Tigana by Guy Kay (novel24 txt) 📕

dive. For afterwards, after she came back from the sea, there was another robe, white, richly embroidered with gold. For when she was to represent, to be the bride come from the sea with a gold ring in her hand for the King.

After she came back. If she came back.

She was almost astonished at her own calm. It was easier actually because she hadn’t seen Brandin since early the day before, as was proper for the rite. Easier too, because of how brilliantly clear all the images seemed to be, how smoothly they had led her here, as if she was choosing or deciding nothing, only following a course set down somewhere else and long ago.

Easier, finally, because she had come to understand and accept, deeply, and with certitude, that she had been born into a world, a life, that would not let her be whole.

Not ever. This was not Finavir, or any such dream-place. This was the only life, the only world, she was to be allowed. And in that life Brandin of Ygrath had come to this peninsula to shape a realm for his son, and Valentin di Tigana had killed Stevan, Prince of Ygrath. This had happened, could not be unmade.

And because of that death, Brandin had come down upon Tigana and her people and torn them out of the known past and the still unfolding pages of the world. And was staying here to seal that truth forever—blank and absolute—in vengeance for his son. This had happened and was happening, and had to be unmade.

So she had come here to kill him. In her father’s name and her mother’s, in Baerd’s name and her own, and for all the lost and ruined people of her home. But on Chiara she had discovered, in grief and pain and glory, that islands were truly a world of their own, that things changed there. She had learned, long ago, that she loved him. And now, in glory and pain and wonder, had been made to understand that he loved her. This had all happened, and she had tried to unmake it, and had failed.

Hers was not a life meant to be made whole. She could see it now so clearly, and in that clarity, that final understanding, Dianora found the wellspring of her calm.

Some lives were unlucky. Some people had a chance to shape their world. It seemed—who could have foretold?— that both these things were true of her.

Of Dianora di Tigana bren Saevar, a sculptor’s daughter; a dark-haired dark-eyed child, gawky and unlovely in her youth, serious and grave, though with flashes of wit and tenderness, beauty coming to her late, and wisdom coming later, too much later. Coming only now.

She took no food, though she’d allowed herself the khav—a last concession to years of habit. She didn’t think that doing so would violate any rituals. She also knew it didn’t really matter. Scelto helped her dress, and then, in silence, he carefully gathered and pinned her hair, binding it in the dark green net that would hold it back from her eyes when she dived.

When he was done she rose and submitted herself, as always before going out into the world, to his scrutiny. The sun was up now, its light flooding the room through the drawn-back curtains. In the distance the growing noise from the harbour could be heard. The crowd must be very large by now, she thought; she didn’t go back to the window to look. She would see them soon enough. There was a quality of anticipation to the steady murmur of sound that gave evidence, more clearly than anything else, of the stakes being played for this morning.

A peninsula. Two different dominions here, if it came to that. Perhaps even, the very Empire in Barbadior, with the Emperor ill and dying as everyone knew. And one last thing more, though only she knew this, and only she would ever know: Tigana. The final, secret coin lying on the gaming table, hidden under the card laid down in the name of love.

‘Will I do?’ she asked Scelto, her voice determinedly casual.

He didn’t follow that lead. ‘You frighten me,’ he said quietly. ‘You look as though you are no longer entirely of this world. As if you have already left us all behind.’

It was uncanny how he could read her. It hurt to have to deceive him, not to have him with her on this last thing, but there was nothing he could have done, no reason to give him grief, and there were risks in the doing so.

‘I’m not at all sure that’s flattering,’ she said, still lightly, ‘but I will attempt to think of it that way.’

He refused to smile. ‘I think you know how little I like this,’ he said.

‘Scelto, Alberico’s entire army will be on the border of Senzio two weeks from now. Brandin has no choice. If they walk into Senzio they will not stop there. This is his very best chance, probably his only chance, to link himself to the Palm in time. You know all this.’ She forced herself to sound a little angry.

It was true, it was all true. But none of it was the truth. The riselka was the truth this morning, that and the dreams she’d dreamt alone here in the saishan through all the years.

‘I know,’ Scelto said, clearly unhappy. ‘Of course I know. And nothing I think matters at all. It is just . . .’

‘Please!’ she said, to stop him before he made her cry. ‘I don’t think I can debate this with you now, Scelto. Shall we go?’ Oh, my dear, she was thinking. Oh, Scelto, you will undo me yet.

He had stopped, flinching at her rebuke. She saw him swallow hard, his eyes lowered. After a moment he looked up again.

‘Forgive me, my lady,’ he whispered. He stepped forward and, unexpectedly, took her hands, pressing them to his lips. ‘It is only for you that I speak. I am