Kushiel's Scion (123 page)
"Yes." Taking her hand, I drew her into the room. "Oh, yes."
This, too, is sacred.
It was, all of it. And there was healing in it, and ease and mercy. She opened all of the shuttered windows to let the night breeze blow through the chamber, tasting of salt from the ocean. I could feel the chill on my skin, and yet I was hot, too. The embers in the brazier blazed in answer, bright shadows moving in their burning hearts.
No brooding.
No thinking.
Only a woman, warm and kind. She touched me with her healer's hands, stroking my skin. It felt as though my scars melted under her touch; brand and lash, sword and spear. She took me into her, and we lay for a long time, barely moving. Propped on my arms, I gazed at her black hair spread on the pillow like sea-grass, the flickers of pleasure shifting in her grey eyes. At last, I closed my eyes and rocked slowly, a ship come home to safe harbor, until I felt her sigh into my ear and shudder beneath me and around me, long, slow ripples as inexorable as the tide. And then I sighed, too, and spent myself.
It was quiet and good.
Afterward, I was peaceful and sleepy. Jeanne laughed softly at me, sitting on the edge of the bed and twining her hair into a loose braid. When I made to get up and escort her to the door, she shook her head at me.
"Sleep." She bent down and kissed me, then regarded me for a long minute, a smile still hovering on her lips. "Eisheth had a fondness for beautiful sailor-boys, too."
I laughed.
Jeanne kissed me again, then rose and closed the shutters. The room felt pleasant now, neither too cold or too warm. I fell asleep listening to the rhythmic swish of her skirts. I never even heard the door close softly behind her as she left.
It was a gift that stayed with me. I rose in the morning, later than I'd meant. There was no guilt and no shame, only a lingering sense of tenderness. This was Terre d'Ange, and I was D'Angeline. I was home.
At the breakfast table, Jeanne and I caught one another's eye, and I couldn't help but smile. Gerard noticed it and grinned, raising his brows at his sister.
"Oh, so that's how it is, is it?" he teased her. "You didn't light a candle to Eisheth, did you? It's high time you thought about an heir of your own, you know."
"Of course not!" She rapped his knuckles with a serving spoon. "I've time. And I'd never do such a thing without asking."
"Women do," he observed.
"I don't." Her gaze rested briefly on me, filled with bright amusement and somewhat more. "Though you'd be a good choice if I did, Imriel."
I stared at Jeanne. "Me?"
"Well, of course," she said. "Why not?"
I opened my mouth to reply, then closed it. She didn't mean it, not really. Already, their conversation had moved onward to other matters, brother and sister bantering in a long-familiar pattern of exchange. But she hadn't not meant it, either. I glanced at Roxanne de Mereliot, sure she must be appalled. But no, she was listening to her adult children's sibling banter with a mother's fond patience. She had no objection to the notion that her daughter found me worthy of fathering an heir. It didn't disturb her.
It was a strange thought.
I'd be expected to when I wed Dorelei. Although I'd not let myself think on it, I knew it was true. It was the whole purpose behind the betrothal, securing the succession of Alba in a manner that was acceptable to Terre d'Ange. But that was different. It was politics, nothing but politics. And Dorelei mab Breidaia, poor girl, couldn't be expected to know.
House Mereliot was different.
They knew who I was, what I was. A traitor's get on both sides. And they didn't care. Or if they did, they cared more that I was Phèdre nó Delaunay's foster-son. Or mayhap just myself. Me. Imriel. Not the what, but the who.
It surprised me, pleasantly so.
Let the wound heal, Asclepius had told me. Bear the scar with pride.
I shook my head in wonderment. I was glad, more than glad, that I'd chosen to tarry a night in Marsilikos. A respite, and more. Whether she knew it or not, Jeanne had spoken truly. Eisheth's mercy brushed me; a feather-touch of grace, kinder by far than Kushiel's.
"Forgive my quibbling offspring," Roxanne de Mereliot said to me. "You must be impatient to be off."
I thought for a moment that she'd misread my gesture, then I saw in her fine dark eyes that she had not. They were filled with understanding and wisdom gained through long years; as a ruler, as a mother. As a woman of Eisheth's line, who carried healing in her blood. I smiled at her, and knew it was true. "Yes, my lady. I am."
"Well, then." The Lady of Marsilikos clapped her hands. "Let's be about it!"
Another day, another journey.
She had insisted on providing an escort of twenty men under Gerard's command, and for once I had the sense not to argue. I left Eamonn's letter for his father in her keeping. She and Quintilius Rousse were friends of long standing, and whenever he put to port, she would be the first person he called upon. She promised to see it delivered, and I had no doubt it would be.
