Kushiel's Scion (30 page)
"How, then?" Phèdre asked gently.
"I don't know!" The words burst from me. "I want… oh, Blessed Elua, I want, but I don't know how! It's all mixed up, and it keeps getting bigger, and I don't know how to sort it out!" I was on my feet, pacing the length of her study in a fit of agitated misery. "And I don't even know how to talk about it, or who to talk to! Mavros thinks he understands, but he doesn't not this, not"—I swallowed—" Daršanga. And you… you…" I shook my head, unable to explain. "You, I can't—"
"Imriel." Reaching into the purse at her belt, Phèdre withdrew a small ivory disk. "Here," she said, tossing it to me.
I caught it by reflex and stared foolishly at it. It bore the image of a flowering plant in raised relief, and nothing more. The plant looked vaguely familiar; I thought I might have seen it growing in Richeline Friote's herb garden.
"What is it?" I asked at length.
"It's a token for Balm House," she said.
"Balm House?" I echoed.
Phèdre nodded. "If it's your will to use it, then speak to Hugues before the end of the Queen's fete tomorrow. He will escort you, and Joscelin will ensure that the others plan no mischief."
"All right." I closed my hand around the token. It felt cool and smooth. I knew little of Balm House, save that it was a house of healing and Eugenie's niece Clory had studied the art of massage there. "Why… why Balm House?"
She smiled, and for a moment I thought she would remind me again that she carried the Name of God in her thoughts. But instead, she said, "I do have some experience in these matters, love."
"I know." The coiled anxiety in my belly had eased. "Thank you, I think."
The day of my natality dawned cool and bright. I felt strange unto myself. I had crossed an invisible threshold on this day, and it might be that I would cross another ere it ended; a visible, very tangible threshold. I felt at the ivory token in my purse, wondering if I dared use it, thinking about Phèdre's choice. Was I so broken that I was in need of healing?
Yes, I thought; mayhap I am.
What they would do there, I couldn't imagine. I had watched Clory at work many times. Not lately, because… well. But Clory was not Naamah's Servant, she had only studied to learn massage. What I wanted was far more than any mere massage. I thought about the Trois Milles Joies, much of which I had endeavored to commit to memory. It spoke much of pleasure, but little of healing.
As she had done last year, the Queen held a fete in my honor. It was a little larger with my new friends in attendance, and there was music and dancing afterward. I danced with Alais, feeling guilty for having neglected her.
"Are they going to do the abduction, Imri?" she asked me.
"What?" I held her at arm's length. "You know about that?"
"Of course. It's only boys who aren't told." She looked up at me. "Well, are they?"
"No," I said. "No abduction."
"Oh." She sounded disappointed. "I was looking forward to seeing you fight them."
I laughed. "It's not that kind of abduction, villain."
"I know," she said, considering. "But you might have made it so."
I started to laugh again, then stopped and thought about it. I had been abducted once in earnest. What my own reaction to this nobleman's game would have been if I'd truly been caught unwitting, I could not say. Phèdre was right, my friends were heedless in their youthful folly; and my little cousin was nearly as clever as Phèdre. "You're awfully smart, Alais."
"I know," she said complacently.
After our dance, I sought out Hugues. He was talking with Ti-Philippe, but he turned away the moment he saw me. I fished the Balm House token out of my purse and showed it to him, and he merely nodded. Phèdre had chosen him wisely. I remembered how he had silenced the others on the way to Lombelon when their talk of the Night Court began to make me uncomfortable. Out of all Montrève's household, he had the kindest heart.
The remainder of the affair passed in a blur. I endured sly looks from Bertran and Julien, and Gilot and the others; and I watched them fade in resigned disappointment as Joscelin circulated, speaking quietly to them. Somewhat to my surprise, Mavros did not appear to be among my would-be abductees. He shook his head when Joscelin spoke to him, his expression unchanged. Then again, he knew me better than the others. I was easier in their company than I was in his, but I had never opened my heart to them, and they had no skill to see inside it.
