Kushiel's Mercy (87 page)

I thought she might.

Whatever fate saw fit to grant us, girl or boy, a lively horde or a cherished few, I thought, we would love them. We would never let a day go by unmarked, unnoticed, without letting them know they were loved. Without letting them know we loved one another. Our lives together were a gift. I would always be grateful for it.

The day of our wedding dawned clear and bright. How not? The Master of the Straits was in attendance. Favrielle nó Eglantine’s assistants came to make certain that my attire was immaculate. It was simple, very simple. Black breeches, a white shirt open at the throat, embellished with subtle white-on-white embroidery along the neckline. No doublet. I remembered sweltering when I’d wed Dorelei.

Not today.

They fussed over the lay of the shirt and fussed over my hair and the shine of my boots until I grew impatient and dismissed them. Not long afterward, Phèdre and Joscelin arrived to escort me. Phèdre caught her breath at the sight of me.

“You look—” She shook her head.

I smiled. “So do you.”

And then it was time to go. We rode the short distance from the courtyard to the Palace gardens, wreaths of flowers draped around the necks of our mounts. At every step of the way, there were folk flanking our path, cheering and throwing petals. I thought half the flowers of Terre d’Ange must have been stripped bare for this one day. We reached the gardens and dismounted, continuing on foot. Petals fell like a blizzard.

Through the falling petals, I saw her.

Sidonie’s dress was white, white on white, matching my shirt. It looked vivid and bright against the greensward and the blue robes of Brother Thomas standing behind her. Her arms and shoulders were bare. There were white roses woven into her honey-gold hair. We smiled at one another. There was a throng of thousands present, but I saw only her.

I walked across the greensward and took her hand.

Another moment in life come around full circle.

Brother Thomas stooped to touch the green, growing grass, then lifted his hands to the blue, blue sky. He invoked Elua’s blessing on us. Once more, I felt my brow anointed with oil. I touched the golden torc at my throat, remembering. I saw understanding in Sidonie’s dark gaze. And then Bérèngere of Namarre came forward and anointed us a second time in Naamah’s name. Her daughter had kept our secrets, but she knew the role desire had played in our union. The oil on the Lady Bérèngere’s fingers smelled of jasmine, and her expression was at once solemn and glad.

There were vows then. I repeated the words that Brother Thomas gave me to recite, finding my voice gone suddenly soft and husky. Tears stood in Sidonie’s eyes. I watched Sidonie recite the same vows. A thousand memories crowded me. We’d gone through so very much to reach this place, this moment in time.

“Let it be done.” Brother Thomas’ voice was firm and carrying. He spread his arms wide as though to embrace the world. “In Blessed Elua’s name, I bid you seal this union with a kiss.”

The cheers rose.

Petals fell.

Sidonie smiled at me through her tears, joyous tears. She slid her arms around my neck. I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her as though the fate of the world depended on it.

It was done.

We were wed. Melisande Shahrizai’s son and Ysandre de la Courcel’s heir. And the realm rejoiced at our union, their cheers ringing to the heavens. A vast band of musicians began to play. Servants began to circulate bearing trays of
joie
. I downed a glass at one swallow, gasping at the cold fire that burned its way down my throat. Sidonie laughed with delight at my reaction.

The celebration began.

I would that I could have stopped time and preserved that day forever. It was a perfect day. There was the shadow of sorrow, yes. It would always be there. But that was the nature of life. The bright mirror and the dark, reflecting one another. And today there was so much brightness.

So many people I loved were there.

“Dagda Mor!” Eamonn said good-naturedly, folding me into a rough hug. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you truly
happy
before, Imri.”

I laughed. “Elua willing, you’ll see a lot more of it.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Maslin de Lombelon go to one knee before Sidonie, taking her hand and speaking in a low tone. She listened, then kissed his cheek softly.

Urist came to clasp my hand, his grip hard and strong. We nodded at one another, sharing memories in silence. “She’d be glad,” he said simply.

My eyes stung. “Thank you.”

Maslin, rising to approach me, his gaze clear of the old bitterness. “I’m happy for you,” he said, honest and direct. “Truly. Both of you.”

I grinned at him. “My thanks, my bright angel.” It made him laugh. “I’m glad you came.”

Alais, looking older and self-assured. She hugged me hard and whispered in my ear. “I’m so glad to have you as a brother, really and truly.”

