Kushiel's Justice (8 page)

“Will you stay with me a while?” Alais asked hopefully, her hand tightening on mine.

“Of course,” I promised. “As long as you like.”

It was a promise I had cause to regret. In Lucca, surrounded by soldiers, I’d yearned for the company of women. After ten minutes amid a horde of adolescent girls, I’d have traded their giggles and shrieks for the grunts and bellows of the training ground in a heartbeat.

Still, I’d promised.

At Alais’ pleading, I told a story about the siege. They got round-eyed, oohing and ahhing, and begged to see my scars until I relented and pushed up the rags draped around my right arm to let them see the shiny pink mark where a deep gouge had healed. The squeals were deafening, and all of them insisted on touching it. Some were more insistent than others.

“You’re so
strong
,” one of them breathed.

“Greetings, cousin.”

I glanced up to meet Sidonie’s amused gaze. Her gold dress had a low décolletage, and a sun-shaped pendant nestled above the swell of her breasts. Her skin was fair and smooth as new cream. I stammered a greeting and attempted to pry Alais’ young attendant off my arm.

“I’d thought we might have a dance.” It was hard to tell behind the half-mask, but I thought Sidonie was trying not to laugh. “Later, mayhap? If it doesn’t inconvenience your plans with Lord Mavros.”

“Of course.” I inclined my head.

“Later, then.” Her voice softened to a tender note. “Are you enjoying yourself, my heart?” she asked Alais.

“Oh, yes!” Alais’ violet eyes shone. “Now I am.”

“I’m glad.” Sidonie smiled at her sister and turned away. She tapped her favorite attendant, the priestess’ daughter, with the tip of her gilded spear. They exchanged a glance of unspoken complicity and strolled back into the throng, masked guardsmen hovering discreetly. I sighed, the sound lost in the general uproar.

“Prince Imriel?” There was a small hand on my thigh, resting just below another long-healed gash I’d taken in the battle of Lucca. I glanced down at the very young lady-in-waiting to whom it belonged. She batted her lashes at me. “Do you not have
another
battle-scar you might show us?”

“No,” I said shortly. Alais giggled. “And it’s not funny.”

She wrinkled her nose at me. “Yes it is.”

It seemed like ages before I was saved by Night’s Crier, entering the hall and sounding his bronze tocsin. The stern sound and the pall of darkness that fell over the ballroom made me shiver, stirring echoes in my memory; the sound of bronze wings clashing inside my skull, and Gallus Tadius standing over a dark abyss, the broken mask in his hands. The ritual played out as it had done a thousand times before, year after year. The cunningly built mountain crag behind the musicians’ grotto split apart to the sound of a crashing drumroll and the Winter Queen hobbled forth as an aged crone; an answering drumroll sounded as the doors were flung open to admit the Sun Prince’s chariot.

There was one difference this year. After he’d pointed his spear at the Winter Queen, after she’d let fall her tattered robes to reveal herself in her youth and beauty. After the wicks were relit and light returned in a glorious rush, and the Winter Queen ascended the chariot. The chariot made its slow turn, and they both bowed to Queen Ysandre. This time, the Sun Prince saluted Sidonie, too; one glittering figure to another.

It was a small gesture, only a symbol. Mostly people cheered, but a few murmured. I hated them for it. As the musicians struck up once more, I decided I wanted very much to claim the first dance of the reborn year of Sidonie.

“Will you be all right on your own?” I asked Alais. “I promised your sister a dance.”

She nodded. “Do you think they have anything like this in Alba?”

“I don’t know, villain.” I kissed the top of her head. “We’ll find out.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Now the revelry began in earnest. I caught sight of Mavros looking impatient and made a forestalling gesture. Servants were circulated with freshly laden trays of
joie
. I snatched a glass in passing and drank it at a gulp. The lamps seemed to burn brighter. I slid easily through the crowd, winding past bulkier figures, agile in my rags and bare feet. A gilded spear-head, a glint of cloth-of-gold.

“Sidonie.” I held out my hand to her.

Beyond her, Barquiel L’Envers was watching us, arms folded over his Akkadian robe. Sidonie ignored him. “You do keep your promises, don’t you?” she mused.

“I do,” I said. “Yes.”

