Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 by A Tapestry of Lions (v1.0) Read Free Book Online Page A

scrambled to his feet even as the
guardsmen shredded canvas with steel to enter the tent. He saw their faces, saw
their intent; he saw Rogan's tear-streaked face turning to him. Rogan's mouth
moved, but Kellin heard nothing. One of the guards put his hand upon his
prince's rigid shoulder, but Kellin did not feel it.
                The Lion. The LION.
                He knew in that instant they were
unprepared, just as the Steppes warrior had been unprepared.
                None of them understood. No one at
all knew him for what he was. They saw only the boy, the deserted son, and
judged him worthless.
                Aren't I worthless?
                But the Lion wanted him.
                Kellin caught his breath. Would the
Lion want to eat a worthless boy?
                Perhaps he was worthless, and that
fact alone was why the Lion might want to eat him.
                To save Homana from a worthless
Mujhar.
                With an inarticulate cry, Kellin
tore free of the guardsman's hand and ran headlong from the tent. He ignored
the shouts of the Mujharan guard and the blurted outcry of his tutor. He tore
free of them all, even of the tent, and clawed his way out of pale shadow into
the brilliance of the day.
                "Lion—" Kellin blurted,
then darted into the crowd even as the man came after him.
                Run—
                He ran.
                Where—?
                He did not know.
                Away from the Lion—
                Away,
                —won't let the Lion eat me— He
tripped and fell, facedown, banging his chin into a cobble hard enough to make
himself bite his lip. Blood filled his mouth; Kellin spat, lurched up to hands
and knees, then pressed the back of one hand against his lower lip to stanch
the bleeding. The hand bled, too; Rogan's bandage had come off. The cut palm
and his cut mouth stung.
                It smells— It did. He had landed
full-force in a puddle of horse urine. His jerkin was soaked with it; the knees
of his leggings, ground into cobbles as well, displayed the telltale color and
damp texture of compressed horse droppings.
                Aghast, Kellin scrambled to his
feet. He was filthy.
                In addition to urine and droppings
weighting his leathers, there was mud, grease, and blood; and he had lost his
belt entirely somewhere in his mad rush to escape the Lion. No one, seeing him
now would predict his heritage or House.
                "Rogan?" He turned,
thinking of his tutor instead of the Lion; recalled the fortune-teller's words,
and how Rogan had reacted- And the watchdogs; where were they? Had he left
everyone behind? Where am—
                Someone laughed. "Poor
boy," said a woman's voice, "have you spoiled all your Summerfair
finery?"
                Startled, he gaped at her. She was
blonde and pretty, in a coarse sort of way, overblown and overpainted. Blue
eyes sparkled with laughter; a smile displayed crooked teeth.
                Humiliated, Kellin stared hard at
the ground and tried to uncurl his toes. I don't want to be here.
                I want to go HOME.
                "What a pretty blush; as well
as I could do, once." Skirts rustled faintly. "Come here."
               
                Reluctantly Kellin glanced up
slantwise, marking the garish colors of her multiple skirts. One hand beckoned.
He ignored it, thinking to turn his back on her, to leave the woman behind, but
the laughter now was muted, replaced with a gentler facade.
                "Come." she said.
"Has happened to others, too."
                She wasn't his granddame, who
welcomed him into her arms when he needed a woman's comfort, but she was a
woman, and she spoke kindly enough now.