I wonder, sometimes, what it would be like to have a true friend—one I could speak to openly and without fear, or strange undercurrents of tension. I was friendly with Gilot, but it wasn't quite the same. In truth, Alais was probably the nearest thing I had… but there are certain things one cannot speak of to an eleven-year-old girl.
Like tonight.
The fete ended at a reasonable hour. I made my thanks and farewells, and in the flurry of activity as the footmen hurried about fetching cloaks and summoning coaches, Hugues tapped me on the shoulder, Ti-Philippe beside him.
"Our horses are saddled and waiting," he murmured.
"You, too?" I said to Ti-Philippe.
"Joscelin's orders. A two-guard minimum." He smiled. "He'll come himself, if you'd rather."
"No," I said slowly. "He's not overly fond of the Night Court, I think."
"True," said Hugues. "Let's go."
Under cover of darkness, we slipped away from the Palace and rode through the City toward Night's Doorstep. The Bastard huffed and snorted beneath me, arching his neck and picking up his hooves in an odd prancing gait. Anxiety had returned to settle in my belly, and I wondered if he felt it. As though to alleviate it, Hugues sang aloud as we rode, an old Siovalese ballad about a shepherd lad who loved Blessed Elua for a brief time, until Elua left him, wandering across Terre d'Ange.
You will find it and lose it, again and again…
It was cold and clear that night; almost wintry, except for the moist odor of spring in the air, rising in a mist from the damp, quickening soil. The inns and wineshops of Night's Doorstep were doing a rollicking business, but it took place behind closed doors and sealed windows, leaving the streets relatively quiet.
"Mont Nuit." At the base of the hill, Hugues breathed the name. "Ready, Imri?"
I nodded. "I'm ready."
We passed other parties leaving as we arrived; riders and coaches, some of them unmarked. Ti-Philippe exchanged good-natured greetings with several of them, and I found myself glad he was there. He was Phèdre nó Delaunay's chevalier, and no one thought it strange to find him on Mont Nuit. For my part, I kept my head low, gazing at my hands on the reins.
All of the Thirteen Houses had their estates on Mont Nuit, and all of them were splendid in different ways. Each estate was gated and fenced, with the insignia of the House rendered on the gates. Cereus House, first and oldest, sat atop the hill's crest. The others lay lower. We reached Balm House before I had a chance to see the place where Phèdre spent her childhood. The insignia on the gates matched the relief on my ivory token.
"Here we are," Ti-Philippe said softly.
There was a gatekeeper. Behind bars of wrought iron, he bowed to us. "What seek you, my lords?"
I showed him the token. "Healing."
He bowed again, deeply. "Then find it," he said, opening the gates.
We rode up to the courtyard of Balm House. It was a pleasant place, low and sprawling. The air smelled green and good, like Richeline's herb garden. Ostlers descended on us, solicitous and friendly, taking our horses to be stabled and directing us to the main door. I found my feet faltering.
Hugues nudged me. "Go on, Imriel."
The door of Balm House opened, spilling a square of lamplight. There was a figure silhouetted in it; a woman's figure, broad-hipped and solid.
"Young highness," she said in a grave voice. "I am Nathalie nó Balm, the Dowayne of this House. Be welcome here, you and your men."
I took a deep breath and entered. "Thank you."
She looked like a mother; or someone's mother. Not mine, surely. There was somewhat in her presence and her manner that eased me. "So," she said, smiling at me, ushering us into the foyer, where servants in the livery of Balm House bowed and took our cloaks. "You seek healing here."
I held out my hand with the token on it. "Phèdre sent me."
The Dowayne Nathalie took it from me, her eyes crinkling. "Yes, I know. We have spoken. Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève is wise in Naamah's ways, and you are wise to trust to her wisdom. Will you trust to mine?"
I hesitated. "How so, my lady?"
