Kushiel's Scion (24 page)
I spoke to Joscelin about it one day after we had sparred.
"Well," he said judiciously, "You did act the fool."
"Yes, I know." I flushed. "It's just—"
"I know." Joscelin's gaze softened. "Your mother." He sighed and ran a hand through his wheat-blond hair, darkened with streaks of sweat. It was hot and we had fought hard. "Imriel, I don't relish the knowledge any more than you do."
I traced a pattern on the slate with the toe of one boot. "How do you bear it?"
"I tried doing without Phèdre once." His voice was light and wry, but I lifted my head to meet his gaze, and his expression was not. "I discovered anything else was preferable."
"Even Daršanga?" I asked.
"Yes." Joscelin was quiet for a moment. "Even Daršanga," he said at length, and gave his half-smile, reaching out to tousle my hair. "Even her inexplicable affinity for your cursed mother. And if you ask me which of the two is worse, love, I would be hard put to answer. But we got you out of it, didn't we?"
It was one of those moments that made my heart soar. I grinned foolishly. "You reckon it was worthwhile?"
"Of course," Joscelin said simply. "Don't you?"
I thought a good deal about his words. It was not only that they warmed my heart, but they held a double meaning. Like Drustan mab Necthana, when he speaks, it is to good effect; like the Cruarch, Joscelin is more subtle than he appears. When all was said and done, I did reckon it worthwhile. They had found me, and redeemed me out of hell.
It was enough; it was more than enough.
Still, I did not know how to make my peace with Phèdre.
The strain persisted between us until the day she caught me browsing in her study. She has an extensive library, both at Montrève and in the City, but it was a common text that had caught my eye—an edition of the Trois Milles Joies, which is a famous D'Angeline compendium.
It was Enediel Vintesoir, the founder of the Night Court, who compiled it; or so legend claims. It contains every form of lovemaking in which men and women may partake, in every possible form and combination. All of them were illustrated by finely cut woodblock prints.
I scanned its pages in appalled fascination, dry-mouthed and taut with desire.
"Do you wish to borrow it?"
Phèdre's voice broke my reverie. I dropped the volume, wincing at the sound of parchment crackling, and stooped and caught it up quickly, holding it before me to hide the swelling in my breeches.
"No!" I said, quick and high-pitched. "I'm sorry. I was only looking."
"You may, you know." She turned away in a graceful gesture, scanning the shelves. "You probably should. Here." Phèdre handed me a leather-bound copy of The Journey of Naamah. "This one, too."
I felt the blood rise in my face, which was an improvement. "It's not necessary."
"They're only texts, Imri." Phèdre leaned against the bookshelves, a delicate frown knitting her brows. "You're curious. It's good to learn."
"Did you?" I asked, clutching both volumes.
"I did," she said gravely. "For a long time. You need not put it into practice. I didn't, not for years. But all knowledge is worth having."
"My thanks," I whispered, and fled.
I read the books she had lent me, and I learned. Strangely, it broke the long tension between us. The Trois Milles Joies dealt wholly with erotic instruction, but The Journey of Naamah examined the divine aspects of carnal love. When I read about how Naamah gave herself to the King of Persis to win Blessed Elua's freedom, and how she lay down with strangers in the stews of Bhodistan to earn coin that Elua might eat, I began to grasp an inkling of the link between desire and divine compassion—and in so doing, I gained a deeper understanding of Phèdre. What she had done was not so different. Both of them gave of themselves, and somehow gained in the process. And there was no shame in it, only love.
As for the rest of it, I felt easier knowing that such desires as plagued me were simply part and parcel of the human condition. I spent many hours poring over those tomes, yet when I returned them to her, although they'd made me restless with yearning, I felt a bit easier in my skin.
"So," Phèdre murmured. "Do you have questions?"
I shook my head. "No," I said honestly. "Not yet." I thought of Mavros' words, and laughed. "I'm not ready."
"All right." She smiled at me. "You know you may always ask."
"I know," I said. "And I'm grateful, but to be truthful, I'm not sure you're the best person to give me answers."
A flicker of pain crossed her face. She drew a deep breath and released it. "That may be true. But I would always try."
I nodded. "I'll think on it."
When summer began to give way to autumn, we made ready to return to the City. It was the first time that I did not do so with a heavy heart. Montrève had grown smaller, and I had changed. When I thought about showing myself at Court, there was something in me that regarded the challenge with grim satisfaction. Let the peers mutter and wonder; I would meet their sidelong glances with a direct gaze.
I was tired of being afraid.
