Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [26]
They nodded when I described how Lucius came to be inhabited by the spirit of his dead great-grandfather, the warlord Gallus Tadius, who organized the defense of the city. Such tales were not strange in Alba, where a woman might eat of a salmon and give birth to a bard.
When it came to the battle, I made much of Eamonn's role. In truth, it needed no exaggeration—Gallus Tadius had appointed him the captain of our squadron, and Eamonn had acquitted himself with honor. But he was a prince of the Dalriada, of the folk of the Fhalair Ban, and it pleased the Cruithne to hear it. The Dalriada were a sovereign folk unto themselves, immigrants from the island of Eire who maintained a foothold on the far western shores of Alba, but there was a long history of alliance between the Cruithne and the Dalriada.
They were pleased by my deeds, too. "You're not so green as I reckoned!" Deordivus slapped my shoulder. "You're owed your first warrior's markings, Prince. Or at least once you're wed and dedicated as one of us.”
"Oh?" I said.
"Right here." Kinadius touched the center of his brow, which bore an elaborate design of an inverted crescent containing trefoil circles, pierced from below by a V-shaped symbol. "The warrior's shield and spear.”
"Ah, no!" I gazed at him in dismay.
"Do you not wish to declare kinship with the Cullach Gorrym?" He grinned. "They'll look a treat with your big blue eyes.”
"You are jesting?" I asked.
They laughed. "Not really," Urist added.
"I'll think on it," I muttered, and beckoned for more ale.
At any rate, the evening ended amicably and they seemed to like me better for it by the time it was over. We rode back toward the Palace together, and Deordivus began teaching me the rudiments of a Cruithne drinking-song. When I made to part company with them and head for the townhouse, Kinadius insisted on escorting me.
"Drustan would expect us to do it for Talorcan," he said to Urist. "If Imriel is to be a Prince of Alba, should we not treat him as one?”
The older man's face was unreadable in the starlight. "As you will.”
"Come, then." Kinadius blew out his breath in a plume of frost and gave me a sidelong look. "Let's race. Unless you're scared?”
"Care to wager?" I asked.
It wasn't a wild race. I'd done that once with Gilot and nearly run down a party of merry-makers, and it was early enough that folk were still abroad, torch-escorted carriages clopping along the streets. We rode vigorously, though, weaving in and out among them. I kept the Bastard well in hand. He was quick and surefooted and fearless, and I'd ridden him almost blind in the darkest nights of Lucca. I could have won handily, but I was mindful of what Phèdre had taught me of diplomacy, and I let Kinadius draw abreast of us at the end.
"Well run!" he said cheerfully. "At least Dorelei's wedding a man knows how to sit a horse.”
"You're fond of her," I said.
Kinadius nodded. "We grew up in the same household. I'd thought to court her myself one day.”
I didn't know what to say, so I said, "I'm sorry.”
"Ah, no!" He shook his head. " 'Tis for the best, and those of us who are the Cruarch's men know it. I bear you no ill will.”
"My thanks." I put out my hand.
He clasped it firmly "You'll be mindful of what we said tonight?”
"About the warrior's markings?" I grimaced. "Oh, yes.”
"Not that." Kinadius smiled, but only faintly. "I was jesting, you know. Urist holds to the old ways more than some of us. No, I meant the other thing." He squeezed my hand, cutting me off when I opened my mouth, then leaned over in the saddle, speaking in a low tone. "They sacrificed their diadh-anam. That's why the ollamh will not speak of them.”
"Their what?" I asked, bewildered.
He let go my hand and placed two fingers over his lips, shaking his head once more. "I've said too much. Ill luck.