Kushiel's Justice (14 page)

The lover showers kisses on the face of the beloved . . .

Elua, but it hurt.

The Queen clapped her hands together. “Let us celebrate!”

More than anything, I wished that day that there were no festivities following the wedding rites. I wished we could have departed immediately afterward; for Alba, for Montrève, for Jebe-Barkal. Anywhere but here. But this was Terre d’Ange and because the Queen had decreed it, there must be a fête, lavish and interminable. The silk pavilions must be erected, this time filled with long tables lined with chairs, laid with white linen and set with gleaming dishes.

Servants circulated with flagons of cool white wine. The sun crept across the sky with infinitesimal slowness. I stood sweating and drinking wine, receiving the well-wishes of those guests not deemed sufficiently important to attend the dinner. Dorelei stayed at my side, overwhelmed by the unrelenting attention.

At last the lower rim of the sun’s disk slipped below the edge the western horizon and the worst of the day’s heat began to dissipate. Palace servants began lighting the lamps and bringing forth an endless stream of platters.

I remember very little of that meal, save for the tremendous effort it took to remain courteous; though in response to what, I couldn’t have said. I heard words that held no meaning for me and felt my lips move in reply, uttering equally meaningless pleasantries. I laughed politely at jests and clapped politely at toasts. The food I ate had no taste; the wine I drank had no effect. Inside, I felt empty.

Afterward, there was music and dancing. I danced with my new bride. My wife. Her fingers trembled in mine and her wide-set gaze searched my face, filled with uncertainty. I smiled reassuringly at her.

I danced with Alais, who had little to say to me.

I danced with Phèdre, who said quietly, “I’m proud of you.”

I danced with Amarante, and as I did, I caught a glimpse of Maslin in his lieutenant’s attire offering Sidonie a glass of cordial, the lamplight catching his fair hair. For the first time that night, I felt a spark of anger in my breast. “How long do you think before she takes him into her bed?” I asked in a low voice.

Amarante followed my gaze. “Longer than you think, my lord,” she murmured. “And not as long as I’d like.”

“Jealous?” I asked grimly.

“No.” She gave me a long, level look. “I think she’s going to hurt him quite badly.”

“He’s a grown man, let him take his chances.” For some reason, her calm, reasonable words fanned my anger. “Name of Elua, Amarante! What about you? Do you care so little for her that you don’t even fear getting hurt?”

Her green eyes flashed with rare emotion. “I care a great deal, actually. Love’s not always a raging tempest, Imriel. It can be a safe harbor, too. I value Sidonie’s friendship and trust above all else. I take neither lightly and I do not expect to lose them.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just—”

“I know,” Amarante said.

“A safe harbor,” I mused. “Surely even your waters must get ruffled at times.”

“Oh, well.” A smile touched her generous lips. “If Sidonie has her way, you may find out someday. She can be persuasive when she chooses, and she does have a very large bed.”

It made me laugh, and it very nearly made me cry. It was a good deal easier feeling empty inside. The song ended and I released Amarante. “Take care of her?” I whispered. “Please?”

She nodded. “I’ll try.”

And then, because it would have been rude not to, I danced with Sidonie on my wedding night. There was no awkwardness as there had been on her birthday. We had gone too far beyond it. I bowed and extended my hand, and she took it without a word.

It didn’t need words.

I remembered them all, all the words we’d spoken. The first time, that terrifying rush of intimacy upon entering her, crossing the forbidden threshold together. Her voice, wondering and bemused in the aftermath, legs clamped around my hips.
Why do we fit so well together?

I hadn’t known then and I didn’t know now.

I knew only that we did.

We danced without speaking, without exchanging a glance. And when the musicians swung into a new tune, we stood for the merest space of time, no more than a heartbeat, heads bowed against one another. Then Sidonie pulled away from me and I escorted her back to the pavilion.

Maslin of Lombelon was there, waiting. He was playing the faithful guard and companion, but his body was taut and his nostrils flared like a dog’s catching a strange scent. He took a step toward me, bristling.

I stood my ground. “Maslin, don’t.”

Another time, any other time, I’d have welcomed it. I wasn’t the fear-haunted boy he’d met in an orchard years ago, threatened at the point of a pruning hook. I’d stood before the onslaught of a Caerdicci mercenary army and I’d seen men die by my own hand. I had a whole new set of nightmares to haunt my sleep.

“Traitor’s son!” Maslin spat under his breath. “Can you not leave her be on your own wedding night?”