"Ah." She steepled her fingers and touched her lips. "Come and see."
She led us into the reception salon. It was a vast space, but it was arranged on an intimate scale, divided by carved screens which formed a number of smaller spaces. There were clusters of couches, with hanging oil lamps casting a warm glow above them. Everywhere, potted plants grew, lending an herbal fragrance to the air and mingling with the scent of beeswax candles. In the center of the room, a small fountain trickled gently, and somewhere a flautist was playing, low and sweet. There were a handful of patrons arrayed on the couches, conversing with graceful adepts. Apprentices circulated with winejugs and trays of cordial, quiet and unobtrusive.
"A peaceful place," Ti-Philippe observed. "Very pleasant, my lady."
"My thanks, chevalier." The Dowayne inclined her head to him, then turned to me. "Balm House is not like other houses. If it is your wish, I will arrange a showing of those adepts available and willing to serve you. But if you permit, I will use my own judgment, and choose." Her smile deepened. "And thus do I judge, young highness. A woman, not a man; although there might be healing there, too, it is too soon and not what you seek. A woman, a young woman, close to your own age, but far enough from it to impart a wisdom of her own."
"All right," I said. "Yes." My mouth had gone dry again, but I steeled myself against it, reading her face. "You've already chosen, haven't you?"
"You see much." She touched my cheek with surprising tenderness, and her gaze was gentle. "Is it through your mother's blood, or your foster-mother's training?"
"Both," I whispered.
"Poor lad," murmured the Dowayne Nathalie. "It's a hard burden to bear."
Caught between empathy and desire, I merely nodded.
The Dowayne rang a small silver bell that hung from her belt. Its tinkling chime was scarce audible above the murmur of conversation, fountain, and flute, but an apprentice was there in an instant. "Please summon Emmeline," the Dowayne said. The apprentice bowed, and the Dowayne indicated a nearby cluster of couches. "I pray you, sit and refresh yourselves."
I was too nervous to remain seated. Within a few moments, the adept Emmeline arrived. She was some twenty years of age, tall and slender, with solemn grey eyes and lovely features. Her hair was the color of Katherine Friote's, a honeyed brown, spilling like silk over her shoulders.
"Welcome, Prince Imriel," she said gravely, curtsying. "I am Emmeline."
"Have I gauged you well, young highness?" Nathalie nó Balm asked shrewdly, appearing at her side.
I stared at Emmeline, and nodded. "Well met," I said to her, feeling awkward. "I'm… well, yes. Imriel. Which you already knew."
"Indeed, it is my honor, your highness." She smiled at me. It was one of those smiles wholly without guile, that make one feel as though the sun had broken through the clouds, and I found myself smiling in return.
"The Comtesse has taken care of all arrangements," the Dowayne said. "If you are well pleased, then go and find the healing you seek. Your men will be well attended and there are quarters where they may seek repose, should the hour grow late."
I glanced at Hugues and Ti-Philippe.
"Well?" Ti-Philippe smiled, not unkindly. "Go on, then."
I glanced at Emmeline.
"Come," she said simply, holding out her hand. I took it and let her lead me through the salon. A few patrons looked up as we passed, and I found myself ducking my head to hide my features. My heart was beating as hard as though I'd run a race. After the salon, we passed through a series of halls, where we encountered no one, to Emmeline's room itself. There she closed the door behind us.
Like everywhere else in Balm House, it was pleasant; large and spacious, with fretted lamps casting intricate shadows on the walls. A charcoal brazier warmed the air. The bed was vast, piled high with white pillows and hung about with sheer curtains. I tried not to stare at it.
"Imriel." Emmeline still held my hand. Now she turned it over, bowing her head and tracing a line over my palm and the inside of my wrist with one fingertip. Surely she could feel my pulse racing. I swallowed hard. We were standing so close, I could smell the faint scent she wore, a light perfume with notes of citrus.
"Yes?" I said hoarsely.
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