Kushiel's Justice (Imriel's Trilogy #2)

Kushiel's Justice (Imriel's Trilogy #2) Page 12

"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.

Chapter E ight

Once Phèdre 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 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—”