Kushiel's Justice (9 page)

“I’m glad you think so.” Her apple-green eyes glinted. “And next time, mayhap you’ll make it as far as the bed.”

I left the Palace in a daze. Fire, had I said? Name of Elua! More like a firestorm. I should have known. I
had
known, or suspected. Still, it hadn’t prepared me for the reality. Sidonie, my cool, regal cousin. My body was quivering like a plucked harp-string and I wanted more, so much more, than this half-thwarted encounter that left me with damp breeches and heightened yearning. I’d known desire before. Claudia Fulvia’s ardor had kept mine at a fever pitch for days on end.

This was different.

For the first time, it scared me. She was right, of course. We were the last two people in the realm who could afford a casual dalliance. Only it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t casual because of the Queen’s disapproval and the menace in Barquiel L’Envers’ stare, and worst of all, the unnerving ache in the hollow of my chest, a terrible surge of tenderness.

Naamah’s curse didn’t frighten me.

Her blessing was another matter.

N
INE

I
ATTENDED MY FIRST SESSION
as a member of Parliament some days later, although the Marquise de Lafoneuil would be displeased to know that the matter of the cooper’s tax was not addressed. Ysandre had convened the meeting to give ear to Diokles Agallon, the Ephesian ambassador. It was a partial session, as many members would not be travelling to the City until spring, but it would suffice to afford him a hearing.

Sidonie was there. I hadn’t expected it, Elua knows why. She had no vote, no official role until she gained her majority. But she was Ysandre’s heir, and she’d been learning statecraft at her mother’s knee while I was herding goats in the mountains of Siovale.

It made it hard to concentrate. Childric d’Essoms introduced the ambassador, and Diokles spoke at length about the diminishing market in Ephesium due to unrest in realms to the north, and the desire to establish a more fulsome trade with Terre d’Ange. If he had a hidden agenda, I couldn’t fathom it.

“Your policies favor Khebbel-im-Akkad, your majesty, though we offer many of the same goods,” he said. “Ephesium does but seek the right to compete freely, with the same import fees.”

“The cost of transport is higher for the Akkadians,” Barquiel L’Envers observed. “Thus, you have the advantage elsewhere.” He had a vested interest in the matter, as his daughter was wed to the Lugal of Khebbel-im-Akkad. I was fairly certain she’d tried to have me assassinated when I was a boy.

“And a shipment of Ephesian cotton should sell for a lower price than an Akkadian,” Diokles Agallon said politely. “Yet we must pay a higher fee for the right to do so, and are forced to raise our prices accordingly to make a profit. Should Ephesium be punished for its geography? And moreover, should Terre d’Ange be deprived of the right to benefit from it?”

I ceased paying attention to his words and focused on the way he shaped his vowels. His accent was like Canis’ and yet, not quite. I’d known Ephesians in Darsšanga, but I couldn’t remember if it had been the same. It was hard to tell there, where everyone spoke in a polyglot babble. And at times, I could have sworn Canis was Hellene by the things he said, though that wasn’t quite right, either.

“. . . an obligation to honor alliance through ties of marriage,” L’Envers was saying.

“Indeed.” Agallon bowed. “The Sultan is well aware of this. In fact, it is a matter he would be interested in discussing himself.”

At that point, everyone in the room looked at Sidonie.

“No,” Barquiel L’Envers said. “Oh, I think not.”

“Oh, let him speak, my lord uncle.” Sidonie smiled at the Ephesian ambassador. “I confess myself curious.”

“Forgive me.” The words were out of my mouth before I had any intention of speaking them. I flushed. “The proceedings are new to me. Is this a fit matter for Parliament to discuss in an open session?”

“No, no.” Diokles Agallon raised his hands. “I would welcome a private audience with her majesty, but I fear I overstep here. Trade is at issue. My lords and ladies, pray, think on our request.”

Ysandre inclined her head. “We will do so.”

There was a rancorous discussion on the question of trade after the ambassador took his leave. L’Envers led a faction arguing against easing the fees, and others argued in favor of it. When the Queen called for a vote, it was evenly divided. I voted for it, mostly because L’Envers was opposed.

“Very well,” Ysandre said. “We’ll return to the matter in the spring when a full meeting is convened.”

“Are you going to hear the Sultan’s suit?” someone called.

Ysandre glanced at Sidonie, who raised her brows a cool fraction. “We may hear it,” the Queen said calmly. “There is never any harm in listening, my lord.”

Of course, once the session was dismissed, no one could talk of anything else. Members of Parliament clustered in the halls of the Palace, gossiping in hushed whispers. They fell silent when Ysandre and Sidonie drew nigh. I watched them pass, my emotions in a tumult. We hadn’t had a private moment since the afternoon in Amarante’s bedchamber, and I was losing sleep. I was hoping very much that if I hovered here long enough, the priestess’ daughter would come fetch me.