I hugged her back. “You always did, villain.” She didn’t protest at the nickname, only laughed. “No harpist?” I inquired.

“No.” Alais pulled away to regard me with amusement. “Not yet.”

And then Drustan and Ysandre approached. I bowed. “Your majesties.”

“Imriel.” Drustan laid his hand on my shoulder. “I told you once that you would always be family to me.” He smiled quietly. “I am pleased to find it true.”

“As am I,” Ysandre echoed.

I bowed again. “I will try to be worthy.”

“I think you’ve managed,” Ysandre said wryly; but then she embraced me and touched my face, her touch gentle and lingering. “I did a very good thing when I sought to heal the rifts in our realm by finding you, Imriel de la Courcel. Better than I knew. I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”

I nodded, words failing me.

It went on and on. Mavros and my Shahrizai kin. Lady Nicola. Ghislain nó Trevalion; his wife, who’d sought to have me killed. Their son, Bertran. Lucius Tadius da Lucca. Barquiel L’Envers. Old friends, old enemies.

All happy.

Phèdre and Joscelin.

“Thank you,” I said to them. “Just . . . thank you.”

For the gift of my life, for the gift of all that I was. For everything. I owed them everything. I always would.

Phèdre smiled. “Your happiness is all the thanks either of us ever needed, love. I pray to Elua it never ends.” She turned her head, sensing Hyacinthe’s approach. “What does the
dromonde
see today?”

“Happiness, indeed.” Hyacinthe’s sea-shifting gaze settled on my face. He smiled, too. “Ordinary and mortal and messy. A great deal of it. Will that suffice?”

“Yes,” Joscelin said firmly.

“Gods, yes!” I echoed fervently.

The congratulations ended and the fête began in earnest. There was food, an abundance of food. Long tables had been laid beneath the silk tents and they were filled to groaning. Musicians played in shifts, unceasing. There were acrobats from Eglantine House and strolling poets. Sidonie and I sat side by side, reveling in the joyous pageantry. We listened to a thousand toasts, we received a thousand gifts. We made a toast of our own, drinking deep to one another, to all of those we loved who were present. To those who could not be here today. I watched Sidonie fulfill a vow, dancing with lumbering Kratos as the setting sun streaked the sky with fire.

I thought about my mother, far away on Cythera.

And Ptolemy Solon.

Happiness is the highest form of wisdom
.

I thought the Wise Ape might be right.

“Your highness,” Claude de Monluc’s voice said at my ear. “There’s a fellow here seeks entrance to your nuptial feast. He says you’ll know him. Says he has your horse. Sure as hell looks like it.”

I rose, a trifle unsteady. “Did he give his name?”

Claude shook his head. “He said you’d know.”

I went to meet him. In the fiery wash of light, the Bastard’s spotted hide glowed. He pricked his ears forward at the sight of me. The figure astride him raised one hand, backlit by the setting sun. I looked up at him, shading my eyes, and gazed at a face I’d seen in the mirror, disconcertingly familiar. “Leander Maignard.”

“Prince Imriel.” He bowed from the saddle, then dismounted with a lithe twist and handed me the reins. “Thought you might like your horse back. He’s a fine mount and you seemed passing fond of him.”

I stroked the Bastard’s neck. The Bastard snuffled my hair. “You came all this way to return my horse?”

“Not exactly.” Leander grinned. “I was supposed to be here days ago, but the damned ship was wind-stilled during the passage. Her ladyship’s going to be disappointed that I missed the ceremony. She was expecting a thorough accounting.”

“I see.” I glanced back at the reveling throng. “It would surprise me to learn that she doesn’t have other spies in place.”

“Ah.” He shrugged. “Doubtless. But none who might hope to gain a lengthy audience with the Dauphine of Terre d’Ange that they might report back to her ladyship in great depth and detail on the singular nature of this young woman for whom my lady’s only child was willing to take such great risks.”

I smiled. “Oh, you reckon, do you?”

“You owe me,” Leander said shrewdly. “I loaned you my face, I gave you the clothes off my back. I gave you my memories.”

“She’s curious, isn’t she?” I asked.

He grinned again. “Perishing.”

I laughed. “All right. Let me have a word with my captain here.” I turned the Bastard over to Claude de Monluc and bade him have someone stable him. “You can put Leander’s things in my quarters,” I said. “I’ll not be needing them tonight.” I lowered my voice. “And have a discreet guard set on him. I want him watched while he’s here. I’ll want to know where he goes and whom he meets with.”

