimental Dareth. He would watch her out of sight before going in. Though she would never do such a thing herself, she liked that he did it.

  Clear of the jumbled khi of the city and ahead of the hunters' pack, she thought she sensed a whisper of Dareth's khi reaching to her from above. It came and went as she proceeded down the shore, like an elusive fragrance of flowers on the fitful breeze. At last it was lost when the path turned away from the bay, passing inland between ridges that blocked the Cliff Hollows from view and snapping the fragile contact between her and her consort.

  Highstone

  The day of the handfasting dawned bright and clear, with a cool wind whispering of winter. Eliani had long since arisen, for the night had brought her no counsel and little rest. She had tried to meditate, but her thoughts had drifted and she ended imagining she was ensnared in countless ribbons that only tightened as she struggled to break free.

  The public circle was decked anew with garlands of autumn flowers, its stone surface adorned by the winds with a scattering of leaves in every shade of flame. As noon approached, all of Highstone's day-biding citizens and many of the night-biders came out for the handfasting, a ceremony that rarely was performed. Ælven lives were long, so to pledge oneself to another for life was no light commitment.

  Lord Felisan's minstrels were there, hard at work, their music half-lost amid the chatter of the gathering folk. Eliani lingered nearby, ready to witness the hand-fasting. To her dismay, she learned that her father had invited Turisan to stand witness as well. The Greenglen gave her a brief smile as he joined them, then engaged the two Steppegard witnesses in conversation.

  Luruthin stepped up onto the dais beside her, freshly dressed and smiling as if he had not spent the night riding to Clerestone and back. His eyes took on a shadow of concern as he looked at her.

  “What troubles you, Kestrel?”

  Eliani noticed Turisan's head turn toward them, but he resumed his conversation. She raised her chin and tried to smile.

  “I remember Davhri's handfasting, and how unhappy I was to have her leave us.”

  “Ah.” Luruthin grinned and lowered his voice. “I warrant you do not feel quite the same about Beryloni.”

  “I am most fond of Beryloni!”

  “And distance is said to increase fondness. You will be even more fond of her when she is gone to the Steppes.”

  Eliani smacked his arm, stifling a laugh. The two Steppegards were close by, but fortunately, they were attending to Turisan and had not heard.

  A hush fell in the circle as the midday sun reached its zenith. The minstrels ceased their music, and a single clear horn note hung in the air. A tall figure in deep blue entered the circle from the north—Heléri, cloaked and veiled in the color of the midnight sky.

  Eliani had seldom seen her in daylight. Within the shelter of her hooded cloak, beneath the deep blue veil, her skin glowed rose-white. Her eyes were a deep rich blue, and her dark hair fell forward from the hood in two long braids bound with the Stonereach colors: violet and blue.

  Eliani watched intently, for she had been so young at the time of Davhri's handfasting that she had only a few vague memories. Heléri came before the dais and began the formal ceremony, pacing the edge of the public circle and pausing in each direction to offer greetings to the ældar, as Felisan had done on Evennight. When she returned to the east, she stepped onto the dais and gathered the witnesses around her.

  “Gentle friends, kindred of Stonereach and of Steppegard, and honored guests, before you come two souls to be forever handfasted. Bear you all witness to their pledge.”

  From the north, under banners of violet and blue, came Beryloni with thirty of House Felisanin. She wore a blue and violet mantle o
ver her pale gown and a circlet of autumn flowers in her hair. From the south came Gemaron, attired in a tunic of russet and green, attended by his kindred beneath fluttering flags in the same Steppegard colors.

  Heléri stepped forward, the handfasting ribbon in her hands. Sunlight caught the interwoven colors and made the silver script flash and glisten.

  “Who stands forth for Stonereach?”

  Beryloni's parents, long ribbons of blue and violet in their hands, came forward with their daughter between them. They led her to face Heléri.

  “And who for Steppegard?”

  Gemmani and Rhomiron led Gemaron to his place, bearing ribbons of russet and pine. Heléri gazed down at the couple before her.

  “Gemaron and Beryloni, you stand before us to join hand and heart, never again to part in flesh or in spirit. If this is not your choice, now is the time to withdraw.”

