ggk.asongforarbonne-第117节

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　　Lisseut　had　meant　to　call　out　to　him；　but　in　the　moment　he　actually　appeared　and　went　by　she　found　that　her　voice　would　not　obey　her。　She　could　not　say　his　name。　She　had　seen　the　duke　ride　past　earlier；　and　then　Ariane　de　Carenzu；　and　she　had　remained　out　of　sight　beneath　the　trees；　holding　her　thoughts　close　to　her　as　the　sun　went　down　and　the　shadows　grew　deeper　beneath　the　looming　arch。
　　Her　thoughts。　No　fort　there　at　all。　The　man　she　had　followed；　as　she　had　followed　him　once　before；　was　the　king　of　Gorhaut；　or　would　be　before　many　days　had　passed。　He　was　already　wearing　the　cloak　of　royalty。　She　had　seen　it　from　the　isle。
　　In　the　moment　Blaise　appeared　she　was　thinking；　actually；　of　her　mother　and　father　and　of　home；　of　sunrise　seen　through　the　window　of　her　own　small　room；　morning　light　filtering　through　the　grey…green　leaves　of　the　olive　trees；　the　air　carrying　the　scent　of　the　sea　from　below。
　　She　had　always　been　impetuous；　always　found　herself　pushing　hardest　when　she　thought；　inwardly；　that　it　might；　in　fact；　be　no　time　to　push　at　all。　Her　mother　had　told　her；　endlessly；　that　it　was　a　trait　that　could　lead　her　greatly　wrong　one　day。
　　Perhaps　it　was　because　of　that　memory　of　her　mother's　words；　with　the　heart…breaking　lucidity　of　that　image　of　home；　that　Lisseut　kept　silent　as　the　man　went　by；　riding　away　from　her；　from　the　arch　and　the　winter　elms；　back　to　the　world　that　was　waiting　for　him。　She　lost　sight　of　Blaise　in　the　darkness　where　the　avenue　of　elms　ended　and　the　path　curved　east　towards　the　shore　of　the　lake。
　　She　remained　where　she　was；　it　had　bee　curiously　difficult　to　move　just　then。　She　clung　to　that　image　of　home　for　a　while　yet；　and　then　that　too　seemed　to　leave　her。　After　a　time　in　the　deepening　shadows；　Lisseut　found　that　her　thoughts　had　turned　elsewhere　again；　and　then　it　seemed　that　her　voice　had　e　back　to　her　and　that；　perhaps　not　surprisingly；　there　were　words　she　needed　to　offer　to　the　twilight　and　the　empty　path　before　her　where　she　had　watched　him　go：
　　Thy　table　set　with　rarest　wine；　
　　Choice　meats；　sweet　ripened　fruit　
　　And　candlelight　when　we　dine　In　
　　Fionvarre。
　　On　we　two　the　high　stars　will　shine。　
　　And　the　holy　moon　lend　her　light。　
　　If　not　here　you　will　be　mine　
　　In　Fionvarre。
　　She　sighed。　There　was　truly　no　point　in　lingering　here；　she　told　herself。　It　was　time　to　go　back。　She　still　felt　this　curious　reluctance　to　move；　though。　It　was　cold　in　the　night　now　but　the　elms　blocked　the　worst　of　the　wind　and　in　the　darkness　the　disturbing；　sculpted　shapes　of　prisoners　and　slaves　on　the　arch　could　not　be　seen。　It　was；　in　fact；　unexpectedly　peaceful　where　she　stood；　holding　the　reins　of　a　quiet　horse。
　　She　stayed　quite　a　long　time。　It　was　much　later；　in　fact；　when　she　heard　a　single　horseman　go　by　along　the　edge　of　the　woods　behind　her；　heading　south。　She　became　a　little　frightened　for　the　first　time　then；　alone　here　in　the　darkness。　She　mounted　up　and　began　the　ride　back　to　where　there　would　be　lights　and　shelter　and　friends　and　such　fort　as　any　and　all　of　these　might　offer。
