Kushiels Scion

Page 12

 

  "Surely the Queen would not deny her kinsman the comfort of his own home," Mavros remarked, sounding eminently sensible. "Not after he has been given insult under her very roof!" He laid a hand on my shoulder, still smiling. "The Shahrizai do not countenance such treatment of their kin. "

  Gilot eyed me dubiously. "Given insult? Is that so?"

  "Yes," I said. It was, though not for the reasons Mavros thought. Still, it felt good to have an ally at my side, one who understood how to negotiate the treacherous shoals of Court intrigue with effortless ease. I sighed. "Gilot, let it be. I'm fine. The Queen's chirurgeon will attest to it. I don't want any fuss. I just want to go home, that's all. "

  "All right, Imri. " His expression softened. "Let me find Hugues, and we'll fetch your things. Stay put and I'll come for you. " Patting his pockets, Gilot grinned. "Time enough, any road! I've precious little left to wager. "

  As Gilot plunged into the crowd, Mavros steered me toward the colonnade, sensing my discomfort. "Here," he said. "Walk with me. " We strolled together. Away from the sound of rattling dice, I felt my head clear.

  "Thank you," I said to him.

  He shrugged. " 'Tis nothing. " He gave me a sidelong glance. "Your retainer is familiar with you. Is he a lover?"

  Heat rose, scorching my cheeks. "Gilot?"

  "No, then. " Mavros laughed softly. "Ah, well… Imri, is that what you are called?"

  "Sometimes. " I drew away from him.

  "Forgive me. " Mavros halted, turning his hands outward. Everything changed; his tone, his demeanor, all of it turning somber. "Cousin Imriel, you are the last person on earth I wish to offend. I forget that you were not raised as I was. What you have suffered, I cannot begin to guess. I spoke out of turn. Can you forgive me for it?"

  I studied his face. He let me measure his expression. I did, and found no trace of a lie in it. Whatever his reasons, he was sincere. I nodded, slowly.

  "Good. " Mavros blew out his breath in a sigh of relief, shaking his braided head and grinning at me. "So it's girls for you, then, is it?"

  I thought about the Thirteen Houses of the Night Court, and I thought about Katherine Friote, and the scent of her flesh, like a sun-warmed meadow. The memory was overlaid with the odor of the zenana, the fecund stench of its stagnant pool. And still, all of it stirred desire. Something in my throat grew tight.

  "Yes," I said thickly. "Someday. "

  "You have desires you fear?" Mavros asked.

  All I could do was nod.

  He smiled, nodding in return. "Don't be afraid," he said. "There are reasons, and Kushiel is merciful. " Once again, he laid his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Think on our offer, cousin. It yet stands. It would be good for you to know your kin. "

  With that, he left me.

  I watched him go, swaggering with insouciant grace, his thumbs hooked onto his belt. Left alone with my thoughts, I walked slowly along the colonnade, accompanied only by Ysandre's worried guardsman.

  In time, Gilot and Hugues came for me, and I dispatched my escort with a terse message of gratitude to the Queen. If Ysandre learned what had transpired earlier, she would know why I left; if not, well, it was true. I was on the mend, and there was no reason to stay at the Palace throughout my convalescence. If not for Alais, I might have left sooner.

  There was some commotion upon our arrival at the townhouse, though not as much as I feared. Phèdre took one look at me and ordered me back to bed. I obeyed without arguing, feeling bone-weary.

  She got the story out of me that evening, after I had slept for a few hours and eaten a light dinner. There are some things it was easier to tell Phèdre than anyone else, and this was one of them. It seemed almost silly now, and I felt foolish telling it, even to her. Still, when I closed my eyes, I could still see the look on Sidonie's face, stricken with the utter, terrified certainty that I was murdering her sister. Phèdre understood. I didn't have to tell her that it had hurt, or why.

  "I'm sorry, love," she said when I had finished. "I'm so sorry. "

  I shrugged, sitting propped against pillows. "I shouldn't blame her, not really. She saw what she saw. " Resting my chin on my knees, I smiled a little. "She was brave, actually, shouting like that. Like you did in the zenana that time, remember?"