Chapter Fourteen
There was the usual fanfare upon our return to the City of Elua—a merry welcome at the gates, a joyous reception at the townhouse and an official one at Court. For once, I didn't dread the latter. Part of it, of course, was my newfound confidence, a good deal of which I own I owed to my Shahrizai kin. But there was a large part of it that was due to a different reason, one that had nothing to do with anything save Alais.
I was bringing the pup I had promised her, and I was eager to see her response.
At five months, she—the wolfhound bitch—was almost half-grown. I called her Celeste. She was a tall, lean shadow, grey and hairy, with intelligent brown eyes and long-toed paws that promised further growth.
"You're sure you want to do this?" Joscelin asked dubiously. "
At Court
?"
At Court
?"
"She'll be good," I assured him. "And Alais will love it."
In the parlor of Phèdre's townhouse, Celeste sat with her narrow jaws parted, red tongue lolling. Her hairy, whiplike tail swept the marble floor in a steady beat, while the bust of Anafiel Delaunay sat on its plinth, regarding her with an austere smile. She had been well-behaved on the journey, and I was proud of her.
Phèdre laughed aloud. It was a musical sound, scintillating and filled with pure delight. "Why not?" she said to Joscelin, eyes dancing with whimsy. "He's right, you know."
So it was that we arrived at the Palace.
With Phèdre's help, I had ordered a collar commissioned before we departed for Montrève; a wide band of gilded leather set with seed pearls, such as ladies of the Court use to adorn their lapdogs, only much larger. It looked very fine on Celeste. I held tight to her leash of soft, braided leather, admiring her regal pace as we proceeded down the hallways of the Palace, ignoring the perambulating nobles.
Ysandre's herald announced us at the threshold of her drawing room.
I heard Alais squeal.
I let go of the leash, already grinning. Celeste bounded forward, her leash trailing.
In a heartbeat a half a dozen guards were there, swords drawn. Alais had sunk to her knees, and she had her arms wrapped around Celeste's neck; half adoring and half protecting. The wolfhound, familiar with her scent, sat on her haunches and lapped her cheek with a long red tongue. The guards exchanged perplexed glances.
"You remembered!" Alais exclaimed.
"I remembered," I said gravely. "Her name is Celeste."
"Celeste." Alais repeated the word, sinking her face into the wolfhound's ruff. "Oh, Imri! I already love her."
I grinned like an idiot. "I knew you would, villain."
At my words, the Dauphine Sidonie's chin rose. She turned slightly to her mother.
"Prince Imriel," said the Queen, her voice restrained. "Be welcome."
I swept her a low bow. "Your majesty," I said.
Ysandre turned to her left. I had paid scant heed to those who stood beside her; now I did. "Cousin," Ysandre said, her voice warming. "I pray you greet Imriel de la Courcel. The Comtresse de Montrève and her consort Joscelin Verreuil, I trust you know full well."
I shuddered, bone-deep.
"Well met, your highness."
Nicola L'Envers y Aragon smiled at me. Even before Ysandre made the introduction, I knew who she was. She had a look of the L'Envers side of the family, with deep violet eyes and shining bronze hair. I made myself reply politely and greet her son, Raul. He must have favored his Aragonian father, for he was dark-haired; a blade-thin youth with a somber gaze.
"Nicola!" Phèdre's voice held a lilt. "I didn't know you'd be at Court already."
She laughed. "I thought I'd surprise you, my dear. Greetings, Messire Cassiline."
"A pleasure, my lady." Joscelin bowed. He sounded surprisingly good-natured. I could not imagine why. It was the first time, to my knowledge, that I had ever met one of Phèdre's patrons in the flesh—save for my mother, whom I already despised.
I hated it. I hated every moment of it.
If not for the pup Celeste, it would have been unbearable. Excited by the new surroundings and exchange of greetings, she bounded around the drawing room, creating havoc. Amid Alais' shrieks of glee, I managed to calm the wolfhound and get her to sit, obedient.
Joscelin rolled his eyes. "Forgive us, your majesty."
"I usually do," Ysandre said wryly.
"I think she's lovely." Nicola stooped gracefully beside us, scratching the pup behind her ears. A garnet seal dangled from the gold bracelet on her slender wrist. "You trained her yourself?"
"Yes," I said shortly.
"She's mine!" Alais announced with pride. "I'm going to have a pillow at the foot of my bed for her to sleep on, and she'll have a special silver platter so she can eat with me."
I caught sight of a bemused, long-suffering expression on the Queen's face, and the quick flash of a grin on the young Aragonian, Raul's. He ducked his head to hide it.
"What fun that will be." Giving the now-adoring pup a final pat, Nicola straightened. "But remember, Alais, Celeste is used to having room to run and play with other dogs. Betimes she might be happier in the royal kennels."
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