Read Online Dying of the Light by George R.R. Martin - Free Book Online Page A

his lover, and more. Property and slave, she is that too, and gift. She is his gift to Ironjade Gathering, with her he bought his highnames, yes. She must have children if he orders, whether she wishes or no. She must take Garse as lover also, whether she wishes or no. If Jaan dies in duel with a man of a holdfast other than Ironjade, a Braith or a Redsteel, Gwen passes to that man like baggage, property—to become his
betheyn,
or a mere
eyn-kethi
if the victor already wears jade-and-silver. If Jaan dies of natural causes, or in duel with another Ironjade, Gwen goes to Garse. Her will in the matter is no concern. Who cares that she hates him? Not the Kavalars. And when Garsey dies, eh? Well, when that time comes, she is an
eyn-kethi,
holdfast breeder, degraded forever, free to use for any of the
kethi
.
Kethi
meaning holdfast-brothers, more or less, the men of the family. Ironjade Gathering is all huge family, thousands and thousands of family, and any can have her. What did she call Jaan, husband? No. Jailer. That is what he is, he and Garse, loving jailers maybe if you think that such can love truly as you or I would. Jaantony honors our Gwen, and should, for he is high-Ironjade now, she is his
betheyn
-gift, and if she dies or leaves him, he is fre-Ironjade, an old man, mocked, empty-armed, without voice in council. But he slaves her, does not love her, and she is years after Avalon now, older and wiser, and now she knows.” Ruark had delivered the last in a breathless fury, his lips drawn tight.
    Dirk hesitated. “He doesn’t love her, then?”
    “As you love your property, so a highbond and his
betheyn
. It is a tight bond, jade-and-silver, never to be broken, but it is a bond of obligation and possession. No love. That is elsewhere, if the Kavalars have it at all, to be found in chosen-brother, the shield and soulmate and lover and warrior twin, the ever-loyal bringer-of-pleasure and taker-of-blows and lifter-of-pain, the lifetime strongbond.”
    “Teyn,”
Dirk said, a little numbly, his mind racing ahead.
    “Teyn!”
Ruark nodded. “The Kavalars, all violent as they are, have great poetry. Much celebrates the
teyn,
the bond of iron-and-glowstone, none the jade-and-silver.”
    Things fell smoothly into place. “You are saying,” Dirk began, “that she and Jaan don’t love each other, that Gwen is all but a slave. Yet she doesn’t leave?”
    Ruark’s chubby face was flushed. “Leave? Utter nonsense! They would only force her back. A highbond must keep and protect his
betheyn
. And kill the one who tries to steal her.”
    “And she sent the jewel to me . . .”
    “Gwen talks to me, I know. What other hope has she? The Kavalars? Jaantony has twice killed in duels. No Kavalar would touch her, and what good if they did? Me? Am I a hope?” His soft hands swept down his body, and he dismissed himself in contempt. “You, t’Larien, you are Gwen’s hope. You who owe her. You who loved her once.”
    Dirk heard his own voice, as if from far away. “I still love her,” he said.
    “Good. I think, you know, that Gwen . . . though she would never say it, yet I think . . . she too still feels. As she did. As she never has for Jaantony Riv Wolf high-Ironjade Vikary.”
    The drink, the odd green wine, had touched him more than he would have imagined. Only one glass, a single tall glass, and strange the room ran around him, and Dirk t’Larien held himself upright with an effort and heard impossible things and began to wonder. Ruark made no sense, he thought, but then he made too much sense. He explained everything, really, and it was all so shining clear, and clear too what Dirk must do. Or was it? The room wavered, grew dark and then light again, dark and then light, and Dirk was one second very sure and the next not sure at all. What must he do? Something, something for Gwen. He must find out the truth of things, and then . . .
    He raised a hand to his forehead. Beneath the dangling locks of gray-brown hair his