  "I remember," Phèdre said quietly. "But I had cause. "

  We were both silent, then, remembering. It had been one of the times I had been sent to attend Jagun; afterward, when a few of the Chowati women were tormenting me. There was no reason for it, save that cruelty begets cruelty. Phèdre does not raise her voice often, but it had cracked like a whip that day. It was the moment, I think, when the women of the zenana began to believe that perhaps the gods of Terre d'Ange were not as soft as they had reckoned.

  Thinking about the zenana, I remembered the rattle and cast of dice in the Hall of Games, and Mavros Shahrizai coming to my aid. "Phèdre?" I asked. "Has Duc Faragon pursued his request to send some of the Shahrizai to summer in Montrève?"

  "How did you know?" She cocked her head, regarding me. "He sent a letter the other week. I was waiting until you felt better to discuss it. We can speak of it later, Imri. You need to sleep now. There's time enough to think on it. "

  "I know," I said. "But I don't need to think. If you're willing, I'd like them to come. "

  Phèdre looked surprised. I hadn't told her about the Hall of Games. "Are you sure?"

  I nodded. "I'm sure. "

  "All right," she said, bending to kiss my cheek. "We'll talk about it. " As she straightened, a glimmer of deep amusement lit her eyes. For some reason, it made me think about my vigil on the Longest Night, reminding me that darkness fades, and there is reason in life for rejoicing. "This," she said, "ought to be interesting. "

  Chapter Nine

  Winter gave way to spring, and I turned fifteen. My favorite gift on the occasion came from Joscelin, who commissioned a pair of daggers for me modeled after the Cassiline style. With Phèdre's aid, he even contrived to have scabbards made to fit my rhinoceros-hide belt, which was one of my most prized possessions.

  The Queen hosted a small private dinner in my honor, which might have been pleasant, if not for the awkwardness. Sidonie and I were polite to one another. The incident was never discussed. I felt worst for Alais, who didn't wholly understand why her favorite cousin had begun avoiding her. Perceptive though she was, there were some things she was simply too young to grasp.

  "I wish you would visit more," she complained. "You're better now, aren't you?"

  "Much better," I said. The lingering aftereffects of my sickness had vanished at last, leaving me thin but hale. "I'm sorry, Alais. I've been busy, that's all. "

  She wrinkled her nose. "Doing what?"

  "Practicing," I said. "Fighting villains. "

  That earned me a look of disgust. Alais had a child's keen sense of when she was being humored. "You will, you know. "

  "Will what?" I asked.

  "Fight villains. " She nodded. "I dreamed it. You were helping a man with two faces. "

  I almost laughed, but I didn't. Alais had dreamed true things before, though never anything so fanciful. Small things, usually, that came to pass. "Two faces? Did he have a face on the back of his head?"

  "No. " Alais shook her head. "He didn't wear them both at once. "

  "Ah," I said. "He wore a mask, then?"

  "No," she said patiently. "He had two faces. And you were older. "

  "Why was I helping him?" I asked. "Was he a friend?"

  She considered the question. "One of him was. "

  Though I questioned her further, I got no more from her on the subject of the man with two faces; instead, she extracted in turn a promise from me to visit before we left for Montrève. I gave it gladly enough, though I could not help glancing at Sidonie as I did. There was a pink flush on her cheeks as she met my eyes, but she held them as coolly as ever.

 
It was galling, but at least it was a familiar annoyance.

  Once the ordeal of my natality was behind me, I set my sights on Montrève. Summer could not arrive soon enough for me that year. I was tired of the City, and yearned for the freedom of the countryside. I longed for open air, to scramble over the mountains and swim in the brisk streams. I wanted to see the puppies from last year's litter, grown into young dogs, long-limbed and gawky. I wanted to see Charles Friote and measure my growth against his; I wanted to boast to Katherine how I had endured Elua's vigil on the Longest Night. I wanted to be surrounded by people whose loyalty was as solid and dependable as the earth itself; villagers, country folk, the manor household.

  And of course, there were the Shahrizai, who were none of those things.

  They were coming. The matter had been discussed at length. Joscelin, predictably, misliked the idea. Although he would never say it, betimes I think he would not mind if the province of Kusheth fell into the sea, taking every last member of House Shahrizai with it.