  Gemaron looked at Beryloni, who stood smiling, white flowers trembling in her burnished hair. Eliani feared for a moment that he would balk, but he smiled back at Beryloni, then spoke in a clear voice that rang through the circle.

  “I choose to be handfasted to Beryloni of House Felisanin, never to part again.”

  Beryloni declared likewise. Heléri beckoned to them.

  “Then join hands and be bound together by your kin before these witnesses.”

  Gemaron took Beryloni's hand in his, and Heléri drew them forward. Bishani, Beryloni's mother, laid her blue ribbon across their clasped hands.

  “I bind you together under Stonereach.”

  She crossed the ribbon once below their hands, then stepped back, retaining the ends. Gemmani placed her dark green ribbon over the blue and crossed it.

  “I bind you together under Steppegard.”

  Likewise their fathers, Lanrhusan and Rhomiron, bound them with the violet and russet ribbons. Heléri then laid the handfasting ribbon over all.

  “I bind you together in heart, body, and spirit.”

  She crossed the ribbon once and began to weave it with all the others. As the five traded the ribbons back and forth, Eliani watched the pattern envelop the couple's clasped hands. Heléri spoke while she guided the work.

  “This union is not only of two souls but of two houses, Rhomironan and Felisanan, and of two realms, the Steppe Wilds and Alpinon. In this joining all our ties of kindred are renewed. Though many leagues separate us, though we stand under different colors, we are all of one people, the ælven who first walked this land when the stars were young. May those in spirit as well as those in flesh extend their blessings over Gemaron and Beryloni, who from this day forth shall be as one.”

  The woven ribbons now covered the couple's arms below their wrists. At a sign from Heléri, the ends were let fall to flutter in the breeze. Sunlight caught at the blessings woven into the ends of the handfasting ribbon.

  Eliani felt a tingle of khi in the air; there was strong magecraft at work here. She saw the bliss on the couple's faces and marveled. She could not imagine doing this, pledging herself to one partner for all the centuries ahead. She had not managed even a single year despite the best intentions.

  It seemed that her gentle, somewhat foolish cousin had more courage than she. Beneath the crown of white blossoms, Beryloni's face shone with confidence and happiness.

  Eliani glanced at the other witnesses and saw that Turisan was staring at the couple's bound hands. He looked up at her, dark eyes intense. Eliani shifted her gaze, her heart racing uncomfortably.

  Heléri bade Gemaron and Beryloni raise their joined hands high for all to see and make their personal pledges to each other. When they were finished, she turned to the Stonereach party and bade them bring forth the emblem of Beryloni's craft, a large distaff elaborately decorated with flowers and ribbons, to the dais. Beryloni was a weaver, a good one, and her family was justly proud of her skill. Her parents accepted the distaff and knelt, each holding an end of it just above the ground so that it separated Gemaron and Beryloni from Heléri.

  “Beryloni, as you step away from Stonereach, you bring the gift of your craft to your new clan. Gemaron, as you welcome your lady into Steppegard, so you welcome her skill to the benefit of your people.”

  Eliani noticed Beryloni's mother brush away a tear. It was not always the female who left her clan to join her partner's, but more often than not it was so.

  “Together you carry this gift from Stonereach to Steppegard as the symbol of your union. Let the step you now take be the first of a long journey of prosperity and happiness together. Come forward into your new life.”

  Heléri moved back, and together Beryloni and Gemaron stepped over the distaff. The minstrels at once burst into joyous music, and Heléri turned the couple to face the circle.

  “Welcome, Gemaron and Beryloni of House Rhomironan!”

  Eliani watched intently as Heléri clasped the couple's beribboned hands in her own, for this was the true crux of the ceremony. While the onlookers celebrated, Heléri's hands moved swiftly, unweaving and reweaving the ribbons. The tingle of khi in the air increased. In a few moments the weave had moved from the couple's hands to their forearms, covering them from wrist to elbow as would an archer's brace.