“It was only a courtesy,” I said wearily. It was a piece of irony that he, of all people, could throw that epithet at me. But then, his father had died a hero in the end. Beyond him, I could see Amarante murmuring somewhat with a questioning expression, and Sidonie shaking her head and turning away from the scene. “And I’m only a bridegroom. Let it be, Maslin.”

He looked uncertain. I didn’t care. It was late. Drustan’s men and the Cruithne honor guard had broken out the
uisghe
and were beginning to sing a complex harmony, urged on by the D’Angelines. Dorelei—my wife—appeared lonely and at a loss amidst the gathering. The Daughter of the Grove had long since retired. None of the women of her family were in attendance, having chosen to wait for the Alban rites.

Be kind to her
, Phèdre had said.

I walked past Maslin, past everyone, to my wife’s side. Dorelei looked at me with gratitude. “Shall we have a last dance?” I asked softly. “Or shall we retire?”

“I don’t want to stay here any longer,” she whispered back.

I took her hand. “Then we won’t.”

A group of revelers followed us into the Palace, tossing the last of the flower petals, shouting out good wishes and more bawdy jests. I led Dorelei through the halls to my newly appointed chambers and closed the door in their faces, bolting it firmly.

We were alone.

Husband and wife.

Our rooms had been strewn about with flowers and all the lamps were lit. The Serenissiman vase stood on a sideboard, filled with roses. I remembered Sidonie and Amarante with their arms full of irises and swallowed hard. “Are you tired?” I asked Dorelei. “We needn’t . . .”

“No.” Her face was set and determined. “I want to do this.”

“All right.” I smiled at her. “Come here, then.” I led her into the bedchamber and sat on the edge of the bed, holding her hands. “ ’Tis awkward, is it not?” I said gently. “The whirlwind of courtship, the two of us knowing so little of one another. Tell me what pleases you.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I don’t . . . I don’t know.”

It startled me. “You’re a virgin?”

Dorelei nodded, her flush deepening. “It seemed wiser to wait. I couldn’t risk getting with child, not with Alba’s succession at stake and Terre d’Ange’s interest in it. We’re not like you, you know.”

“No, I know,” I murmured.

“They took me to Eisheth’s temple today,” she mused. “So strange! I lit a candle to her and said the prayer they taught me. Do you think our children will share her gift?”

“I imagine so,” I said. “Alais and . . . Sidonie do. The gifts of Blessed Elua and his Companions run strong in the Great Houses.”

“Like beauty?” Dorelei asked gravely, and I nodded. She plucked an errant flower petal from my hair. “You know, you frighten me a little. Here, it seems even beauty can be a weapon.”

“I won’t hurt you,” I said. “I promise.”

Her gaze above the dots of blue woad was dark and deep, and I wondered what she saw with it. They dreamed true dreams, the daughters of Necthana’s line. But Dorelei only shook her head, her hair black and shining beneath the wreath of wilting stephanotis flowers that adorned it, held in place by pearl-headed pins. “I’m not ignorant, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve read your . . . sacred texts.” Her flush returned. “I do read, you know. But when you ask me what pleases me, the truth is, I do not know.”

I reached up to undo the pins, lifting the wreath from her head. “Then let us find out, shall we?”

“I would like that,” Dorelei whispered.

I made love to her, slowly and gently. Kindly. I kissed her until her body softened, trusting, and she returned my kisses with ardor. I removed her clothing piece by piece, tasting her brown skin. I removed my own clothing and held myself very still, letting her tentative hands and lips and tongue explore my body. She was eager in some ways, shy in others. Her fingers trembled, wrapped around the shaft of my phallus.

“Will it fit inside me?” she asked in wonderment. “Truly?”

Why do we fit so well together?

“Truly,” I assured her. I spread her thighs and performed the
languisement
on her, concentrating on Naamah’s Pearl until Dorelei gasped with surprise and clutched at my hair. And then I eased my way up her body. Patience. I fitted the head of my phallus inside her and heard her gasp again. I thrust my hips forward, slow and gentle.

There was an obstruction.

And then there wasn’t.

“Oh, slowly, slowly, please!” she gasped.

I didn’t want
slowly
. I wanted to bury myself in her, deeper and deeper, I wanted to feel her loins rocking against mine. I wanted her arms stretched tight above her head, or at least her fingernails buried in my buttocks, urging me onward. I wanted to feel her heels drumming against the backs of my thighs, I wanted her uttering sweet, urgent obscenities in my ear.

I wanted Sidonie.

Patience
, Phèdre had said.

I propped myself on my arms. I made slow, patient love to my wife.