She gave her gilded spear to Amarante of Namarre and took my hand. I led her onto the dance floor. The musicians were playing a galliard. I wished it was a slower tune. I wished half the room, including L’Envers, wasn’t watching us.

“You look absurd, you know.” Sidonie touched the ragged neckline of my tunic, her fingertips brushing my skin.

“Do I?” I asked, not caring.

Her lips curved. “No,” she whispered. “Not really.”

We drifted closer toward the far end of the floor, dancing beneath the looming form of the Winter Queen’s mountain, its hidden opening closed once more. The musicians ended their tune and shifted into the opening bars of a quadrille. Lines of dancers began to form, a dense wall of costumed backs presenting itself.

“Here.” Tugging my hand, Sidonie darted behind the mountain.

It was dark and cramped and wonderful. We stared at each other; masked and unmasked, rag-clad and golden. I caught her other hand, pinned them both against the false mountainside, pinning her there with my body. Our fingers interlocked. My blood was roaring in my ears, and I could see the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat. I couldn’t see her eyes, only dark glimmers behind the radiating sun-mask.

“Sidonie.” My voice sounded raw and strange.

Her head tilted and our lips met.

Wrong, so wrong! And ah, Elua! Glorious. I felt her lips, impossibly soft, part and I made a sound I’d never heard before. I kissed her, and it was a delirium of kissing; avid mouths, darting tongues. It felt as thought it could go on forever, more and more and more, all of it new and undiscovered. Her mask scraped my cheek, and I didn’t care. I pressed harder against her and felt her shudder, our intertwined fingers spasming. Deeper and deeper, I kissed her. If I could have crawled down her throat, I swear to Elua, I would have.

“Sidonie!”

An urgent hiss. She tore her mouth away from mine, gasping. I leaned my brow against the mountain and groaned.

“L’Envers is on the lookout, cousin.”

A different voice; Mavros, wry and warning. I let go of Sidonie’s hands and stepped back, breathing hard. My body was one single quivering ache of desire. Mavros glanced over his shoulder, then beckoned to Sidonie.

“Here, your highness. Quickly.”

She adjusted her mask, then took his hand. He led her around the curve of the crag, shielding her gilded figure with his height. My legs were trembling, and I sank down to sit, resting my back against the mountainside.

Amarante looked down at me. “Prince Imriel?”

“Give me a moment.” I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.

“It’s all right now.” Her voice had regained its usual composure. “Anyone who noticed will think it a foolish game, nothing more.”

I dropped my hands and squinted at her. She was arrayed as Spring, in a gown of pale green with a crown of flowers. I knew the costume. Sidonie had worn it last year. “It’s not, you know. A game.”

“I know.” Her mother was the head of Naamah’s Order. Of course she knew. And I had asked for Naamah’s blessing, knowing the risk. I was at the mercy of my own desire. Genuine desire, fierce and real. I was an idiot.

We waited until the musicians began a stately pavane, then slipped back onto the dance floor. By the time the dance ended, my pulse was nearly normal and I felt steady on my feet. I thanked Amarante, who merely nodded and went to find Mavros.

“Shall we go?” he asked.

“I think we’d better.”

I made my farewells. The royal family was together. Alais, who was beginning to look sleepy, hugged me and kissed my cheek. Sidonie and I exchanged cordial nods. She was as cool as ever, her back as straight as the spear she’d reclaimed, but the sun-pendant on her breast trembled. I felt a quiver in the pit of my belly.

“Imri?” Phèdre gave me a long, quizzical look. She suspected, I thought; surely, she must. But if she did, she didn’t say anything. “Be careful,” she said instead, smiling ruefully. “I know, I’m always telling you that.”

“And I’m always careful,” I lied.

Outside, the air was bracing. The unseasonal warmth had given way to a cold snap and there was ice on the streets. I shifted from foot to bare foot on the courtyard as we waited for the carriage to be brought around. It was only an hour or so past midnight. The stars were distant and frosty, and a full moon stood high overhead, washing everything with silver. Mavros flung back his head and howled at it. I laughed, and he thumped my shoulder with one fist.

“You were right, cousin,” he said. “You were oh so right. She
wants
you.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.

“Why?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

Mavros eyed me. “Are you going to be any fun tonight?”