　　On　the　way；　as　she　came　up　to　the　shore　of　the　lake　and　rode　alongside　the　water　towards　the　distant　castle；　carrying　loss　and　love；　remembering　home；　trying　to　prehend　the　shape　of　the　future　opening　up　before　them　all；　Lisseut　found　herself　thinking　of　a　song。　Not　an　old　lullaby　this　time；　its　origins　long　lost；　not　a　tune　by　Anselme　of　Cauvas；　the　first　of　all　the　troubadours；　nor　of　Count　Folquet　or　Alain　or　En　Bertran；　nor　even　of　lost　Remy　or　Aurelian。
　　This　tune　and　its　words　belonged　to　none　of　them。　This；　for　the　first　time　ever；　as　she　passed　beside　the　shore　of　Lake　Dierne　in　the　starlit；　wintry　dark；　riding　towards　the　castle　lights；　was　a　song　of　her　own。
　　
　　It　was　cold　here　outside；　but　Rinette　had　felt　awkwardly　enveloped　within　the　warm；　firelit　rooms　of　Talair　Castle。　She　had　asked　them　where　the　garden　was　and　someone　had　escorted　her　there。　Then；　when　she'd　walked　into　the　walled　enclosure；　she　had　asked　if　she　could　be　left　alone　and　they　had　done　that　for　her　as　well。　Everyone　was　being　extraordinarily　obliging；　even　beyond　what　could　be　expected　by　a　ranking　priestess　of　Rian。
　　But　she　was　more　than　that；　and　less。　She　had　left　her　owl　behind；　on　the　isle。　That　had　been；　actually；　the　first　of　the　very　hard　things。
　　This　is；　Rinette　thought；　walking　at　twilight　among　bare　trees　and　evergreens　and　bushes　and　shrubs　and　flowers　that　would　be　glorious　e　spring；　my　own　castle。　One　of　her　castles。　Barbentain　itself　was　another；　and　even　Miraval　was　part　of　her　legacy；　if　one　stretched　a　point　only　a　little。
　　It　was　cold；　but　she　did　not　mind　the　cold。　Winter　was　something　she　could　deal　with。　She　was　still　wearing　the　robes　of　Rian　under　her　grey　cloak。　It　wasn't　as　if　she'd　had　a　great　deal　of　time　to　change　her　garb。　Or　her　sense　of　where　she　belonged　in　the　world。　When　she　had　arisen　this　morning　she　had　been　a　priestess　of　Rian　on　her　holy　Isle；　the　named　successor　to　the　High　Priestess　there；　though　wondering；　with　a　fear　every　one　of　them　had　felt；　if　their　lives　would　stretch　beyond　this　winter。　Or　if　their　destiny　was　fire　in　the　name　of　Gorhaut　and　the　god　it　claimed　to　serve。
　　Then　battle　had　e　today；　screaming　horses　and　men；　blood　and　chaos　in　the　valley；　and　at　the　end；　unlooked…for　amid　helpless　terror；　a　victory　so　plete　the　mind　and　heart　could　scarcely　absorb　it。　She　had　gone　into　the　sanctuary；　to　help　the　High　Priestess　lead　them　through　the　ancient；　holy　ceremony　of　thanksgiving。
　　And　had　e　out　from　under　the　dome　to　find　the　lady　Ariane　de　Carenzu　waiting　for　her　with　a　story　that　changed　her　life　forever。
　　It　was　hard；　it　was　very　hard；　however　she　strove　to　deal　with　this　as　she　had　always　tried　to　deal　with　everything…calmly　and　with　as　much　clarity　as　she　could　mand。　The　lady　of　Carenzu　had　ended　by　telling　her　what　was　obvious　to　any　thinking　person　from　the　moment　the　story　had　begun　to　grow　clear…that　her　place　was　almost　certainly　away　from　the　isle　now。　That　the　blindness　and　inner　sight　of　a　High　Priestess　of　Rian　was　not　what　Arbonne　needed　from　her　after　this。　Everything　had　changed。
