ggk.asongforarbonne-第45节

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all　the　young　men　now。　They　seemed　to　remain　as　young　as　ever　while　she　grew　older　all　the　time。
　　This　man　wasn't　the　grim　northern　warrior　she'd　anticipated。　He　had　anger　in　him；　yes；　and　easy　enough　to　see；　but　he　was　clever；　and　more　bitter　than　anything　else；　she　judged。　He　had　clearly　been　hurt　in　Portezza　before　he　came　here；　there　were　rumours　about　that　as　well。　They　were　probably　true。　Well；　he　would　not　be　the　first　young　man　whose　heart　had　been　left　lying　on　the　carpet　outside　Lucianna　Delonghi's　bedchamber　door；　and　he　was　not　going　to　be　the　last。
　　In　the　darkness；　Signe　rubbed　her　aching　fingers　together　under　the　bedcovers；　she　always　seemed　to　be　cold　these　days。　In　her　time；　all　the　young　men　had　fallen　in　love　with　her　in　that　same　way。　She　had　known　how　to　deal　with　it；　though。　How　to　deny　them　the　grace　they　had　to　be　denied　while　leaving　them　their　pride　and　even　binding　them　more　closely　to　her…and　so；　more　importantly；　to　Guibor　and　the　causes　of　Arbonne　in　the　world。　There　was　an　art　to　the　rituals　of　courtly　love；　and　a　purpose。　She　knew：　she　was　the　one　who　had　defined　and　shaped　both　the　purpose　and　the　art。
　　Thirty　years　ago　there　might　have　been　arts　she　would　have　practised　to　bind　this　Gorhaut　coran　to　her。　Not　now；　though；　those　were　the　tools　and　contrivances　of　younger　women　and；　she　judged…and　her　judgment　was　extremely　good　in　these　matters…with　a　different　man。　Not　so　soon　after　Lucianna　Delonghi　was　done　with　him　would　Blaise　of　Gorhaut　tread　the　path　a　woman's　allure　offered　or　besought。
　　Which　left　anger　and　hatred　as　the　emotions　they　could　most　easily　invoke；　neither　of　which　came　readily　to　her　hand；　either　long　ago　in　her　youth　or　now；　with　Guibor　gone　and　the　world　a　sad　and　empty　place。　It　fell　not　neatly　to　her　to　invoke　a　son's　hatred　of　his　father　to　achieve　her　own　ends；　however　desperately　needful　those　ends　might　be。
　　And　yet。　And　yet　the　man　had　spoken　the　words　himself；　with　none　of　them　to　goad　or　induce　them：　What　else　would　you　have　me　do　？　Ride　home　in　fell　wrath　and　declare　myself　the　true　king　of　Gorhaut？
　　He　hadn't　meant　it；　hadn't　known　he　might　even　possibly　mean　it；　but　the　pain　of　Iersen　Bridge　was　so　raw　in　him；　and　so　was　his　knowledge　of　his　father's　designs。　Most　of　the　world　that　mattered　knew　that　Galbert　de　Garsenc's　younger　son　had　left　Gorhaut　denouncing　the　treaty　his　father　had　devised。
　　It　might　be　possible。　It　might　indeed　be　barely　possible　to　find　a　rift　here　to　widen　north　of　the　mountains　in　Gorhaut。　She　felt　old　though；　and　tired。　She　wished　she　could　sleep。　She　didn't　want　to　deal　with　matters　of　war。　She　wanted　music　and　what　warmth　the　sun　could　offer　as　summer　ripened　the　vines。　She　wanted　the　gentler　warmth　of　memories。
　　There　came　a　very　quiet　tapping　at　her　door。　Only　one　person　she　could　think　of　would　be　knocking　here　this　late　at　night。
