Kushiel's Scion (39 page)
"You look lovely, young highness," Eamonn said gallantly. "Will you save a dance for me?"
"Oh, yes!" Alais blushed. "Thank you."
"I am honored." He bowed to her, giving me a wink.
It was true. She did look lovely, clad all in lavender with a matching mask, and a golden wreath on her black curls set with amethysts fashioned to look like violets. Sidonie, clad in pale green the color of new leaves, complemented her. She stood upright as a little spear-maiden beside her younger sister, inscrutable behind her mask. In the background, the Queen's Guardsmen hovered, chosen to attend as a special honor. They wore domino masks with their usual uniforms, but I knew Maslin by his silver-gilt hair. An imp of perversity goaded me.
"Since Eamonn has claimed your sister, mayhap you will honor me with a dance later," I said to Sidonie.
Her lips curved in a faint smile. "Mayhap. I've never danced with a god of light." Sidonie studied me. "You look the part, cousin. Were you thinking to be asked to play the Sun Prince?"
I opened my mouth to reply, then frowned, remembering. Long ago, another Prince of the Blood had done so in the Night Court's pageant; Baudoin de Trevalion, who had been at the center of a plot to replace Ysandre as heir to the throne of Terre d'Ange.
In the end, he had been executed for it.
"Not I," I said lightly. "Trust me, highness, I've no such ambition."
She nodded slowly. "We will see."
Mercifully, Julien and Colette Trente appeared, tugging me away into the festivities. I spent a few minutes brooding over the exchange, then forgot it, losing myself in merriment. Wine and joie were flowing freely, and there was so much to see. Everywhere one turned, there was an array of fantastical figures; gods and goddesses, sprites, nymphs and demons, creatures out of story and legend, animals of all ilk. The masks lent a sense of abandon to the proceedings. One knew who one's companions were; and yet they were strange and unfamiliar, no longer themselves. It made one sense anything was possible.
"Wait until midnight," Julien whispered in my ear.
"What happens then?" I asked.
He brushed one finger along my jaw. "Almost anything you like, highness." I shook my head at him, and he made a face. "Oh, come! It's the Longest Night, Imri. You needn't be so untouchable."
"Do you need rescuing, cousin?"
I turned at the sound of Roshana's voice, rich and amused. She was clad and masked in black velvet, a miniature huntsman's horn around her neck and a braided quirt of black leather about one wrist. "From this one?" I said, slinging my arm around Julien's shoulders. "I might."
"Come dance with me, then." She held out her hand. We danced well together. Roshana moved with supple grace, her lower body melded against mine, following my lead effortlessly. Growing aroused, I drew back a few inches, holding her away from me. The quirt that dangled from her wrist hovered between us.
She laughed low in her throat. "You are afraid of me!"
"No," I said. "It's just—"
"Then dance with me." Behind the black velvet of her mask, Roshana's eyes were a dusky, phosphorous blue, aglow with challenge. I wondered if mine looked the same.
"All right." Reckless, I drew her close.
When it was done, we were both of us breathing hard. Roshana regarded me with new respect. "Your friend's right, you know," she said. "Anything can happen on the Longest Night." Tilting her head, she kissed me, swift and unexpected. I felt her tongue dart between my lips, tasting of joie. "Don't forget your family." She laughed, leaving me.
I stood for a moment, swaying, gritting my teeth against the sharp stab of desire.
"Imriel!" Eamonn's hand descended on my shoulder. He looked happy and a little drunk, his mask shoved up onto his disheveled hair. Somewhere, he had lost Donar's silver-leafed hammer. "I've been dancing with one of the married ladies. I think she fancies me. Come on, let's get some wine, and you can tell me about her."
I took a deep breath. "I need to sit down."
He glanced down at me. "Dagda Mor! I think maybe you do."
We found chairs at the Queen's table, which was piled high with food. There was no formal dining hour on the Longest Night, only a constant supply of abundance. Revelers paused to eat or drink, plunging back into the fray. It was a relief to have a respite from it. Once the ache of desire passed, I filled a plate, listening with half an ear to Eamonn's story.
"Will her husband challenge me, do you think?" he asked.
"What?" I glanced at him. "Who?"
"Lady Osmont's husband," Eamonn said patiently. "Like Fionn mac Cumhaill, when Diarmuid stole Grainne from him; my mother was named for her, you know. He hunted them without mercy. I wouldn't mind if he did; challenge me, that is. But I don't want to marry her, that's all."
I looked blankly at him. "I wouldn't worry, Eamonn. The lady knows her mind. And this is Terre d'Ange, not Alba."
"Eire." He sighed. "It's an Eiran tale, Imriel." Across the ballroom, a horologist called the hour. It was later than I had guessed. Eamonn heaved himself to his feet. "Ah, now! I owe the little princess a dance. I'd best claim it, hadn't I?"
"I'll go with you," I said. "I asked as much of Sidonie."
He chuckled. "Mind you don't get chilblains."
It was somewhat to behold, Eamonn and Alais. He was twice her height, and her small hand was lost in his brawny grip. To his credit, he was gentle and kind. Knowing full well he danced poorly, he deferred to her, letting her lead him in subtle ways. I smiled to see it, then turned to Sidonie and bowed.
"Shall we dance, Dauphine?" I asked her politely, conscious of Maslin's watching gaze.
She raised her chin. "All right. Why not?"