“I don’t know,” I repeated.

“Ah, well.” He shrugged. “
I
am.”

By the time we arrived at Cereus House and gave our tokens at the door, the festivities had gone well beyond revelry and into sheer license. I daresay at the outset the panoply outshone the Palace, but by now costumes were disheveled, and those masks that had not yet been discarded sat askew. Still, it was an amazing thing to see all the adepts of the Thirteen Houses in one place. So much beauty! Many of them came from a long lineage of Naamah’s Servants, and their blood was as pure as any peer’s.

On the Longest Night, there were no assignations allowed in the Night Court, no contracts. Only such liaisons as the adepts themselves chose. And this they had commenced to do with fervid enthusiasm. Everywhere one looked, in every corner or nook that afforded a measure of privacy, couples were entwined; couples and triads and groups of all manner. Alyssum’s modesty and Bryony’s avarice were abandoned, Heliotrope’s marque blossomed beside Jasmine’s.

“Elua!” Mavros took a deep breath. “What a lovely garden.”

He plunged into its midst and I lost sight of him almost immediately. I followed more slowly. I felt strange, a beggar at a banquet. I’d never gotten my lamp back, and I daresay I looked the beggar, too.

It was all right, though. I didn’t mind.

A ripple ran through the crowd and I heard my name whispered. It seemed my bet with the Dowayne of Bryony House had caused a stir in the Night Court. I was Phèdre nó Delaunay’s foster-son and I was welcome among them. Whatever I felt, I’d not go begging; not here.

There were offers.

A lot of offers.

And I turned them down, all of them. I found a perch atop a mostly empty banquet table and watched the glorious swirl of pageantry and lovemaking, the breathless, flushed garden of D’Angeline adepts. A vast tenderness filled me, and the beauty of it all made me ache with longing and loss.

“Are you sad, highness?” An adept with a satyr’s mask pushed atop a head of brown curls hopped onto the table beside me. “You shouldn’t be, not tonight.”

“Not sad,” I said. “Thoughtful.”

“Oh, well then.” He grinned. “That’s all right.”

I thought about Eamonn teasing me for brooding, and I thought about Lucius, because the satyr’s mask reminded me of him. And I thought about where I wanted to be at that moment if it wasn’t with Sidonie, which it was. I excused myself and went to find the Dowayne of Cereus House to ask if I might beg the loan of a horse, to which he readily agreed.

The sky was beginning to turn dark grey by the time I reached the Temple of Elua. I was shivering in the saddle, huddled in my rags and cursing myself for a fool. I’d had to saddle the horse myself; there was no one left on sober duty in the stables of Cereus House, and no one from whom to borrow a cloak or footwear.

At least I didn’t have to remove my boots. I passed through the vestibule and walked silently into the temple garden, the frozen ground hard beneath my bare soles. My feet made dark prints in the frost. I gazed at the statue of Blessed Elua and thought about what the priest had said about love the first time I’d come here, that I would find it and lose it, again and again. Somewhere in the distance, a horologist’s cry announced dawn’s first rays breaking the horizon, setting loose a clamor all across the City.

I watched Joscelin raise his bowed head.

There were no other Cassiline Brothers. Joscelin had kept the vigil alone this year. He got stiffly to his feet, turned, and saw me. For a moment, he merely blinked, not quite believing his eyes. “Imri?” After long silence, his voice was hoarse. His hands reached unthinking for his daggers, sure there must be danger. “What are you doing here?”

I hugged myself against the cold. “Greeting the dawn.”

Joscelin let go his hilts and swore softly. I smiled at him, and he laughed and shook his head. “Name of Elua! Look at you. I’m not taking the blame for this, not this time.”

“No,” I agreed. “This time, it’s mine.”

We rode home together in companionable silence. There was a blaze of gold in the eastern sky. The sun had returned, piercing and lovely. For the first time since I’d left the Palace, I let myself think about Sidonie, reliving every fevered whisper and gasp of our encounter, wrapping the memory around me like a fur cloak, warm and sensuous.

After a while, I didn’t even feel the cold.

E
IGHT

O
NCE
P
HèDRE HAD GOTTEN
over the worst of her outrage at my admittedly foolish decision to ride unarmed, unattended, and clad in rags across the City on the Longest Night, which took the better part of a day, I told her about how the Ephesian ambassador had recognized my medallion. If nothing else, it served to distract her.

