Free Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 04 by Track of the White Wolf (v1.0) Page B

silver feathers formed a girdle. A
plain silver circlet touched her brow, then flared out at each temple to form
delicate downswept wings, curving back to encircle her head. Black hair,
unbound except for the winged silver -circlet, fell in a silken curtain to
girdled, crimson hips.
                "By the gods," I whispered
to Ian, "is there a way I can wed the proxy bride instead of the genuine
thing?"
                His answering smile was wry.
"It might discompose Gisella."
                "As well as the alliance."
I sighed dramatically. "Ah, well . . . tahlmorras must be obeyed."
                "Such sacrifice," Ian
mocked. "I, however, am not already bound to such a course."
                I opened my mouth to return a
suitable retort, but the envoy was speaking and I shut my mouth on my answer.
                "I am Varien, ambassador from
the Atvian court to yours," the Atvian said quietly. "My lord Mujhar;
Aislinn, queen of Homana and Solinde; Niall, prince of Homana—may I present the
Lady Lillith, sent from Alaric himself, Lord of the Idrian Isles."
                Shea of Erinn would dispute that
particular title. And did, I knew, even now. A petty thing, to fight over petty
titles, but it was not Homana's problem.
                Varien's voice was a smooth,
cultured baritone. He spoke with a fluent, meticulous courtesy in accentless,
flawless Homanan. Envoys are required to speak many languages, but for a
moment, oddly, I wondered how he would do in the Cheysuli Old Tongue, which
defies those not born to its cadence and lyricism.
                Lillith. An odd name not unpleasing
to the ear. I rolled it over on my tongue silently and found it more difficult
to say than to hear.
                Crimson skirts flared and settled as
she dropped into a curtsy before the dais. I saw her nails were tipped in
silver, and her mouth was painted red.
                Beside me, Ian drew in his breath in
a sudden hiss of shock. I looked at him sharply and found him staring rigidly
at the woman as she rose from her eloquent obeisance. Yet it was not the stare
of a man struck by a woman's beauty, but by realization instead.
                And then I heard Tasha's growl.
                Almost at once, the chamber was
filled with tension.
                Tasha still growled, tail whipping
at Ian's right leg. Lorn rose to stand before the chairs, hackled from neck to
tail.
                And Taj, still perched upon the
chair, bated in agitation.
                My brother's hand was on his knife.
My father was off the dais and standing before the woman. "You dare to
come into my hall?" His anger and astonishment were manifest. "You
dare to come into my city?"
                "My lord Alaric sent me."
Her voice was low and husky. The Homanan words had a foreign lilt.
                "Does he know what you
are?"
                After a moment, Lillith smiled. But
only a little smile.
                "My lord Alaric knows
everything about me."
                I could not be as calm as the woman
so obviously was, but neither could I experience the same measure of shock as
everyone save my mother. "Ian—what is she?"
                "Ihlini," he hissed in an
undertone. Then, more loudly, "By the gods, she is Ihlini!”
                "What is the meaning of
this?" my mother cried. "Alaric sends an enemy to show what he thinks
of the betrothal?"
                "Not at all," Varien said
smoothly. "He sends a lady he holds very highly in his esteem."
                "I am Ihlini," Lillith
said quietly. "I do not deny it. But what is between your race and mine
has nothing to do with the betrothal. Be assured, Alaric desires the
marriage."
                "Ihlini and Cheysuli do not
treat with one another." My father's tone