Since I no longer had need of Lady Denise's guards, I dispensed the last contents of my purse among them, thanking them for their service. Three of them accepted it gladly, eager to depart for their own destinations and make the most of their time in Terre d'Ange before returning to Tiberium in the spring. Romuald scratched his head and regarded me dubiously.
"Think I'll stay in your service, if you don't mind," he said. "Until we reach the City."
"Of course not."
"Like to tell her ladyship I saw the job through." He watched Gerard's men loading Gilot's casket carefully into a cart. "And then there's him. It's a funny thing, your highness. I never knew him, but I came to think of him as a friend of sorts, on the road together so long." He gave an embarrassed chuckle. "You must think me a little mad."
"No." I laid a hand on his shoulder. "You would have liked him."
Another parting, another farewell.
Jeanne embraced me. I closed my eyes, remembering her black hair spread on the pillow, the sea-surge of love. "Come visit us," she said. "Anytime. You could come in the spring for the Moon-Tide Festival. Have you ever seen the taurières at sport or a Mendacant perform?"
"No," I said. "Not a real one."
"Think on it."
I promised I would, and then Roxanne de Mereliot gave me a kiss of parting; a mother's kiss, gentle on my brow. "A safe journey," she said, patting my cheek. "And my love to Phèdre and her lovely Cassiline." Her dark eyes crinkled. "He makes a terrible Mendacant."
I laughed. "I know."
And then we were off. Another journey, a last journey. At least for a while. Despite the chill, the sun was bright and Marsilikos was doing a bustling trade. The harbor might be quiet for the season, but the city wasn't. All manner of folk would winter here. We passed shops and taverns and markets, temples and brothels. Native Marsilikans recognized Gerard and called out cheerful greetings as we passed, then fell silent when they saw the casket. I saw a few offer prayers to Blessed Elua, and I was glad.
The city behind us, the road before. One of Gerard's men brought out a wooden flute and began to play as he rode, and another beat the time on a tambor. After a moment, Gerard began to sing. He had a fine voice, deep and rolling.
"What was all that about Mendacants?" Romuald asked curiously. "I saw one, once. Came to town when I was a boy. No offense to your highness, but Elua, could he spin a tale!"
I cocked my head at him. "A true tale?"
"Ah, well." He grinned. "Who's to say?"
So I told him, as we rode, about how Joscelin had taken on a Mendacant's guise to cross the country with Phèdre and Hyacinthe; a wandering Eisandine storyteller in a multicolored cloak, travelling in the company of the Tsingani. He knew the story, of course; he was D'Angeline. But he only knew the poets' version, which didn't mention ignominious disguises. I knew the version Phèdre told, laughing at the memory of Joscelin Verreuil practicing the dramatic swirl of his Mendacant's cloak, glaring with stiff, irritable Cassiline dignity at Hyacinthe's persistent coaching. There were some stories they'd never told me; ones I'd learned elsewhere, like how Waldemar Selig sought to skin her alive. From Gilot, mostly.
But this one, Phèdre had told.
And Joscelin… Joscelin listening with wry patience. When I was younger, I'd begged him to demonstrate. He'd done it, too, telling some wild, half-remembered tale they'd concocted between them. He'd actually made a good job of it, which made it all the funnier. Phèdre and I had laughed until we wept. I'd rolled on the floor, helpless with it.
Ah, Elua!
"Are you all right, your highness?" Romuald asked in concern; the same kind, decent concern he'd shown on the barge.
"Yes." I willed my voice to steadiness. It was the nearness of it that had caught me. The nearness to the journey's end, the nearness to those I loved. My heart swelled within me, aching, but I made myself give him an answer, the same answer I'd given before. "I will be." Romuald nodded gravely. "That's good, then."
Chapter Seventy
Never in my life had I been so glad to see the white walls of the City of Elua. From the first glimpse, I found myself standing in the stirrups and craning for a better look. The Bastard caught my mood and began straining at the bit, arching his neck and sidling. He wanted to run, and I wanted to let him.
Gerard laughed at me. "Eager, are we?"
"You've no idea," I said fervently.
It seemed to take forever to reach the gates, and then we had to wait while the guards examined the contents of a merchant's caravan. At last, they waved him through and it was our turn.
"Marsilikos, my lord?" a guard asked Gerard, noting the banners and his crest.
"Gerard de Mereliot," he said cheerfully. "And friends."
The guard looked us over. His gaze passed over me at first and lingered on Gilot's casket. He frowned. "Who died?"
"He was the Comtesse de Montrève's man," I said.
"Why—" He gave me a startled glance. "Oh. Oh! Your highness?"
"Imriel, yes."
A pair of Tsingano lads idling over a game of knucklebones in a patch of sun leapt to their feet. One of them stuck his fingers in his mouth and gave a sharp whistle. "Hey! Is that him?" he called.
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