“Prince Imriel.” A hand landed on my shoulder. I turned to see Childric d’Essoms. He smiled at me. “Lord Agallon would like a word with you.”

I sighed inwardly. “Of course.”

D’Essoms escorted me there and left us. The ambassador’s quarters in the Palace were quite fine. We met in the tapestry-hung sitting room, where a tall Ephesian servant with a bald head and an imposing beard brought mint tea sweetened with honey. Diokles Agallon dismissed him and poured the tea himself. I thanked him and didn’t drink until he raised his own cup and took a noisy sip.

“You’re careful,” he said. “Wise.”

The tea was good. “I try, my lord.”

He smiled. “I have been thinking, your highness. Your aid in this matter would not be unwelcome. A youthful prince’s voice urging for the vigor of change. Perhaps an exchange of favors might be made.”

“Which matter is that?” I asked.

Another noisy sip. “The matter of Ephesium.”

“Do you speak of trade or marriage?”

“I speak of both,” Agallon said. “Though of course, our hopes are modest.”

“I see.” I set down my cup. “And what do you offer?”

His smile was a diplomat’s, smooth and practiced. “The medallion you wore . . . very interesting. Perhaps if you were to tell me more about it, I might be able to tell you somewhat about where it originated.”

I gazed at him for a long moment without speaking. There were no telltales of a lie, but there were cracks in the veneer of his composure, a subtle discomfiture that surfaced the longer I stared. I thought about his careful wording, and I thought about what Claudia Fulvia had told me about the Unseen Guild. There were currents and cross-purposes within it. If this man was my mother’s ally, he would have known where the medallion came from. He wouldn’t have needed to dig.

It smelled like a trap, though I couldn’t have said why. I didn’t want to be beholden to the Guild in any way. And of a surety, I didn’t want to argue the case for Sidonie’s wedding the Sultan’s son or brother, or whatever he had in mind. It wasn’t just my own feelings at stake. The very notion had the peerage in an uproar. For me to argue in favor of it would have smacked of sedition.

My mother would have known that. And strangely enough, if she had enemies in the Guild, I didn’t want to treat with them.

“Thank you, my lord.” I inclined my head. “You are generous and I am grateful for it. I will gladly argue on behalf of enhanced trade, for your cause seemed good to me. But as for the rest . . .” I spread my hands. “I fear I must decline.”

“Indeed?” Diokles Agallon mused. “Interesting.”

“Is it, my lord?” I asked lightly.

He showed white teeth in his diplomat’s smile. “I find you very interesting, Prince Imriel de la Courcel. Remember my name, young highness. You may find yourself interested in trading a favor of your own one day. Not many are willing to entertain such an offer.”

That, at least, I could be reasonably sure would never happen. “Of course, my lord,” I promised. “I will.”

Leaving his quarters, I made my way downstairs and decided to loiter for a few minutes in the Hall of Games, listening to the lively buzz of gossip. The rumor had grown in the telling; already, Sidonie was said to be contemplating a marriage with the Sultan’s second son. I accepted an offer to play a hand of piquet with an Azzalese lordling I knew by sight, listening to the murmurs and shaking my head to myself.

“Imri!” Mavros manifested, winding through the crowd. He laid his hands on my shoulders and peered at my cards. “You’re not going to lead with
that
, are you?”

I batted at him. “Shut up, Mavros.”

“You’re so unkind, cousin.” He leaned over, his lips close to my ear. “The priestess’ daughter was looking for you.”

I lost the trick and then the hand, paid my wager, and left the table, leading Mavros over to the colonnade. “Where is she?”

“I’m jealous,” Mavros said, narrowing his eyes. “Or am I?”

“Mavros!” I shook him.

He laughed. “She left, Imri. Couldn’t stay, said she’d look for you on the morrow. Tell me, did you succeed in poaching where I failed? Or does the lady run her mistress’ errands?”

A pair of strolling passersby glanced at us with idle interest. I put my hand over Mavros’ mouth. “Will you please
shut up
!” I hissed.

“Ooh, forceful.” His voice was muffled and his twilight-blue eyes gleamed above my smothering hand. “Do you want me to play Valerian to your Mandrake, cousin?”

He was so impossible I had to laugh. “Mavros, truly. I need you to be discreet.”

“As the grave,” he agreed. “Will you tell me if I promise not to breathe a word?”

“Swear it,” I said.

Mavros raised his hand promptly. “In Kushiel’s name.”

I glanced around. “Not here.”

