Kushiel's Scion (124 page)
The guard grinned. "Aye, it's him!"
With dueling whoops and shouts, they dashed away, pelting through the City.
"What in the world?" Gerard asked, bemused.
"Tsingani." The guard shrugged. "They've been hanging about for a few days. I don't mind, as long as they don't steal."
Another time, I might have stayed to defend the reputation of the Tsingani, but not today. I could well guess that the lads were there at Phèdre's behest; or mayhap Emile's out of the affection he bore her. Even now, they were racing to carry the news. Filled with impatience, I pushed past the guard to follow in their wake.
"Welcome home, your highness!" he called after me.
The City of Elua.
It seemed bigger than I remembered it. I'd thought it would seem smaller, but it didn't. We crossed the arched bridge over the Aviline, the river sparkling in the wintry sun. Pedestrians made way for us, casting respectful glances at the casket. No one recognized me in the midst of Gerard's men, surrounded by Marsilikan banners and livery.
My heart was thudding in my chest.
We got almost as far as Elua's Square when the sound of pounding hoofbeats shattered the air. I recognized Ti-Philippe by his seat, riding hell-for-leather, with Hugues on his heels. A grin split my face, and I gave the Bastard his head.
"Imri!"
It's a wonder no one was killed. We collided in Elua's Square in a churning tangle of horseflesh, limbs, and leather. Hugues embraced me so hard, I thought he meant to lift me clean out of the saddle, and then the Bastard reared and nearly unseated me, spooking Ti-Philippe's mount in turn. Somehow, laughing and talking all at once, we managed to get ourselves untangled and righted.
"Where—" I began.
"Imri, love."
Phèdre's voice.
I'd not even heard them arrive in the confusion. They had already dismounted. Standing in the square, Joscelin a half-step behind her. I stared at them. My mouth had gone dry and the blood was pounding in my ears until I felt dizzy with it. Phèdre's eyes shone. She was wearing a dark green gown. It hurt to look at her. At them.
No one spoke.
I dismounted in silence, dropping the Bastard's reins. My legs were trembling. I made myself move them. I walked into her arms, and his arms came around the both of us.
Home.
How long we stayed that way, I couldn't have said. A long time, I suppose. It didn't feel like it. But at length, I became aware of the murmur of voices, other voices, low and somber. Taking a deep breath, I pulled away.
Joscelin looked at the cart. "Gilot?"
I nodded. I didn't trust myself to speak, not yet.
"Ah, love!" There was sorrow in Phèdre's voice; an ocean of sorrow. Tears gleamed on her beautiful face. "I'm so sorry."
"I know," I whispered. "So am I."
Thus was my homecoming, filled with shared gladness and grief. We didn't go home straightaway, but took Gilot's casket to the cemetery. All was in readiness. Phèdre had written to his family when she received the news of his death. It would have been his wish, his mother had written in reply, to be buried as a member of Montrève's household. His service to House Montrève was his greatest pride.
Gerard and his men accompanied us; and Romuald, too. An elderly priest of Elua met us at the cemetery gate, emerging from the humble gatehouse there. It was a duty many of them took upon themselves in the last years of their lives.
"Comtesse." The priest inclined his head. His hair was white, as white as snow. Even his lashes were snowy, barely visible against his wrinkled eyelids. "Come with me."
The men of Montrève bore the casket; Joscelin and I in the front, Ti-Philippe and Hugues at the rear, the poles resting on our shoulders.
It was heavy.
We followed Phèdre and the priest through the city of the dead, along aisles of grass turned brown and sere. The priest's bare feet were gnarled beneath the hem of his blue robe. Only the members of the Great Houses of Terre d'Ange were buried here. Some of the mausoleums we passed were ornate, adorned with elaborate statuary, surrounded by dozens of grave markers. Others were simple.
Montrève's was simple. There is a graveyard on the estate where most of the members of House Montrève lie. Only two lay within the mausoleum in the City: Anafiel Delaunay de Montrève and Alcuin nó Delaunay. It was built on Ysandre's orders, following their murders.
And there, beside it, a new grave had been dug. The freshly turned soil lay in a neat pile on the far side, a pair of shovels crossed atop it. It had been made ready as soon as the courier from Marsilikos had arrived. We lowered the casket on the near side of the grave and slid the poles from the brass rings.
"Has he been blessed and annointed?" the priest asked Phèdre.
She glanced at me, and I shook my head. "No," I said.
I undid the latches myself while the priest offered a prayer, and then the four of us lifted the lid from the casket. A powerful odor of myrrh filled the air. I was half afraid of what we might find—I daresay all of us were—but the embalmers had done their job well.