I felt Dorelei give a little shudder inside, her inner walls rippling. She made a noise deep in her throat, half pain, half pleasure. The sound made my testes contract. I hissed through my teeth and spent myself in her. She had lit a candle to Eisheth. I flooded her womb with my seed, wondering whether it would take root, praying in my guilty heart that it didn’t.

Afterward, I held her and stroked her hair until she fell asleep, her head pillowed on my shoulder, her breathing slow and even. It should have been a comforting sound.

It wasn’t.

F
OURTEEN

T
HUS BEGAN MY NEW LIFE
as the husband of Dorelei mab Breidaia and a Prince of Alba.

I detested it.

Even if it hadn’t been for Sidonie, I daresay I wouldn’t have been
happy
, despite Phèdre’s wish for me. This marriage was a cage I’d entered voluntarily, but it was a cage nonetheless. I felt trapped; trapped into enforced intimacy, trapped into a life I didn’t want. There would have been an element of confinement under any circumstances, but I could have borne it with better grace if I hadn’t had a taste of the freedom and happiness I might have enoyed otherwise. Now I had, and I detested the prison of my new life with a thoroughness that was profound and unrelenting.

Every day, waking to find Dorelei in my bed, I fought against a black tide of bitterness that rose in me. I forced tender words to fall from my lips. I was gentle, I was kind.

I tried very, very hard not to hate her.

Elua, it was unfair! Unfair to me, and unfair to her most of all. Dorelei was a nice young woman, good-hearted and sweet. It was no fault of hers that
nice
wasn’t what I’d desired. And unfortunately, she was perceptive enough to sense my withdrawal and struggle as the days passed.

For a mercy, Dorelei attributed it to the travails I’d undergone. It was yet another piece of irony. Although I’d been the one to plant the thought in her head, for once in my life, my turmoil had nothing to do with Darsšanga, nothing to do with old wounds. I wasn’t wrestling with cravings I despised. For once in my young, tumultuous life, I knew perfectly well what I wanted.

I wanted Sidonie.

And I couldn’t have her.

It drove me mad to be under the same roof with her, albeit a very large roof. I hated living in the Palace, surrounded by people—guards, peers, delegates, supplicants. Someone was always watching. When Firdha the
ollamh
departed for Alba, Drustan shuffled his men around and assigned her honor guard to attend Dorelei and me. It made her happy—Kinadius, the youngest, was a childhood friend. It made me feel more trapped than ever. I watched them laugh and jest together, remembering how he’d entertained thoughts of courting her.

I wished he would. I wished he’d seduce her and take her off my hands. Albans weren’t D’Angeline, but they were easy enough in matters of marital fidelity. Oh, but no! Not in this instance, not with the damnable succession at stake.

Betimes I thought the nights were the hardest. A year ago, I wouldn’t have thought so. It wasn’t long before Dorelei lost most of her shyness in the bedchamber. She was like the Siovalese country girls Eamonn and I had bedded that summer in Montrève, earnest and simple in her ardor. Phèdre was right. If Dorelei mab Breidaia ever gazed into the dark mirror of her own desires, nothing would have gazed back at her.

A year ago, I would have been glad, even if it left me with a vague melancholy yearning for
more
. I would have accepted it with resolve.

But everything was different now.

It made me angry and unreasonable. It made me want to be cruel; to hurt her, to force her past her boundaries. It would have been heresy and I didn’t. But betimes the desire showed in my face or in a careless gesture, when I gripped her flesh hard enough to bruise. And then I would see the fear surface in her eyes and I would apologize to her and hate myself. Worst of all, Dorelei would apologize in turn and try to soothe me, gentle and understanding. It only made me hate myself more.

Still, when all was said and done, I think the days were worse; at least the days when I saw Sidonie.

Elua! Why does love come with such deep barbs? It hurt, more than I knew it could. I tried to tell myself that a year was not a very long time, that things would be different in Alba, that Sidonie was my seventeen-year-old cousin whom I had never much liked anyway.

None of it did any good.

Once you cross a threshold, there is no turning back.

I thought, in those days, about my mother’s letters; about what she’d written of Phèdre.
I will tell you this, my son: I
knew
her. Better than anyone; better than anyone else.
I hadn’t understood those words when I read them, not truly. I understood them better now. For better or for worse, I
knew
Sidonie. We had bared a portion of our souls to one another, and found, against all odds, an unexpected fit.

Or at least I had.

I wished I could be sure, absolutely sure of her. Sure that her feelings wouldn’t change, sure that this was more than a passing fancy. At times, I
was
sure. And then doubt would creep in and I would wonder. It would all be so much easier to bear if there was no doubt. Easier to be kind and gentle, easier to let the days pass in the certain knowledge of the reward that lay in wait. Instead, I was tormented, swinging wildly from doubt to surety.