“So they’re among us,” she mused. “The Unseen Guild.”

“So it would seem.”

She sighed. “Well, and so. You didn’t speak to him of it, did you?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Not directly.”

“Good.” Phèdre frowned. “I’ll see what Ysandre knows of his purposes, and try to find out who else he’s meeting with. There’s not much else we can do without tipping our hand.”

“
Your
hand,” I pointed out to her. “It doesn’t matter what they think
I
know, only that they don’t know I’ve spoken of it. To you or to anyone.”

“Are you telling me to be careful?” she asked wryly.

I cleared my throat. “Who’s Childric d’Essoms?”

Joscelin, listening without comment, snorted. Phèdre glanced at him. “He was a patron,” she said. “Barquiel L’Envers’ protégé, once. Delaunay used me to reach L’Envers through him. I don’t think L’Envers took it kindly.”

“Hence the bad blood between them?” I asked.

She nodded. “Did he recognize the lamp-sign?”

“No,” Joscelin said. They exchanged another glance. “I don’t care if he recognized it or not,” he added adamantly. “You’re not doing what you’re thinking of doing. Not with d’Essoms. I never liked him.”

“I know.” Phèdre smiled sweetly at him. “I’m not.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re
thinking
it, love.”

“Oh, well.” Her smile deepened. “Thinking’s not doing.”

“I don’t think he did recognize it,” I said. “Only the Ephesian.”

I was fairly certain it was true, anyway. In the end, there wasn’t much to be done about it. I’d served notice to a member of the Guild, and they would respond or not as they chose. Either way, my future lay in Alba and owed naught to the Unseen Guild. It was one small piece of a puzzle that no longer held the interest it had for me. Once, I would have seized upon it. When I was younger, I’d daydreamed about finding my mother and bringing her at long last to justice. It was the one act of heroism I could commit that would clear away forever the taint of treachery that clung to me.

And now . . .

Now I owed her my life. It was harder to hate her wearing the seal of her protection around my neck, remembering Canis’ dying words. It was harder to envision watching her long-delayed execution after reading her letters, reading how she’d counted my fingers and toes when I was a baby.

And I had other things on my mind.

Two days after the Longest Night, I returned to the Palace for another session with Firdha. The
ollamh
treated Alais and me to a lengthy dissertation on Alban law, which we would be obliged to know and honor. It was surprisingly intricate and different from ours. In Terre d’Ange, penalties under the law are the same for everyone, commoner or noble. In Alba and Eire, they differed. A wealthy man who stole a cow from his neighbor would pay pay a far greater fine than a poor one, and the penalty for noblemen convicted of a crime of dishonor was far greater than it was for commoners.

It was interesting, but I had no time to muse on it. There were too many, far too many specific laws we were to memorize, and none of them might be written down. Firdha crammed our heads with law upon law, refusing to dismiss us until we could recite a score of them letter-perfect. I was glad that Phèdre had trained me to use my memory well. Poor Alais looked ready to weep when she garbled an answer.

“Daughter of the Grove,” I said wearily when she released us. “Would it not make more sense to set these in a book of law which all could consult?”

Firdha gave me a stern look. “Were it so, then it would be the book, and not the law, that men respected. Were it so, then men and women would no longer need to be wise to be just.”

“I see,” I said, though I didn’t.

The corners of her eyes crinkled. “Perhaps you will, one day.”

Pondering the matter, I left the study and found Amarante of Namarre awaiting me. Every law I’d just memorized went straight out of my head and my chest felt hollow. “Well met, my lady.”

“Your highness.” Amarante inclined her head. “May I speak with you?”

“Of course.”

I followed her through the royal chambers. A few guards grinned, and well they might. The priestess’ daughter had hair the color of apricots, green eyes, and plump lips, and I understood why she drove Mavros mad. Still, it wasn’t her that I wanted, and when she led me to her little bedchamber, I was hoping against hope. It wasn’t until I saw the Dauphine of Terre d’Ange curled in a chair beneath the narrow window that I let myself believe.

“Sidonie,” I said.