  All the colors were present on each arm, their hands were again free, and the beautiful handfasting ribbon was now two ribbons, its shades and glints of silver visible in the weave on each arm, though Heléri had used no blade or tool and Eliani would have sworn nothing had been cut. The woven bands were secured not with knots but with magecraft, and would remain as a mark of the newly handfasted, never to come undone until the couple had reached their new home.

  Eliani gave a small nod of satisfaction, glad to have seen the making of this bond, though an echo of heartache reminded her of Davhri's handfasting long before. Heléri, her work finished, glanced up at Eliani with a smile as the couple moved into the circle to lead the first dance.

  “My lady, will you dance?”

  A stab of dismay struck her as she turned to face Turisan. Of course, on such an occasion she would be expected to dance with him. To do otherwise would excite curiosity and undoubtedly displease her father. She managed to nod.

  Turisan started to offer his arm, then turned the gesture into a sweeping bow, making it seem the most natural thing in the world for her to precede him into the circle for the dance. Gemaron and Beryloni already whirled around and around, hands clasped, laughing together. Eliani summoned a smile more gracious than she felt and raised her hand into the air to touch wrists, but Turisan struck a formal position with his own hand curving gracefully toward hers, separated by a handspan.

  High-court style. Very formal, very elegant. Turisan's choosing to dance in this way made Eliani feel both annoyed and relieved. She concentrated on matching his style and releasing her resentment. It would be poor grace to hold the choice of high-court dancing against him, for she knew he had made it out of consideration for her.

  I am a beast, she told herself. What a model of hospitality for my house hold and my clan! Our most honored guest is afraid even to speak to me, and thinks I consider a dance with him nothing short of torture.

  She could feel his khi through the air between them as though they actually touched. She shivered.

  There was much to admire in him—she was perfectly willing to admire him—she merely preferred to keep her thoughts to herself. She hoped he would understand this. To show her goodwill, she sought to begin a conversation.

  “You dance with great elegance, my lord.”

  “As do you.” Turisan smiled. “Someone once told me you were not graceful in gowns, but I see that it is untrue.”

  Eliani remembered their meeting by the Shades. She felt a blush creeping up her neck and glanced away toward the musicians, wondering when they would end her torment.

  Turisan watched Eliani's dismay, frustrated that he had caused it. He would not have claimed a dance with her except that it was customary and expected, for she was the lady of the hall and he the ranking guest.


  She tried to hide it, holding her head high and smiling politely, but her khi shimmered with distress. Their dance was marked by stiff formality and inconsequent conversation. He did not approach her again but found himself watching her, a form of self-torture he seemed unable to resist.

  She was not only graceful but beautiful in her flowing gown, its cool colors setting off the warmth of her hair. She moved among her guests and kin with all the graciousness that could be desired of a leader of state.

  This lady was quite different from the wild thing in dusty leathers he had encountered—was it but four days ago?—and different still from the frightened girl who had fled from him at the Shades. Every time he thought he had begun to understand her, she showed a new face.

  With the cool of evening approaching, the revelers moved indoors, filling Felisanin Hall with good spirits and laughter. Turisan joined them and feasted well, knowing he would be traveling hard over the next few days.

  After more dances and many toasts, the handfasted couple departed and the hall grew quiet. Some sought their homes, and others settled into conversation over wine and sweet cakes. Turisan stayed until he felt his duty had been satisfied, then slipped away to prepare for his own departure.

  He was forestalled by the young cousin of the house, who caught up with him in the hearthroom. His heart leapt with hope that Eliani had sent the boy after him.

  “Your pardon, my lord. Lord Felisan desires a private word with you before you go. Will you follow me this way?”

  Stifling his disappointment, Turisan accompanied the youth through a private passage that paralleled the hall and emerged directly into the governor's quarters. They entered the sitting room he had visited before, where Felisan stood waiting beside the fire.

  “Ah, excellent. Thank you, Curunan.”

  The youth left, softly closing the door behind him. Turisan met the governor's gaze, thinking his green eyes were startlingly like Eliani's.

  “I will not keep you long, Lord Turisan. I was much occupied this morning or I would have spoken with you then. I believe you should take this with you back to Glenhallow. Your father should see it for himself.”