Although she was skilled, it could not have been less like dancing with Roshana. Sidonie's hand was cool in mine, almost impersonal. She held herself at a distance and I touched her lightly, scarce letting my right hand rest on the small of her back, formal and proper. I wanted to think of her as a sister, as I thought of Alais; and yet I couldn't. We were kin, but we were strangers to one another.
"You dance well," she said grudgingly.
"Phèdre taught me." I smiled, whirling her into a complicated turn. She followed it with ease, her dark eyes watchful. "You know, you can trust me, Sidonie. I'm not your enemy."
Her throat moved as she swallowed. "I'd like to believe it."
"Who says otherwise?" I asked.
As I watched, her glance slid sideways. Who did it seek? Ysandre, her mother? Maslin? Duc Barquiel L'Envers, clad in Akkadian finery? "It doesn't matter," she murmured.
I tightened my grip on her hand, feeling the small bones shift. "It does to me."
"Imriel." Something flared behind her mask; stubbornly, she held her ground, continuing to follow my lead with effortless grace. "You're hurting me."
I was, and I knew it, and ah! Elua help me, it felt good to draw a reaction from her. Even as the musicians ended their tune, I loosed my grip, turning her free. "Forgive me," I murmured, bowing. "It wasn't my intent, Dauphine."
Sidonie shook out her hand and eyed me with infuriating composure. "You're not exactly your own best advocate, are you, cousin?"
First it stung me, and then it made me laugh. "No," I admitted. "Not exactly."
She smiled a little. "I do want to like you, Imriel. You've been good to Alais, and I'm grateful for it. It's just…" She shrugged, looking very young and lonely. "I can't afford to make any mistakes."
I nodded. "I know."
"How could you?" she asked simply.
"I hear the whispers," I said. "I know what some of the peers say."
"Cruithne half-breed." Sidonie gave a bitter laugh. "And then they look at you and your pure D'Angeline blood, and they wonder."
"Sidonie." I steered her off the dancing floor. "I swear to you, I have no designs on the throne." On impulse, I dropped to one knee, taking her hand. "Sidonie de la Courcel, Dauphine of Terre d'Ange, in the name of Blessed Elua, I give you my oath of loyalty. For so long as I live, I will uphold your honor as my own and lay down my life in your defense."
She stared at me, lips parted in shock. "Are you mad?"
I grinned at her. "Mayhap. Do you accept my oath?"
"I… yes. All right." She steeled her spine. "I do."
"Good." I rose, then bowed and kissed her hand. "Now I'm going to go get drunk and usher in the Longest Night."
I succeeded in both goals.
At midnight, Night's Crier entered the ballroom, sounding his bronze tocsin. We all fell silent and watched as the vast hall was plunged into near-total darkness. Phèdre had spoken truly; it was an ancient ritual, unchanged since before the coming of Elua. It was all done by players' tricks, but in ancient Hellas the theatre was sacred. We do not forget. I gasped with the others when the false mountain crag in the musicians' grotto split to reveal the Winter Queen hobbling on her blackthorn staff. I cheered with the others when the ballroom doors were flung open to admit the Sun Prince in his chariot. He pointed his gilded spear at the Winter Queen and her rags fell away, revealing a beautiful maiden.
In a rush of oil-soaked wicks, the light returned.
"Oh, Imriel!" Eamonn sounded dazzled. "It's so beautiful!"
"Yes," I said softly. "It is."
I found Phèdre then, and asked her for the first dance of the reborn year. Like light after darkness, she was impossibly beautiful, luminous as a pearl. I held her as close as I dared, and mayhap it was the joie, but it seemed we floated together over the polished parquet, both of us clad in ivory white. People stopped their revelry to watch us, and my heart swelled with pride and love.
"Thank you," I whispered. "Always, for everything."
Phèdre shook her head, the brilliants in her hair scattering myriad points of light. "When darkness shattered our lives, you made them whole, Imri. There is no need for thanks, now or ever." She touched my silken mask with tenderness. "Only be happy. It is all I want for you."
"I am," I said honestly. "Tonight, I am."
And I was. I drank cup after cup of joie, until my mouth felt numb and I was untethered from my being. I danced with a great many women that night, their masked faces swimming in my sight. I do not even remember the last one, only that Mavros and Roshana introduced us, laughing. She must have been from Kusheth. She was an undine; a water-nymph. I remember her drawing me into the shadows of the colonnade. By that time, some of the lamps had been extinguished and the shadows were alive with the half-glimpsed couplings, the heady whispers and gasps of love. I remember her mouth, hot and devouring on mine. I remember struggling with her attire, my hands seeking her smooth flesh beneath layers of frothing silk.
I remember her freeing my erect phallus from the confines of Baldur's tight breeches, and her face above me, gone soft with pleasure behind its mask.
I remember the feel of her buttocks, taut and yielding beneath my urging fingertips.
"Joy!" she gasped. "Oh, yes!"
Holding her braced against a column, I closed my eyes. Behind my lids, I saw too much. It was better open, staring into the face of masked anonymity. "Joy," I echoed, feeling the leap of desire in my loins, as urgent and mindless as a salmon surging upstream. With a vast sense of relief, I spent myself, and shuddered. "Joy."
"Ah, Elua!" With a breathless laugh, my masked companion slipped away from me. I stayed there for a moment, gazing at the lights and revelry, feeling the familiar aftermath of melancholy threaten. I thought about Joscelin, kneeling beneath the frozen stars, and the careless oath I had sworn to Sidonie. And then I pushed away such thoughts, and left the shadows.
So passed the Longest Night.
Chapter Twenty-Two
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