Kushiel's Scion (13 page)
Rejoice that you have loving guides to set you on your way.
Did Elua's priest think me unaware? Ungrateful? I knew it all too well. I was not worthy of the sacrifices they made. No one mortal could be. I didn't forget it, ever.
I didn't rejoice in it, either. Not often. Joy came hard for me.
Perhaps, I thought, that was priest's meaning. Not a reminder, but an injunction. All darkness, even that of the Longest Night, gives way to dawn. I had passed through darkness, but I had emerged. Not unscathed, but alive.
I bore the scars of Daršanga, though only a few were visible; a handful of faint lines cross-hatching my back where the deeper welts healed, and the Kereyit rune branded on the flank of my left buttock. That one wasn't the Mahrkagir's doing. It was Jagun, a warlord of the Kereyit Tatars, who marked me for his own.
He died for it, one of many Joscelin slew there. We made our way out of darkness together and found brightness on the far side of hell.
Rejoice.
It was hardest at night. There was no daylight in the zenana, never. Not until the day Phèdre found a way to pry open the boards sealing the walled garden there. I remembered how it had felt to see the sky, cold and grey, and found my eyes filling with tears.
Somewhere in the distance, a horologist was crying the hour. It was later than I had thought. I tilted my head to gaze at the night sky, remembering. The stars were cold and bright. They had seemed closer in Saba, where we had followed the constellations across the Lake of Tears in search of the Name of God. That night, too, had been terrible in its way. And yet we had succeeded in the end.
I thought about what the priest had said of love.
You will find it and lose it, again and again.
It seemed a harsh fate, and yet, strangely, there was comfort in it. The priest had not offered me false kindness. I preferred a hard truth to a well-meant lie. There would be love, and while it was mine, I could cling to it. I could rejoice—in life, in the existence of love. In the existence of people like Phèdre and Joscelin. Although the standards they set were impossibly high, still, I could rejoice that such courage and compassion existed in the world.
I could hope and aspire.
Blessed Elua, I thought, forgive me. I am unlike them, and my faith is imperfect. There is a part of me that cannot forget. There is anger in my heart, and a darkness within me which I fear. And yet I have come here tonight. Lend me strength, and I will try, wherever my path leads me.
There was no answer, but as I gazed at Elua's gentle smile, a sort of peace settled upon me. My anger, my fear, my pride—Blessed Elua was above these things. It felt good to confess to them in my thoughts, to lay them before him and ask his mercy.
I resolved, then, to offer up this night's suffering as a sacrifice; a penance for my doubt, for my anger. Three hours of shivering and freezing had dispelled any romantic illusions of my own fortitude. I had come in pride and vanity, and whatever foolish whim had prompted my words. I could not hope to match Joscelin's discipline.
But I could suffer and endure. That, I could do.
Much of what followed that night fades in memory. Hour by slow hour, the faint cries of the horologists tracked time's passage. I grew colder, so cold I began to tremble violently. Since I didn't want to shame Joscelin with my weakness, I wrapped my arms around my body and bent over double, my brow touching my knees. I felt the presence of Blessed Elua looming over me, filled with compassion and regret. A sense of mystery touched me, like the brush of a vast wing. Perhaps, I thought, even gods must make difficult choices. Without words, I told him that I forgave him what had befallen me, that I understood it had been needful.
Then the mystery went away, and there was only endless misery. I huddled and held myself, rocking and shaking on the frozen ground. My bones ached to the marrow. All my joints became locked and rigid save my jaws, which I could not stop from chattering. Using my chin, I worked a fold of my woolen cloak between my teeth to silence the noise.
At some point, the cold went away.
There was a mighty clamor in the City when dawn's first rays pierced the eastern horizon. In the Palace, in the Night Court, everywhere across the City, people cheered and drank joie. In the Temple of Elua, there were only stifled groans of relief from the two Cassiline Brothers, and the slow lift of Joscelin Verreuil's bowed head.
This, I sensed without seeing. With my own head pillowed on my enfolding arms, I smiled drowsily at a clod of soil. The sparkle of frost was beautiful in the grey light of dawn.
"Imriel!" Joscelin's voice was hoarse and alarmed. He was on his feet in a heartbeat, stooping over me. "Name of Elua, what was I thinking?"
"I'm fine," I said; or tried to say. My lips were too stiff to move and my mouth was clogged with wool. With an effort, I worked it free and spat it out. "Let me sleep."
"You're freezing to death," he muttered. "Why didn't you say something?"
I felt his arms slide under me then, preparing to lift me, and I struggled, waking. "No!" I croaked. "I can do it."
"Messire Verreuil." It was one of the Cassilines who spoke in a flat tone. "Permit us to assist you with the Prince."