She looked young. Elua, she
was
young, not yet seventeen. But her dark gaze was unwavering. “Thank you,” she said to Amarante, who nodded.

“I’ll be in your quarters,” she said softly, opening the adjoining door.

I watched her go, leaving Sidonie and me alone.

“Imriel.” Sidonie knit her brows. They were the same shape as mine, and I wanted to kiss them. “Will you sit?” she asked, nodding at the bed. “We need to talk.” I sat cross-legged on the bed. She took a deep breath. “What are we doing?”

“Talking,” I said gravely.

“Oh, don’t!” Her eyes flashed. “Don’t be glib. If there are two people anywhere in the whole of Terre d’Ange who cannot,
cannot
have a casual dalliance, it’s us. And you damnably well know it, cousin!”

“Why?” I asked, curious. “Truly, Sidonie? Do you think the sky will crack and fall? And why do you assume there’s aught
casual
about it?”

She looked away. “Why are you doing this? You don’t even like me.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.” She looked back at me. “You’ve never liked me.”

“Me!” I laughed, stung. “You’ve looked at me like I was dung on your shoe since you were eight years old. Why are
you
doing this?”

Her voice broke. “I don’t know.”

We sat for a moment, neither of us speaking. “I do like you,” I said at length. “You’re right, I didn’t, not for a long time. You were cold and mistrustful, and you always said things to goad me. I never understood why.”

Sidonie bowed her head, fidgeting with the hem of her gown where it was tucked around her ankles. “You never heard the arguments,” she murmured. “Imriel . . . I grew up hearing them. Alais didn’t, she’s too young.” She lifted her chin. “I don’t think you have any idea what kind of opposition my mother faced for her decision to see you rescued. I do. I remember. And the first thing you did was throw it in her face.”

“Is that why you hated me?” I asked.

“In part,” she said.

“Do you have any idea what I’d been through?” My voice rose. “
Any
idea?”

“No,” she said simply. “Imriel, I don’t. Or I didn’t. I was eight years old, and I couldn’t begin to fathom it. I’m sorry.”

It eased a hurt in me so deep I hadn’t known it existed. I drew a shaking breath. “Do you remember the time I was sick, and Alais and I were playing—”

“With the wooden daggers?” Sidonie nodded, her eyes bright with tears. “Yes. I’m sorry for that, too. I was wrong.”

“When did it all change?” I asked.
“How?”

“The hunting party?” She smiled a little. “I don’t know. It happened bit by bit. The day with the daggers, when I realized I was wrong. Do you know, we had a nursemaid from Camlach who was certain you meant to poison me and marry Alais? She used to spy on us whenever Mother had you visit in case the guards weren’t vigilant enough.”

“She did?” I felt sick.

Sidonie nodded. “She gave Alais nightmares. Mother dismissed her when she found out. Alais loved you so much, from the very beginning. It worried me.”

“Does it still?” I asked.

“For different reasons.” She hugged her knees. “She adores you, Imriel. And this . . .” She shook her head. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, honey-colored in the sunlight angling through the window. “How did we come to this?”

“You laughed.” I watched the sunlight play on her hair. “When you saw the deer.”

“You should have seen your face,” she said.

“I know.” We smiled at each other. “Sidonie, it was the first time, I think, that I truly
saw
you. And it felt like the world had turned upside down.”

“I remember.” She was quiet for another long moment. “And I remember watching you tend to poor Alais’ dog, kneeling on the ground with Amarante’s embroidery needle, covered in blood. Elua!” Sidonie shuddered. “You won
her
over that day, I think.”

“Alais?” I asked, confused.

“Amarante.” She said the name fondly. I wished she’d linger over mine the same way. “Mother would dismiss her for conspiring in this, you know.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re Melisande Shahrizai’s son, Imriel.” Sidonie’s gaze was steady and direct. “My mother is fond of you. She trusts you. She is entirely sincere in her desire to see you an honored member of House Courcel. But if you wonder if she harbors a seed of doubt, yes, of course. She’d be a fool not to. And I daresay the one thing that could truly ignite it would be you in my bed.”

I swallowed. “I see. And you, too?”

