[Lanen Kaelar 01] - Song in the Silence by Elizabeth Kerner Page A

We had not—been there a week before Maran realised she
was pregnant. With you. Only,” he said, all his gaiety gonr in the
instant, “she wasn’t at all sure who the father was. Me or Marik.”
    Without looking at me, without speaking, he drew
out a small metal flask from his tunic and passed it to me. I took a swig and
let the strong spirits singe my throat. I was glad of the sensation. I think it
kept me from doing something stupid like fainting.
    I couldn’t think straight. Jamie’s daughter.
Marik’s daughter. Mariik’s firstborn, promised to demons and to Berys. Maran,
who abandoned me, so careless with her body she didn’t know who my father was.
Maybe Jarnie’s daughter…
    All of these were loud and most of them were
frightening, but louder yet and triumphant, a song of release that soared above
the rest, was the glorious thought, Whatever , may be, I am not Hadron’s
daughter! He never was my father. His anger at me was not at me. He despised me
not because I was worthless but because I was another man’s child. Even though
I did not, could not love him, it is not because my heart is barren. Despite
all Hadron ever said and I ever thought, I am not a cold, heartless child. Dear
Goddess, what a relief!
    But there had to be more to the tale.
    “Jamie, why did Hadron take her in? Did he
not know?”
    Jamie sighed. “Ah, Lanen. Well I know you
never saw the softer side of Hadron’s loving, but you must believe me. From the
moment he met her he was smitten. No matter that she was no beauty, no matter
that she had no fortune, no matter even to his strict Ilsan soul that she had
travelled with me for over three years. Her manner was free and her heart was
light, she was a strange grey-eyed Northern woman who stood in truth head and
shoulders above her sisters hereabouts. In a week she had swept him off his
sensible feet, he who had never loved another his life long, with her laughter
and her brave soul. Before the month was out he asked her to marry him. They
were wed a month past midwinter; hardly three weeks after they met.”
    He paused, and I had to ask about what he had not
said. “You tell me he loved her, very well, I believe you—but Jamie, what
of what she said to you? What was it—while I live I shall love you best,
something like that.” His face, clouded before, darkened yet more.
“Jamie, I can’t believe it. How could she love him?” When he said
nothing, I asked, “Did she love him?”
    He closed his eyes, old pain sharp-etched for an
instant in his face. “I don’t know. She never told me.”
    When he looked up I had to look away. The silence
between us danced with shadows, new to me and terrible, but to Jamie they were
old ghosts. He knew them well enough; and though they made him sad, they held
no longer raw grief, only old sorrow. He spoke again sooner than I would have
dreamed he could.
    “She wed him, at any rate, and you were born
at the autumn solstice.” His voice grew softer. “I’d never seen Maran
so happy. She had a smile for you that no one else in the world ever saw.”
I glanced at him and saw that sorrow had left him, and now in his eyes and his
voice lived softer memories of her. “I asked her once if she could see in
you anything of me or of Marik, but she laughed and told me that she saw only
herself in little.” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.
“Or maybe not so little.”   .
    “Thanks.”
    He snorted. “Wretched women, tall as houses
the pair of you, and mean with it.”
    “You think I’m mean now, just you stop
talking and see what it gets you.”
    “You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t
you? I’d have thought this lot was enough for one day,” he said, finishing
his ale. “Speaking of which, how about some more to drink?”
    “Of course,” I replied, and called the
girl over. “A pot of chélan, with honey, and two mugs.”
    “Chélan? What for?” he asked.
    “What do you think? You always told me that
after a long