We went to Lord Sacriphant’s townhouse. Mavros’ father wasn’t in residence, and Mavros, who liked the City rather better than many of my Shahrizai kin, had the run of it. Truth be told, the place made me uneasy. It was very elegant and the servants moved about with hushed grace. They seemed to have pride in serving House Shahrizai, but one couldn’t help but wonder what penalties were levied on them for disobedience or failure.

Or at least
I
couldn’t. The first time I’d been here, Mavros had gotten me stinking drunk and taken me to Valerian House, where the Shahrizai reserved a private dungeon. The memory of that excursion still made me squirm with pleasure and unease.

Come to think on it, I’d been chafing over Sidonie that night, too. That was shortly after things had first changed between us, and Mavros was still the only person I’d told. Despite his teasing, he was a good listener and I trusted him; or at least I did in this.

He listened without comment while I told him an abbreviated version of what had transpired, leaving out the more embarrassing bits. When I had finished, he raised his brows. “You really didn’t think about how this might appear?”

“Well, yes,” I said. “But not as—”

“Conspiracy?” he suggested. I nodded. Mavros steepled his fingers, tapping his lips in thought. “You do have a certain naïve charm, cousin. One thing in the realm I daresay everyone could agree on is the fact that Melisande Shahrizai’s laughter would ring to the heavens if she learned her son had managed to seduce Ysandre’s heir.”

“It’s not like that,” I said miserably.

“No, it’s not, is it?” There was sympathy in his gaze. “Do you want my advice?”

“Please.”

“Too bad,” he said. “Because I don’t have any.”

“Mavros!”

“All right.” He smiled wryly. “My
best
advice is to make an end of it, because if you’re caught—and the odds are you will be—there’ll be an unholy uproar and Barquiel L’Envers will want your blood. But . . .” He shrugged. “This itch has plagued you for a long time. The lady knows her mind and at least she’s a better sense of the danger involved than you do. If you’re minded to pursue it, in Elua’s name, be careful. It’s only a few months, and then you’ll be packed off to Alba with your Cruithne bride.”

“I know,” I murmured.

“Second thoughts?”

I glanced sharply at him. “Don’t tempt me.”

On the ride home, I thought about Sidonie and the risk involved; bruised hearts at best and accusations of treason at worst. And I thought about my impending marriage and all the fine advice about duty and honor I’d given Lucius Tadius da Lucca, whose situation mirrored my own. I’d resolved to take my own advice when I made the decision to come home. I would do my duty to Terre d’Ange and House Courcel.

My resolve strengthened on the ride. Mavros was right, I should make an end of it. There was no future in it for Sidonie or me. Like as not she was right, and it
was
little more than the lure of the forbidden that goaded us. I was bound for Alba, and if it wasn’t the choice I might have made with my life, it was one that would atone for all the choices my mother had made. In the meantime, I had no business sowing the seeds of chaos.

“I’ll end it,” I said aloud to the Bastard’s flicking ears. “I will.”

The Bastard snorted, as well he should.

For all my bold words, my resolve began to falter the following day, the instant I saw Amarante of Namarre waiting for me outside the
ollamh
’s study. In her bedchamber, Sidonie was gazing out the window, standing in a shaft of light. She turned as we entered, smiling at me with unreserved happiness. My heart leapt in my breast, and my resolve crumbled into a thousand meaningless pieces.

“Imriel.” She did linger over my name this time.

I bowed to her. “Sun Princess.”

It made her laugh, that unexpected, full-throated laugh that had turned my world upside down and made me realize that the private Sidonie de la Courcel was very different from the public one. Amarante shook her head and left us. I sat down on the bed uninvited, fearing we might not make it that far if I didn’t start there.

“Do you think we might take this at a slower pace today?” I asked.

“We can try.” Sidonie stood between my legs and cupped my upturned face. I rested my hands on her hips and we gazed at one another. Her hair was pinned in a complicated chignon with looping tendrils, and the sunlight made an aureole of it. She kissed my face, my eyelids, the corners of my lips. “ ‘The lover showers kisses on the face of the beloved,’ ” she recited softly from the
Trois Milles Joies
, “ ‘like petals falling in a summer rain.’ ” Her lips brushed mine, once, then again. The tip of her tongue darted, fleeting. “ ‘The lover seeks to open the beloved’s lips like a tight-furled bud.’ ”

“ ‘The beloved’s lips open like a blossom to admit the lover,’ ” I whispered, and then her mouth was on mine and her tongue in my mouth, my arms hard around her waist. We fell over onto the bed, kissing.

Elua, it was sweet, so sweet! When I could tear myself away from her mouth, I undressed her in between kisses, and kissed every part I uncovered, while Sidonie did the same. She found the scars; the battle-scars and the others. I felt her touch linger over the faint traces of old weals on my back, the brand on my left flank.