"No," I whispered, raising my head. I met Joscelin's eyes. "Please."
After a moment, he nodded. Rising, he took a step backward. "The Prince," he said, "does not require your aid."
It hurt to awaken. The cold returned, and with it came pain. I unfolded my arms, placed my palms on the cold hard earth, and pushed. My spine crackled as I levered myself to kneel upright, and I gasped aloud. I tried to get to my feet and found my legs would not obey me.
Silently, Joscelin extended his hand. I hesitated, then clasped it. His hand felt warm to my frozen touch, firm and callused. With a single, seamless effort, he hauled me to my feet.
There I stood, wavering, on numb feet and nerveless legs, only his careful grasp keeping me upright. Every muscle in my body was protesting. I drew a deep breath, feeling it sear my lungs with cold. My sluggish blood began to move in my veins, bringing pain like fire. But the Longest Night had ended, and I had survived it. I grinned at Joscelin, as nearly as my frozen lips would allow. "I did it, didn't I?"
"You did." Joscelin regarded me. A corner of his mouth twitched. "Phèdre is going to kill me for this."
"I know." I glanced at the hovering Cassiline Brothers, and gave them a regal nod of dismissal; the sort of thing I had seen Sidonie do. It worked, for they went without a word. I looked, then, at the effigy of Blessed Elua, and remembered the edge of mystery that had touched me, vowing silently to keep my resolve. At last, I looked at Joscelin, patient and waiting. "Let's go home."
It was a slow process. I limped over the frozen ground, supported by Joscelin's strong arm. Once we reached the vestibule, warmed with braziers, the agony of my thawing flesh grew unbearable; I was only glad the Cassilines were no longer there to see it.
In the end, Joscelin hired a hackney to bring us home, for my hands trembled too hard to hold the reins. He wrapped me in a carriage blanket, folding his arms around me and sharing the warmth of his body. For the moment, with no one watching, I was content to feel myself a child under his protection once more. In Daršanga, Joscelin's presence at my side meant no one could touch me; no one could hurt me. Here, it made the pain diminish. I lolled against him, feeling loose-limbed and warm, thinking about how calmly he had endured this travail, thinking about the stern beauty of his bowed profile against the night sky. "Joscelin?" I asked sleepily. "Do you think I'll ever be like you?"
He looked down at me. "Who said you should be?"
"No one," I said. "I just want to, that's all."
I felt his lips, then, touching my brow, and his arms tightened around me, a promise of safety and security. "Ah, love!" he said roughly. "Don't wish for that. You're too much like me for your own good."
"Never enough," I murmured. "Never be that."
"Mayhap," Joscelin said, stroking my hair. He gave me a wry smile. "Never fear, love. It seems being you is dangerous enough."
Chapter Eight
Afterward, I was ill, with bouts of chills and a fever that refused to abate.
Joscelin's prediction proved true; Phèdre was angry. At him for his thoughtlessness, and at me for my folly. The chirurgeon who examined me ordered a period of extended bed rest, extra braziers, and vats of weak tea sweetened with honey, but I heard them quarreling while I lay in bed, their voices fading in and out of my fevered dreams.
"It's not his fault," I said to Phèdre in one of my lucid moments. "I wanted to do it."
She perched on the edge of my bed, wringing out a cloth in a basin of cool water. "I'm aware of that," she said, laying the damp cloth on my brow. "But you took it too far, Imri."
"Like you do," I whispered. "In Kushiel's temple."
Phèdre opened her mouth to reply, then shook her head. "Somewhere," she murmured, "Anafiel Delaunay is laughing at me."
Once word of my illness reached the Queen, my plight worsened. It wasn't that my condition grew worse; it remained unchanged, merely fluctuating on an hourly basis. If anything, I thought, it was improving. But Ysandre was angry, too; angry and worried, enough so to order me brought to the Palace to convalesce under the care of her personal chirurgeon.
I protested to no avail. It was a royal command and not to be disobeyed. The Queen's carriage was sent round, and I was bundled in blankets and carted off to the Palace, where I was installed for the duration. If it was a punishment, it was an effective one. Lelahiah Valais, the Queen's Eisandine chirurgeon, examined me with humiliating thoroughness, poking and prodding, peering into my ears and eyes and open mouth, even a sample of my urine and stool.
In the process of examining me, she discovered the brand on my left flank. Lying helpless on sweat-soaked sheets, I felt her cool fingers brush over the scar tissue and shuddered with shame and revulsion.
"What caused this?" Lelahiah asked, frowning.
With fever-heightened perceptions, I could see the thoughts flickering across her mind. I had come from the household of an anguissette, to whom such pain was pleasure. I bared my teeth at her. "His name was Jagun," I said. "And he is dead."
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