“No.” She raked a rare impatient hand through her hair. “No, I don’t. But how am I supposed to explain that I saw a look on your face when you thought you were protecting me, and I
knew
?” She shook her head. “And why am I thinking of doing this? Name of Elua! I could take a
goatherd
for a lover, and Mother would stand by my choice. She wouldn’t like it, but she’d allow it.”

“I was a goatherd,” I said.

Sidonie didn’t laugh. “Imriel, tell me truly. How much of what lies between us is just the lure of the forbidden? Can you even say?”

“No.” I got off the bed, restless, and paced the room’s small confines. “Truly? No. It’s a part of it, I know. I do. I didn’t reckon . . . I didn’t know Ysandre would feel quite so strongly. I didn’t think, I suppose. I really
was
a goatherd, you know. I didn’t grow up thinking of myself as a Prince of the Blood or Melisande Shahrizai’s son. I don’t want your throne, I don’t even want the estates I have.”

“I know,” she said. “But—”

“I want you, Sidonie.” I knelt before her chair and caught her hands. “You’re the most infuriatingly self-possessed person I’ve ever known, and somehow I’ve come to admire you for it. And I know there’s fire underneath it, and it makes me crazy. I can’t help it. If you want me to leave, I’ll go, but—”

She tore her hands free of mine and grabbed my head, kissing me hard. Sunlight, liquid gold. I slid both arms around her, hands pressing her slender back. We tumbled onto the floor together, our fall cushioned by a woven rug. I held her down, kissing her. Ah, Elua! My head was filled with a dazzling brightness, my body singing with desire.

“Imriel . . .” Sidonie arched her neck, gasped. “Ow!”

“Sorry.” I’d pinned her hair to the floor. I pulled her atop me and sat up, settling her astraddle of my lap.

“I don’t—” Her skirts were puddled around us. She rocked against me. “Oh.”

With one hand, I undid the laces of her bodice, baring her breasts. Skin like cream, tender with youth. I cupped her breasts, tracing the line of her cleavage with my tongue, then lowered my head to lave her nipples. Sidonie sighed, sinking both hands into my hair. I held her breasts and suckled them hard until she whimpered and ground herself against me, and somewhere there was knocking, and I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t, not until she cried out and shuddered, and the fierceness of it made me lose control and spend myself.

“Ah, Naamah!” she panted.

The adjoining door opened. “Sidonie?”

Sidonie glanced up, dark eyes wide and blurred with pleasure, honey-gold hair clinging to skin damp with sweat. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry.” Amarante looked apologetic and amused, and not in the least startled to find her half-naked royal mistress straddling me. “Your mother sent a messenger. I told him you were napping, but he’s waiting.”

Sidonie sighed. “All right.” She got up, which Elua knows, I couldn’t have done at the moment. In seconds, her bodice was laced and her hair twined in a lover’s-haste knot at the nape of her neck. I stared at her in amazement and began to wonder what I’d gotten myself into. Her lips curved, her Cruithne eyes reading my thoughts. “We’ll talk later.”

“All right,” I said faintly.

The women exchanged one of their glances, and Amarante raised her brows. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll clean him up.”

“My thanks.” Sidonie kissed her and left.

I groaned. Amarante laughed and fetched a linen towel from the washbasin. “Here.”

“Give me a moment.” I rested my back against the edge of her bed and contemplated her. “Why are you doing this, my lady?”

“Should I be jealous, you mean?” she asked, and I nodded. “Are you?”

I thought about it. “I don’t know. But Mavros said you were loyal to Sidonie.”

“I am.” She sat in the chair beneath the window. “She has a lonely path. I think she deserves to have one person who won’t break trust with her for any reason. I think, too, that it will make her a kinder person in turn, and one day, mayhap a gentler ruler. And for so long as she wishes, I’m content to serve in that role.”

“And are you always impossibly wise and compassionate?” I asked.

Amarante laughed again. “No.”

“That’s good to know.” I levered myself to my feet and went to use the washbasin, feeling remarkably self-conscious about it. Amarante waited, unperturbed.

“Prince Imriel,” she said when I’d finished. “You asked
why
. I was raised in Naamah’s worship, and we honor love and desire over politics. If you and Sidonie wish to bruise your hearts on each other, it is your right. But if you hurt her a-purpose, I will call down Naamah’s curse on you.”

I nodded. “Fairly spoken.”