　　Ariane　had　said　something　else；　though；　something　unexpected：　that　she　would　defend　with　all　her　own　power　and　honour　any　choice　at　all　that　Rinette　made。　She　had　been　near　to　weeping　as　she　said　that；　Rinette　remembered。　It　was　a　deeply　generous　offer；　but　it　actually　didn't　matter　very　much；　not　really。　Rinette　would　not　have　been　what　she　was　had　she　been　unable　to　see　for　herself　the　clear　truth　of　what　all　of　this　meant。
　　She　was　heir　to　Arbonne。　There　was　no　one　else。　With　the　offer　of　her　hand　in　marriage；　the　future　of　her　country；　of　the　worship　of　holy　Rian；　could　be　safeguarded　for　a　time。　Perhaps　a　very　long　time。　It　was　not　an　awareness　from　which　one　could　turn　away　for　the　familiarity　of　the　small　isle　that　was　all　the　home　she'd　ever　known。　The　paths　of　holy　blindness　and　the　inward　sight　it　might　offer　were　not　to　be　hers　any　more。
　　She　was　not　going　to　follow　the　High　Priestesses　after　all。　Neither　the　one　here；　nor　Beatritz　herself　on　the　island　in　the　sea。　The　High　Priestess　on　Rian's　Island；　the　goddess's　most　holy　servant；　Rinette　thought　suddenly；　putting　her　mind　around　this　for　the　first　time；　was　her　mother's　older　sister。
　　She　shook　her　head。　It　was　going　to　be　very　hard。　She　could　see　them　lighting　torches　in　the　garden　now。　They　were　being　careful　of　her　privacy；　keeping　at　a　distance　from　where　she　walked。　The　light　in　the　west　had　bee　quite　beautiful；　crimson　and　purple　and　a　softer　range　of　dusky　hues　low　down　where　the　sun　was　nearly　gone。　The　garden；　she　could　see；　was　nowhere　near　its　best　in　this　depth　of　winter；　but　Talair　was　far　enough　south　that　there　were　still　hints　of　colour　all　around；　and　the　wind　was　gentler　here；　with　the　walls　and　the　trees　for　shelter。　She　heard　the　sound　of　splashing　water　and　walking　a　little　further　down　a　path　of　small　stones　she　came　to　a　fountain。　The　servants　had　been　here　before　her；　there　were　torches　burning　in　brackets　set　into　the　soil。　She　stood　close　to　one；　holding　her　hands　out　for　warmth。
　　She　was　heir　to　Arbonne。　Heir　to　this　castle　of　Talair　as　well；　for　En　Bertran　had　never　married　and　never　named　anyone　to　succeed　him。　En　Bertran。　The　duke　of　Talair　was　her　father。
　　She　had　seen　him；　of　course；　growing　up　on　the　isle　so　near　this　castle　she　had　seen　him　so　many　times　across　the　water。　She　could　remember　how　she　and　the　other　acolytes　had　spent　countless　evenings　when　they　were　supposed　to　be　asleep　breathlessly　repeating　tales　and　rumours　about　him；　carried　by　the　troubadours　and　joglars　who　came　to　Rian's　Isle。　She　knew　all　about　Bertran　de　Talair　and　Duke　Urté　and　the　beautiful　lady　who　had　died；　Aelis　de　Miraval。　She　even　knew…everyone　knew…the　old　song　Bertran　had　written　for　his　beloved　beside　the　springtime　shores　of　this　same　lake。　What　she　had　never　known　was　that　the　song　was　her　father's　for　her　mother；　that　she　was　a　part　of　that　tale。　She　seemed　to　be；　in　fact；　the　ending　of　the　story。
　　There　was　the　other　man　as　well；　the　one　who　was　soon　to　be　made　king　of　Gorhaut。　He