“As you will.” Claude looked bemused. “He’s your mother’s spy, isn’t he?”

“He is,” I said. “But he’s right. I owe him.”

I rejoined Leander. We crossed the greensward, toward the sound of music and laughter. The servants were lighting the lamps, sunset’s glow giving way to blue twilight. The scent of thousands upon thousands of flower petals crushed underfoot and thousands more blossoms blooming hung in the air.

“It’s beautiful,” Leander mused. “I’d forgotten.”

“Imriel!” Sidonie came toward me, holding Lucius by the hand, her eyes sparkling. “Lucius has been telling me tales from your days in Tiberium. I knew about your dalliance with his sister, but you never told me you posed . . .” Her voice trailed off as she stared at my companion. “Leander Maignard,” she said in wonderment.

Leander bowed. “Her highness Sidonie de la Courcel, I take it?”

“Well met, messire.” She laughed. “Again, as it were.”

He straightened. “The honor is a first for me, your highness. I offer my congratulations to you and Prince Imriel on this joyous day.”

“He’s here to spy for my mother,” I informed her. “She’s perishing of curiosity.”

“Well, he’s welcome here today. We wouldn’t be here if not for his aid.” Sidonie took Leander’s hands in hers. “Thank you, Messire Maignard,” she said gravely. “Terre d’Ange owes you a great debt.
I
owe you a great and personal debt.”

“I didn’t—” Leander began in a modest tone.

Sidonie reached up to tug his head down and kissed him. There was enough ardor in it that Leander flushed to the roots of his hair when she released him. “I didn’t, I just . . .” he stammered; then blew out his breath. “Um. Thank you.”

I raised my brows at her. “Are you trying to unsettle him?”

“Would I do such a thing?” She flashed me a wicked smile. “I reckon I owed the real Leander Maignard at least that much.” She kissed him again—lightly, on the cheek. “Enjoy yourself, messire. I’m sure we’ll speak more during your time here. Lucius, I would very much like to hear the end of your tale.”

Leander stared after her.

“She’s not what you expected,” I said to him. “She wasn’t in Carthage, either.”

“No.” He gave himself a shake. Such a strange thing it was to be standing beside a man whose memories I shared, whose life I’d lived without his sharing in it. “No, I suppose she wasn’t. I guessed that much when Deimos returned and told us how you’d ended Astegal’s life together.” Leander gave me a sidelong glance. “Did she come to care for me?”

“She did.” I clapped a hand on his shoulder. “And if you wish to know her better, I suggest you ask her to play a game of chess ere you depart.”

“I’ll do that,” he said, bemused.

I laughed. “Come. There are others you should meet.”

I introduced him to Drustan and Ysandre, who received him with wary courtesy. To his distant kin in House Shahrizai, who regarded him with interest. To Kratos, who shook his head and marveled, remembering.

To Phèdre and Joscelin.

Leander gazed at Phèdre for a long, long time, as though he were seeking to memorize her features. At length, he sighed. “I have a message for you from her ladyship, my lady.” He beckoned her close and whispered in her ear. I saw Phèdre’s dart-stricken gaze shift, coming to rest on me. After a time, Leander drew back. “Have you any reply?”

“Yes.” Phèdre smiled. “Tell her she’s welcome. Tell her it was my honor and my privilege.” She glanced at Joscelin, who smiled back at her with his wry half-smile. The saviors of my life, the heroes of my heart. “
Our
honor.
Our
privilege. And we are no less proud than she.”

Leander bowed. “I will.”

Twilight into dusk, dusk into night. The revels continued. The musicians played, tireless. We danced, trampling the greensward. I could not count my partners. I only knew, as the sky began to lighten in the east, that the last one was the one that mattered. I held Sidonie in my arms. The prophecy an old Priest of Elua had spoken for me so many years ago had proved true. I had found love and lost it, over and over again.

This time I meant to keep it.

Weary-looking servants began making the rounds, handing out gilded baskets filled with rose petals. One last ritual, one last gift for the merry-makers who had stayed to usher in the dawn. There were more of them than I would have guessed. The musicians laid down their instruments. Someone—Mavros, I thought—started a bawdy chant. A hundred more voices took it up.