Authors: Jacqueline Carey

Tags: #High Fantasy

Kushiel's Scion (52 page)

"It's an awkward draw," Joscelin commented.

I tried it. The first time, the pommel of my new sword drove into my ribs. The second time, I adjusted, coming out of a quick crouch with both daggers in my hands. Out of habit, I tossed my head, forgetting my hair was too short to obscure my vision. "Smooth enough, with practice."

Joscelin sighed. "Speed's not everything."

"No," I said. "But be honest, Joscelin. I'm better with the sword than the daggers, I always have been. If I need to go for them, I'm already in trouble. Besides," I added, "I haven't sworn an oath to draw my sword only to kill."

"Good," he said grimly. "Because I want you to draw it at need."

"I will," I promised.

"Better yet," he said, "stay out of trouble."

I grinned at him. "I'll try."

Under other circumstances, I daresay I would have swaggered a bit. Most young men do, upon getting their first sword. But I didn't have the heart for it. This was no courtly accessory; it was a weapon. And Tiberium was an eminently civilized city, but there was a long journey before I reached it.

And one farewell to make before the last one.

I rode out the following day to keep my appointment with Sidonie, unsure whether or not she would show. It was the second time I exercised my independence, for I went alone. No one knew but Mavros and Amarante, and I trusted him to keep my secrets. I trusted her, too. Priestesses' daughters have closed mouths. I knew, having grown up in a sanctuary.

The Queen's Guard admitted me onto the Palace grounds without a fuss, and I made for the royal apple orchard. The Bastard was in fine fettle, arching his speckled neck and snorting, picking up his forelegs in his odd, prancing gait.

I wondered if he sensed the journey to come.

We entered an aisle of trees, their gnarled limbs dense and leafy, bearing a myriad of tiny green apples. I glanced around as I rode, spotting Amarante at the end of another aisle. She stood, her hands folded, sunlight gleaming on her apricot-colored hair. As I rode closer, I could see her smiling. Her eyes were the color of green apples.

"Prince Imriel," she said. "You look quite the hero."

I laid one hand on the hilt of my new sword. "Defender against deer, savior of dogs." Amarante laughed.

"So Sidonie knew the place," I said softly. "Did she come?"

"I came." She stepped out from behind a tree. Her sun-dappled face was somber and unreadable. "I don't have long. I told my guardsmen we wanted a private stroll. They'll come looking for us if we don't return soon."

I dismounted and looped the Bastard's reins over a tree branch. "Thank you."

She smiled ruefully. "I thought I owed you as much. Although you've well-nigh broken Alais' heart, and Mother's not pleased." Sidonie turned to Amarante, touching her sleeve. "Will you give us a moment?"

"Of course." The priestess' daughter inclined her head.

We both watched her withdraw, then Sidonie sighed. "Why?" she asked me.

"Many reasons," I said. "The foremost of which is me."

She looked at me sidelong. "Yes, I heard. You told Mother you weren't nice."

"I'm not," I said. "I try to be, but I'm not."

"Nice can be dull." Sidonie laughed at my expression. "Does that shock you? I'm a Queen's heir, Imriel. I've never been able to afford the luxury of niceness. And I have found, all too often, that a pleasant mask hides the face of ugliness."

I shook my head. "That's not what I mean."

"What, then?" she asked. "You've a good heart. For a long time, I didn't believe it. But I saw it the day you tried to protect me. And I've seen it in the way you treat Alais."

"Alais is different," I said.

"From what?" Her brows rose. "Me?"

I looked steadily at her, remembering the feel of her body beneath mine; remembering the adept in the private chambers of Valerian's dungeon. It was too easy to picture Sidonie the same way. Even now, I could envision taking her here in the orchard, destroying her cool composure. Pinning her wrists, feeling her writhe, golden hair splaying over the grass. Her fair skin bruised by the marks of my teeth and nails. "Yes," I said. "You."

Her chin rose. "I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be," I said. "You used to."

"Yes, and things have changed between us, haven't they?" Sidonie regarded me. "You swore an oath. Do you recant it?"

I let out my breath in a hiss. "No!"

"Then I have no cause for fear," she said.

I grabbed her upper arms, hard enough to bruise. "You don't know me," I said hoarsely. "You don't know what I'm capable of."

"Don't be so sure." She stood unmoving in my grip, chin tilted. Deep below the surface of her gaze, a nameless emotion flared. Dark eyes, Cruithne eyes, rendered strange and unfamiliar in her D'Angeline face. "I'm not a child, Imriel. I know you're Kushiel's scion. I know your House. And I know my own heritage, too. Do you forget that Kusheline blood flows in the veins of House L'Envers?"