All in all, it made me unbearable.

I wanted to
see
her, to hold her, to pin her down and make savage love to her. But if anything, Sidonie was avoiding me. When I had the chance, I cornered Amarante and begged her to find a way. She gave me a long, unreadable look and made no promises. A few days later, though, Mavros came to fetch me for a visit.

“I thought you could use an outing with a kinsman,” he said blithely, adding to Dorelei, “You don’t mind, my lady, do you?”

Her voice was quiet. “No, of course not.”

My heart soared. I was so glad, I kissed her farewell with genuine good spirits. On the ride to Lord Sacriphant’s townhouse, I badgered Mavros. “It’s a pretext, isn’t it? Tell me it’s a pretext! Did you manage to spirit Sidonie there?”

“Yes to the first, no to the second,” he muttered. “Elua! Remind me never to fall in love.”

My soaring heart faltered. “What, then?”

Mavros eyed me darkly. “Nothing you’ll like.”

He was right. It was Amarante who was waiting at the townhouse, her expression somber. I folded my arms. “Tell me.”

“I have a gift for you, your highness.” She handed me a small leather-bound book trimmed in gilt. “From Sidonie.”

I opened it and glanced at the frontispiece. The book was a collection of letters exchanged by a pair of famous lovers, Remuel L’Oragen of Azzalle and Claire LeDoux of Namarre. They’d met in their youth and been parted by their feuding Houses, carrying on a love affair through letters that spanned a score of years, wedding at last in the middle of their lives. “I see.” I closed the book with a snap. “Very apt. Is that all?”

Amarante’s face was a touch pale. “Sidonie thinks it would be best if you don’t see one another, at least for a while. With her mother’s blessing, she’s decided to make a pilgrimage to Naamah’s shrine in Namarre and abide there for a few weeks.”

“Praying for guidance?” I asked coldly.

“Mayhap.” Her tone was even. “Prince Imriel, you’re behaving badly, and Sidonie is miserable. She’s quarrelled with Alais, who is very upset and knows a good deal more than one might wish. And then there is the matter of Dorelei, who is becoming manifestly unhappy and deserves better from all of us, myself included. I think it is for the best. And I think it would be for the best if you found a way to remove yourself from the Court before Sidonie’s return.”

“Oh, so says the oracle of Naamah!” Bitterness made me cruel. “You know, Amarante, you may play at the role of priestess, but whoever your mother may be, you’re naught but a Court attendant enjoying a taste of royal favoritism.”

She didn’t react as I expected. “ ’Tis hard to lose the habits of a lifetime, my lord.”

I blinked, uncomprehending.

“You do know, of course,” Mavros drawled, lounging on a couch, “that Amarante was trained from birth to be a Priestess of Naamah and the presumptive heir to her mother’s position. She’s already served as an acolyte. Why, she was a mere year away from taking her vows when she accepted the invitation to become a lowly Court attendant instead!”

“You were? You did? Why?” I blinked again. “And how do
you
know?” I added to Mavros.

“Because I thought this was more important,” Amarante said.

Mavros clicked his tongue. “Imri, Imri! Everyone knows no priest nor priestess of Naamah may swear full vows without spending a year in her service. And
I
know because I asked.” He sighed. “It sweetens the bitter pill of rejection to hear, ‘Oh, Lord Mavros, if ever I am freed from the inexplicable clutches of the heir to the realm, I will dedicate myself to Naamah’s service and you shall be my first patron!’ ”

“You said that?” I asked Amarante, feeling stupid.

Her lips twitched. “No.”

“She might, though,” Mavros offered in a helpful tone. “Part of it’s true.”

I shoved Mavros’ booted feet off the couch and sat down, burying my head in my hands, still clutching the book of letters. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because you bade me take care of her,” Amarante said quietly. “And I am trying.”

“Because you’re being an ass,” Mavros added. “Remind me—”

“Never to fall in love,” I muttered. “Truly, don’t.”

“Imriel.” Amarante sighed. “Believe it or not, I
am
trying to help. You need time apart, sooner rather than later. You need to treat the wedding vows you made with respect, or recant them and make atonement.”

“I know,” I said. “I know, I know!”

“Then do it,” she said simply.

“Hear, hear,” Mavros added.

I raised my head to glare at him. “Why do you care?”

