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

my lord: ignore the lady's heritage and
allow the ceremony to go on."
                My mother laughed aloud. "Do
you expect us to overlook what she has said, let alone what she is?"
                No. My instinctive response was
immediate. If for no other reason than the pain she brought to my brother, I
would send her back to Alaric.
                "Choices," Varien said.
"My lord?"
                My father did not answer at once. I
saw the fine-drawn tension in my mother as she waited, and felt it in myself.
                Not because I particularly wanted to
marry Gisella—cousin or no, I did not know the girl—but because some
deep-seated instinct told me the choice facing my father carried more weight
than usual.
                He knew it as well as I, perhaps
better, being who he is. I saw him smile again, mostly to himself, and then he
turned it fully on the Atvian envoy. "Alaric and Shea have made a
truce."
                I frowned. It made no sense; none of
it. What had a truce between Alaric of Atvia and Shea of Erinn to do with my
marriage?
                Varien's lips tightened. Briefly, oh
so briefly, I saw anger in his eyes, and then he covered it. He was himself
again, urbane, diplomatic, yet I knew my father's response was not what he
expected.
                I looked immediately at the woman,
knowing instinctively she was a truer diviner of emotions. But if Lillith was
angry, she hid it well. Instead, she smiled, and nodded once to herself. As if
she had won a wager.
                Or understood us better than anyone
wished to believe.
                "A truce," my father
repeated. Still smiling, he sat down at last in the padded chair and gestured
for my mother to do the same. After a moment's hesitation, she did so. But I
knew she understood my father's manner no better than I, even as he laughed.
"Let me speculate aloud, envoy, for a moment. Please correct me if I am
wrong." He straightened a little and tapped one finger against the wooden
arm. "Alaric and Shea, regardless of their respective reasons, have agreed
to a truce. I think it unlikely Shea would ally himself with Alaric for any
reason, judging by the turbulent history of the islands; nonetheless, a
cessation of hostilities leaves Alaric in possession of a united warhost for
the first time in decades." He paused, and I saw he no longer smiled.
"Have I the right of it thus far?"
                Varien's schooled face exhibited
neither resentment nor regret; he merely ackowledged my father's summation with
a brief inclination of his head.
                "What is he doing?" I
whispered to Ian. "What has a truce between Alaric and Shea have to do
with anything?"
                I saw the ironic curling of his
mouth; Lillith's insult had not banished his sense of humor. "If you would
close your mouth and open your ears, perhaps you would find out."
                But my father went on before I could
respond. "If I broke off the betrothal for reasons well known to all of us
in this chamber, Alaric would have the right to consider the alliance
shattered; the right to levy war." The Mujhar's face displayed no tension,
only calmness. He had the right of it. Wars had been started over more trivial
matters than this. "The past has proven Atvia incapable of defeating
Homana in battle because her armies have been divided. Shea's meddling made it
necessary for a portion of the warhost to be left at home to protect Atvia, and
so it was that much easier for Homana to defeat her enemy. Now, of course, with
Erinn and Atvia at peace, no matter how brief the duration, Alaric can levy
half again as many men against Homana."
                "My lord." Varien said
nothing more; nothing more was needed. Even I began to see.
                "And so if the betrothal is
broken and Alaric comes against me, as would be his