  "I made a promise," Phèdre said to him. "Would you have me renege on it?"

  He gritted his teeth, and I knew he was thinking about a diamond strung on a frayed velvet cord and a note reading, I keep my promises. "Unless her kin have lied, this has nothing to do with Melisande. "

  "It does," she said. "I promised to let Imriel make his own choices. "

  "Unto the point of folly?" Joscelin asked. Phèdre raised her brows at him, and he had the grace to look abashed. "All right," he grumbled. "But they're not bringing their own guards to be lodged at Montrève. "

  "They're not asking to," she said dryly. "It seems they have confidence in the ability of the Queen's Champion to ensure their safety. "

  It wasn't a real argument, though. They had made up their quarrel over the Longest Night, for which I was glad, having been the cause of it. When Joscelin looked mortified at the thought of defending the Shahrizai, Phèdre laughed and kissed him until he forgot his concerns, and all was well between them.

  Afterward, she consulted Ysandre, that the arrangement might be made openly with no hint of intrigue. I daresay the Queen shared Joscelin's misgivings, but she had accepted the Shahrizais' oaths of loyalty, and there was little she could do without giving insult. So it was decided, and letters flew back and forth from the City of Elua to Kusheth, until all was agreed.

  They would not come until midsummer, and I was just as glad. I wanted Montrève to myself for a while. I chafed my way through the long spring, awaiting word of Drustan's arrival. After the Cruarch of Alba had returned, we would be free to take our leave of the City. It seemed later than usual this year; although perhaps that was due to my own impatience.

  At last, the red sails of his flagship were sighted, and the City made ready to receive him. Since their marriage, it has always been a joyous occasion. While that had not changed, there was a measure of reserve. Not among the D'Angeline commonfolk, who adored Drustan mab Necthana. They never forgot that he and his Cruithne, with the aid of the Dalriada, saved our nation in its direst hour, falling upon the forces of Waldemar Selig.

  Among the peers of the realm it was different. They muttered about the line of succession in Alba, and the imbalance of power that might ensue. And they muttered about how to redress the inequity, and the line of succession here in Terre d'Ange. Although my thoughts were fixed on Montrève, I kept my ears open as we attended the procession, and I heard the muttering. Not a lot, but here and there it was evident.

  Cruithne half-breeds.

  That was the term that made me break into a cold sweat, for it was the one they used for Sidonie and Alais; especially Sidonie, for she was the Dauphine. I shouted and clapped and threw petals with the others as Drustan entered the gates, and wondered if she knew. I guessed that she did, and felt sorry for her. In some ways, perhaps, her lot was no easier than mine.

  If Sidonie felt the disapproval, she never showed it. It was a piece of irony. When impetuous Alais flung herself on her father and Drustan caught her up with a smile, setting her on the pommel of his saddle, everyone cheered. How not? Though her features were pure Cruithne, she was a lovable child—and she was not the Queen's Heir. Sidonie, though… she was so much the mirror of her mother, from her upright carriage to her clean-cut profile, her chin raised in cool defiancé. And yet it earned her few cheers. The commonfolk liked her well enough, after a fashion. They remembered Ysandre's ride toward the walls of the City of Elua, when Percy de Somerville had sought to make it his own. They remembered how she faced down an entire army through sheer courage.

  So did the peers, who muttered. Because Ysandre was pure-blooded D'Angeline, and Sidonie was not, and there were powerful people in several of the Great Houses of Terre d'Ange who mistrusted her for it, who despised the fact that the sacred bloodlines of Elua and his Companions had been rendered impure. Because some of them supported Percy de Somerville's goals, although they would never say it aloud in earshot of anyone loyal to the Queen.

  I saw them glance my way, sometimes.

  Not often, and not for long. The shadow of my mother's infamy hung over me. But I saw the speculation in their eyes, and I knew they were asking themselves, which is less tolerable? Melisande's son, or a Pictish half-breed?

  Thus far, the answer yet favored Sidonie. After all, my mother's machinations nearly gave Terre d'Ange into the hands of Waldemar Selig. An alliance through marriage with Alba, even one that favored the Cruithne over time, was preferrable to conquest by Skaldia. Still, I hated knowing anyone thought it.