I had forgotten.

For a moment, we stood motionless, both of us. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest, the blood throbbing in my veins. I could sense her breathing quicken. And I reminded myself that she was only sixteen, and nearly a sister to me.

I pushed her away. "Name of Elua, no!"

She stumbled on the grass, then caught herself and laughed wildly. "No? Then go ahead, cousin. Run! Invoke Blessed Elua's name. Why not? You didn't hesitate to do it before when I drew away. Run, run away from desire. Run away from responsibility. Run!"

I strode to the Bastard's side and unhitched his reins, swinging astride. "Stay," I said coldly, gazing down at her from the saddle. "Wed some pedigreed D'Angeline nobleman, take Maslin de Lombelon as a lover, do as you will. Stay. I wish you the joy of it."

Sidonie sobered. "I don't have a choice," she whispered. "Oh, Imriel! I never have."

I swallowed, feeling an ache in my heart. "I don't want to part like this."

"Nor do I." Bowing her head, she laid a hand on my stirrup, fingertips brushing the glossy leather of my boot. "Go," she murmured. "And may Blessed Elua hold you in his hand and keep you."

I nodded. "And you, my lady."

She looked up at me. "You made a promise to Alais. Keep it."

I'll come back.

I laid my clenched fist on my heart. "On my oath, I will."

I went, then, setting my heels hard into the Bastard's flanks. He blew out his breath, snorting through his nostrils. We cantered between the apple trees and I dared not look behind me, knowing she watched us go.

In my haste to depart, I nearly ran down a handful of the Queen's Guard.

They were idling on the outskirts of the orchard. I checked the Bastard hard. I saw Maslin de Lombelon a few paces away, conversing with a familiar figure. Their heads turned as we plunged to a halt. A stab of fury went through me, and I tasted bile.

"You're back," I said to Duc Barquiel L'Envers.

"And you're still here. I'd hoped to find the rumors true and you in Tiberium." He looked me over archly. "I like the hair."

Maslin had gone rigid. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. L'Envers glanced at him. "The Dauphine," Maslin said to the Duc, "is in the orchard without a guardsman in sight. I find myself mistrustful of the Prince's intentions. 'Tis not the first time he's sought a means to be alone with her."

"I see," Barquiel L'Envers said quietly. He took two steps toward me. I put my right hand on the hilt of my new sword. Beneath his close-cropped blond hair, his face was cold, as cold as anything I'd ever seen. There was no malice in it, merely a deadly calm, implacable and calculating. "You don't want to play that game, princeling. Trust me, you do not."

I leaned over in the saddle and spat at his feet.

L'Envers never moved. "Go away, young Imriel," he said. "Far, far away."

"Guards!" Maslin said crisply, drawing his sword. They unsheathed their weapons, approaching warily. My blade rang as it cleared the scabbard. I kneed the Bastard in a tight circle, extending my blade and keeping them at bay.

What would have happened if Sidonie had not emerged from the orchard at that moment, strolling arm-in-arm with Amarante, I cannot say. I daresay they wouldn't have attacked me in broad daylight, without provocation, there on the Queen's grounds.

But I am not certain.

Sidonie's voice carried, cool and imperious. "Lieutenant Maslin, what on earth are you doing?"

He hesitated, then bowed and put up his sword, gesturing to his men to follow suit. "Your pardon, your highness. A misunderstanding, nothing more."

"I should hope so," she said evenly. Barquiel L'Envers narrowed his eyes, studying her. She returned his gaze without flinching. "Well met, Uncle. I trust your respite agreed with you?"

"Oh, indeed." He gave a pointed nod toward the orchard. "As, I trust, did yours."

"Very much so." Tender years or no, Sidonie didn't so much as flush. I ducked my head to hide a grin. From my vantage point on horseback, I could see the slightest hint of a smile hovering in the corner of her lips. She shifted her gaze to me, inclining her head.

Cousin.

I returned her nod. "Dauphine."

No one else spoke. I sheathed my sword and took up the Bastard's reins in both hands. He was edgy, body quivering between my thighs, hooves shifting. Sidonie and I exchanged a long silent glance.

"I'm going," I said to Barquiel L'Envers. "But I'll be back one day."

He said nothing, his eyes narrow and calculating.

I repeated my salute, pressing a clenched fist to my heart. And then I turned the Bastard and gave him his head. We fled, startling the guards at the Palace gate, bursting into the cobbled streets of the City, leaving behind a knot of intrigue and desire I'd no wish to unravel. Passersby stared, and I didn't care. Let them think what they might.

I felt the wind of our passage on my face, and it felt like freedom.

Run, I thought.

Run.

Chapter Thirty