“Oh, mayhap because the honor of House Shahrizai is at stake.” He prodded my legs with one booted toe. “Family is family. It works both ways, cousin. If you wanted to bring this whole mess crashing down on your heads a-purpose, most of us would stand by you. But it seems the young lady has chosen a wiser course, and I’d rather see her wishes honored for all our sakes.” Mavros rubbed his chin. “Strong-willed little minx, isn’t she?”

“So it seems,” I said shortly.

Mavros grinned at me. “You’re put out. Come on, let’s get you good and drunk and go to the Night Court. Trust me, it will help.” He swung himself to his feet and bowed to Amarante. “My thanks, my lady. I’ll take him from here.”

She knit her brows. “Don’t let him—”

“No, no.” Mavros shook his head. “I know what I’m doing.”

“All right.” Amarante hesitated. “This wasn’t an easy choice for Sidonie,” she said to me. “Please don’t make it harder.”

I looked away, fiddling with the book she’d given me. “This doesn’t mean she wants us to wait twenty years, I hope.”

“Oh, I think one will suffice.” An unlikely lilt of humor warmed her voice. “By Naamah’s grace, I hope so!”

It made me smile despite myself. “Are you that eager to be freed, my lady?”

“No.” Amarante stooped and kissed me. “Not really.”

Mavros watched her go, eyes narrowed, tapping his bottom lip in thought. “Elua’s Balls! You know, I really do like that girl. That hair, that mouth. What I wouldn’t give to see her on her knees, wearing nothing but a leather collar, sucking my—” He shook himself. “What a damnable waste. Whose idea was it to throw her into Sidonie’s bed?”

My temples ached. “Phèdre’s, I think.”

“Phèdre’s!” He shot me a startled look.

“Don’t ask. I don’t know. She has a knack for that sort of thing.” I shoved the little book of letters inside my shirt. “Come on, let’s go out.”

True to his word, Mavros got me good and and drunk in Night’s Doorstep. When he bade the carriage-driver to take us to Valerian House, I didn’t object. In a haze of wine and pent-up emotion, I was ready, filled with residual resentment and self-pity, and too drunk to care about my demons. If I couldn’t have
who
I wanted, at least I could have
what
I wanted. In the receiving room, wavering on my feet, I began to tell the Dowayne my desires.

“No, no.” Mavros shook his head at me. “We’re not here for that.”

I stared at him. “We’re not?”

Didier Vascon, the Dowayne, bowed low. “Your private Showing awaits, my lords,” he murmured. “All has been arranged.”

“Oh,” I said foolishly. “When did you . . . ?”

Mavros clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I have my ways. Violent pleasures and an angry heart are a deadly mixture, cousin mine, and yours is too angry by far. Betimes ’tis better to let the eyes feast until the heart is purged lest you do harm unwitting. Come and see.”

I followed, stumbling, as the Dowayne led us down hushed corridors to a private viewing chamber. It was warm and dimly lit, and hung all about with erotic tapestries. There was a small staging area with a pair of reclining couches placed before it. Four adepts waited there, still as statues. Two women, two men. One pair was from Valerian House, kneeling
abeyante
with lowered heads. One pair was from Mandrake House, faces hidden behind domino masks. The man held a brass-tipped flogger, thongs trailing over the top of one glossy boot. The woman held a tawse paddle with a slit down the middle. From time to time, she twitched it against her thigh. Every time she did, one of the Valerian adepts whimpered.

Mavros stretched his length on one of the couches with a luxuriant sigh, folding his hands behind his head. “A pair to attend,” he said to Didier Vascon. “Unclad, if you please. And mayhap a fortified wine?”

“Of course, my lord.” The Dowayne bowed low, beckoning with a subtle gesture.

A pair of adepts appeared, naked and unabashed. The male knelt with silent grace beside the couch where I perched uncomfortably, proferring a goblet. His eyes were downcast.

“My thanks,” I said awkwardly, accepting the wine. He flashed a quick smile.

“Name of Elua!” Mavros said tartly. “
Relax
, will you?”

“I’m trying.”

And much to my surprise, I did. Mavros clapped his hands, bidding the Showing to commence. The adepts in the staging area began a performance that was no less genuine for being rehearsed. We sipped our fortified wine and watched; watched as the Mandrake adept swung his flogger in an intricate rhythm, the brass tips kissing the Valerian woman’s skin as she stood with her hands braced against the wall, head lowered and legs wide. Watched the male Valerian adept bend over a padded barrel, strong hands clasping his own calves. His buttocks reddened as the Mandrake dominatrice wielded the tawse, every hard slap of leather against skin making him groan. And then the adepts of Mandrake House exchanged masked glances and traded places, and it all began anew.