　　〃e　in；〃　she　said。　The　fire　and　the　single　taper　were　still　burning。　By　the　flickering　of　their　light　she　saw　her　last　living　child　open　and　then　close　the　door　behind　her；　entering　the　room　in　a　pale　night…robe；　with　a　sure　tread　that　belied　her　blindness。　The　white　owl　lifted　and　flew　to　one　of　the　bedposts。
　　Signe　remembered　the　first　time　she'd　seen　Beatritz　after　her　daughter's　eyes　had　been　sacrificed。　It　was　not　a　memory　she　cared　to　relive。　Even　knowing　the　ancient；　most　holy　reasons　and　the　power　gained；　it　was　hard　for　a　mother　to　see　her　child　marred。
　　Beatritz　came　to　stand　beside　the　bed。　〃Did　I　wake　you？〃
　　〃No。　I'm　thinking　too　much　to　be　able　to　sleep。〃
　　〃And　I。　Chasing　too　many　thoughts　on　Rian's　night。〃　Her　daughter　hesitated。　〃Is　there　room　for　me；　or　will　I　disturb　you？　I'm　troubled　and　fearful。〃
　　Signe　smiled。　〃Child；　there　is　always　room　for　you　beside　me。〃　She　pulled　the　coverings　back　and　her　daughter　lay　down　with　her。　Signe　lifted　one　arm　to　enfold　her　and　began　to　stroke　the　greying　hair；　remembering　how　soft　it　had　been；　how　dark　and　shining　and　soft　when　Beatritz　was　a　child。　There　had　been　two　brothers　and　a　sister　and　a　father　then。　There　are　only　the　two　of　us　left；　Signe　thought；　humming　a　tune　she'd　almost　forgotten。　Only　the　two。
　　
　　Walking　back　from　the　chapel　of　the　god　to　Bertran's　city　palace；　Blaise　made　a　determined　effort　to　empty　his　mind。　There　would　be　time　in　the　morning　and　the　days　to　e　to　think；　to　try　to　deal　with　the　revelations　of　this　night　and　the　improbably；　treacherous　pathways　that　seemed　to　have　been　opened　up　before　him。　It　was　very　late　now；　and　he　was　bone…weary。
　　The　streets　were　quiet；　only　occasional　couples　or　small　groups　of　apprentices　went　by；　carrying　wine　and　crumpled　masks。　Both　moons　were　over　west　and　the　clouds　were　gone；　chased　by　the　breeze。　It　was　still　some　time　before　dawn　though；　even　on　this　shortest　night　of　the　year；　overhead　the　stars　were　bright。　They　were　said　to　be　the　god's　lights　in　Gorhaut；　Rian's　here；　Blaise　wondered；　for　the　first　time；　how　much　that　difference　mattered　in　the　end。　They　would　still　be　there；　still　as　remote　and　coldly　bright；　whichever　power　mortal　man　linked　them　with。　There　were　said　to　be　lands…fabled　and　mysterious…far　to　the　south　beyond　deserts　and　seas　where　different　gods　and　goddesses　were　worshipped。　Did　the　same　stars　shine　there；　and　as　brightly？
　　Blaise　shook　his　head。　These　were　late…night　thoughts　and　useless　ones。　He　was　ready　to　fall　into　his　bed　and　sleep　for　hours。　In　fact；　he　could　probably　drop　off　here　in　the　street　like　the　figures　he　could　see　sprawled　in　doorways。　Most　of　those　figures　were　not　alone；　and　he　could　guess　what　had　preceded　their　slumbers。
　　He　had　gone　earlier　to　the　largest　of　the　domed　temples　of　Rian；　his　first　time　ever　inside　such　a　place。　He'd　wanted　to　see　Valery　before　the　night　was　done。　They'd　let　him　in　without　demur；　he'd　expected　to　have　to　offer　blood　or　some　such　ritual；　but　nothing　of　the　sort　took　place。　Valery　had　been　sleeping。　They'd　let　him　stand　in　the　doorway　of　the　coran's　room　and　look　in　by　candlelight。　Blaise　could　see　that　the　shoulder　had　been　carefully　bandaged；　as　for　the　other　healing　thing　that　had　happened　here；　that　he　had　no　way　of　judging；　or　even　prehending。　In　his　experience　syvaren　had　always　killed。
