Read Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 for Free Online

wooden beast. Heat flooded him. Humiliation stung his armpits. He
wanted to shout aloud, to send the man from the hall, away from his royal—but
embarrassed—presence; he did not. Because he looked at the man who faced him
and recognition shamed him.
                 His
grandfather smiled. "I know what you are thinking; it is written on your
face. But it is unworthy of you, Aidan… you have as much right to be here, no
matter what the hour, as I do myself."
                 On
the headpiece of the Lion, the bright-eyed raven preened. I have told you that, myself .
                 Aidan
ignored his lir . Embarrassment had
not receded; if anything, he felt worse. What he wanted most was to apologize
and flee— this man is the Mujhar !—but
he managed to stand his ground.
                 After
a moment's hesitation, he wet his lips and spoke quietly. "I may have the
right to be here, but not to disturb your rest."
                 "The
rest of an old man?" Niall's tone was amused. "Ah, well… when you are
as old as I you will understand that sleep does not always come when you want
it to."
                 He
began to feel a little better; the Mujhar was now his grandsire. Wryly, Aidan
smiled. "I know that already."
                 "So."
Niall advanced, holding a fat candle in its cup of gleaming gold. "Why
have you said nothing to me of these dreams? Do you think I have no time for my
grandson?"
                 Aidan
stared at the man who, by right of gods and men, held the Lion Throne of
Homana. He, like Deirdre, was past sixty, yet as undiminished by age. Still
tall, still fit, still unmistakably regal, though no longer youthful. Tawny
hair had silvered, fading like tarnished gilt; Homanan-fair skin had creased,
displaying a delicately drawn fretwork born of years of responsibility; of the
eyes, one was blue and bright as ever, the other, an empty socket couched in
talon scars, was hidden behind a patch.
                 Aidan
drew in a breath, answering his grandfather's question with one of his own.
"How can you have the time? You are the Mujhar."
                 "I
am also a man who sired five children, and who now reaps the benefits of my
children's fertility." Briefly, Niall eyed the raven perched upon his
throne. "You I know better than the others, since you live here in Homana,
but there are times I fully believe I know you least of all."
                 Aidan
smiled. "It is nothing, grandsire."
                 Niall
arched a brow.
                 "Nothing,"
Aidan repeated.
                 "Ah."
Niall smiled faintly. "Then it pains me to know my grandson feels he
cannot confide in me."
                 Guilt
flickered deep inside. "No grandsire—'Tisn't that. 'Tis only…" Aidan
shrugged. "There is nothing to speak about."
                 Niall's
gaze was steady. "I am neither a fool, nor blind—though I have but one eye
I still see."
                 Heat
coursed through Aidan's flesh. The sweat of shame dotted a thin line above his
lips. He made a futile gesture. "They are just—dreams. Nothing more."
                 "Then
I must assume the servants are embroidering the truth." The tone was very
quiet, but compelling nonetheless. "I think it is time you spoke. If not
to Aileen or to Brennan, then to me. I have some stake in this."
                 Aidan
clenched his teeth briefly. " Dreams ,
nothing more—as anyone dreams. Fragments of sleep. Thoughts all twisted up,
born of many things."
                 The
Mujhar of Homana forbore to sit in his throne, usurped by a black-eyed raven
who, as a lir , had more claim than
any human, Cheysuli-bred or not. Or so Teel told them. Instead, Niall sat down
upon the dais, setting down the candle cup with its wax and smoking flame.
"Tell me about them."
                 Aidan
rubbed damp