　　On　his　way　out　he　had　seen　an　assembled　pany　of　people；　both　men　and　women；　gathered　in　the　largest　part　of　the　temple　under　the　high　dome。　A　priestess　in　a　white　robe　was　leading　them　through　a　service。　Blaise　hadn't　lingered。　He'd　gone　from　there　to　the　nearest　house　of　Corannos；　washing　his　hands　ritually　at　the　entrance；　with　both　the　supplication　and　the　invocation　spoken；　and　had　knelt　on　the　floor　in　the　small；　bare；　stone…walled　coran's　chapel　in　front　of　the　frieze。　He'd　been　alone　there；　for　the　first　time　in　a　long　time；　and　he'd　tried　to　let　the　deep；　enveloping　silence　lead　him　back　into　the　presence　and　serenity　of　the　god。
　　It　hadn't　happened　though；　not　this　night。　Even　in　the　chapel　his　mind　had　kept　on　circling　back；　like　a　hunting　bird　above　a　field　where　a　hare　has　been　seen；　to　that　room　in　the　Carenzu　palace　when　he　had　said　what　he　had　said。　He　hadn't　been　serious；　not　even　remotely　so；　the　words　had　been　meant　to　make　clear　to　them　all　how　helpless　he　truly　was；　whatever　he　might　feel　about　what　his　father　and　King　Ademar　had　done　in　Gorhaut。　But　they　hadn't　heard　it　that　way；　and　in　the　silence　that　followed　his　outburst；　when　the　white　bird　had　lifted　itself　and　settled　on　his　shoulder；　Blaise　had　felt　the　knock　of　his　heart　like　a　fist　on　the　door　of　destiny。
　　He　felt　it　again　now；　walking　home　through　the　quiet　disarray　of　the　streets；　and　he　tried　to　force　his　mind　away　from　such　thoughts。　He　was　too　tired；　this　was　too　large。
　　Young　Serlo　was　on　guard　under　the　lamps　burning　at　the　entrance　to　the　duke's　city　palace。　He　nodded　at　Blaise　from　inside　the　iron　gates；　looked　to　left　and　right　up　the　street　and　moved　to　open　the　gates。　They　hadn't　been　locked…one　of　the　traditions　of　Midsummer　here…but　after　an　assassination　attempt；　a　guard　at　the　main　entrance　had　seemed　appropriate。　Bertran's　corans；　led　by　Valery　of　Talair；　were　very　good；　there　had　been　no　training　needed　here；　and　even　some　things　for　Blaise　to　learn。　The　ongoing　skirmishes　with　the　corans　of　Miraval　had　had　more　than　a　little　to　do　with　that。　A　long…simmering　feud　among　neighbouring　castles　shaped　its　own　rules　of　conflict；　very　different　from　the　clashes　of　armies。
　　〃I　looked　in　on　Valery；〃　Blaise　said　as　he　entered。　〃He's　sleeping　easily。〃
　　Serlo　nodded。　〃I'll　sleep　more　easily　myself　when　we've　found　out　who　shot　that　arrow；〃　he　said。　〃I　only　hope　the　goddess　and　the　god　have　decreed　an　eternal　place　of　pain　for　men　who　use　syvaren。〃
　　〃I've　seen　worse　things　in　war；〃　Blaise　said　quietly。　He　had　another　thought；　but　he　was　too　tired　to　shape　it　properly。　〃Good　night；〃　he　said。
　　〃Good　night。〃
　　He　heard　the　gate　swing　shut　behind　him。　He　would　have　felt　better　himself　if　a　key　had　turned　in　the　lock；　he　had　his　own　views　about　the　traditions　of　Arbonne。　On　the　other　hand；　knowing　what　he　knew　about　Bertran　de　Talair；　it　was　unlikely　in　the　extreme　that　the　duke　was　in　the　palace　tonight。　Blaise　shook　his　head。　He　went　across