Gilot.
True and not true.
It looked like him, like a Gilot carved of marble, bloodless and pale. His closed eyelids were smooth and serene, his mouth closed and somber. The priest drew a vial of oil from his vestments and smeared some on his brow, uttering the formal words of blessing. He kissed his fingertips and touched them lightly to Gilot's breast.
"Go forth in love," he said. "May you pass through the bright gate to the true Terre d'Ange-that-lies-beyond."
We replaced the heavy lid and I reclosed the latches. And then we picked up the casket and lowered it into the earth. Phèdre stooped and grasped a handful of soil. "Blessed Elua hold you in his hand, Gilot," she whispered, letting it trickle through her fingers.
I followed suit, and others after me. And then I took up a shovel and began filling in the grave. Others helped, and I let them, but I didn't relinquish my turn. It was something I needed to do. I had promised to bring him home.
I keep my promises, my mother had written.
So did I.
And then it was done. I set down my shovel and straightened, running my sleeve over my brow. I felt tired and sad, but lighter, too. A burden had passed from my keeping.
"You all right, your highness?" Romuald asked me a last time.
"Yes," I said. "I am."
We parted ways after the cemetery. Gerard was bound for the Palace to carry his mothers greetings to the Queen, and his men would accompany him. I thanked him for his kindness.
"Oh, anytime!" he said cheerfully. "Mind what Jeanne said and come visit, will you?" He laughed. "Watch out for candles, though!"
I flushed. "I will."
Romuald left us, too. Phèdre had offered him hospitality, but he had declined, stammering somewhat about an inn and friends in the City. He was ill at ease in her presence, awestruck and overwhelmed. I didn't blame him. Gilot had been like that at first. He used to stare at Phèdre when he thought no one was looking, blushing and tripping over himself to apologize when he was caught out at it. He'd gotten over it, though.
"You're welcome, highness," Romuald said when I thanked him for his service. "I couldn't risk have you turning up on her ladyship's doorstep looking every inch a ragged beggar, could I?"
I laughed. "I wouldn't have dared!"
"Oh, no?" He grinned at me, then dared a sidelong glance at Phèdre, who looked bemused. "Ah, well… I'm glad to have seen you home safely." He nodded in the direction of the cemetery. "And him."
I clasped his hand. "Do me a kindness. He left a woman behind in Tiberium, Anna Marzoni. She's a young widow, with a daughter. I've seen to it that they'll be provided for, but if you think on it, will you call on them when you return and make certain they want for naught?"
Romuald nodded. "Of course."
He rode away whistling. I watched him go, thinking he was a good man, a kind man. Gilot, who'd always rolled his eyes at Lucius, would have liked him. I wondered if Anna would find him beautiful. She would, I thought. She might even let herself care for him. Who could say? It was worth hoping, at any rate.
"Ah, love!" Phèdre's voice broke my reverie. "How you've grown!"
I smiled at her. "I'm just me."
She shook her head, but said nothing. There was time. Time to talk, time to tell her everything. Time to speak of Tiberium, of Master Piero, of Claudia Fulvia and the Unseen Guild. Of Bernadette de Trevalion and Ruggero Caccini. Of Lucca and Gallus Tadius, Canis and my mother, Eamonn and Brigitta. Time to speak to Joscelin, to tell him about the siege—the parts I didn't want Phèdre to know. To ask him how long it took before one stopped seeing one's dead in dreams.
"Are we ready to go home?" Ti-Philippe asked plaintively. In his haste, he'd ridden out without a cloak, and he was shivering in the cold air. "I'm perishing out here!"
Joscelin glanced at me. "Imri?"
"Elua, yes!" I said. "Home."
At the townhouse, it was mayhem all over again. There was a lieutenant of the Queen's Guard waiting on us. Eugenie hadn't known that we would go to the cemetery before returning to the townhouse—it had all happened so quickly—and she was beside herself with anxiety. I'd scarce gotten through the door when she seized me.
"Oh, you bad child!" she said, hugging and scolding me, while the lieutenant looked on with horrified amazement. Tears ran down her plump cheeks. "What took you so long?"
"Gilot," I said.
"Ah." Eugenie went quiet for a moment. "The poor lad. I'd forgotten."
The lieutenant cleared his throat. "Your highness? I'm Zacharel Clarence of her majesty's personal guard. I'm bidden to summon you to the Palace. Her majesty is most eager to see you."
"I'm sure she is." I gave Eugenie a kiss on the cheek and moved away. I gave Lieutenant Zacharel a friendly smile. "Tell her majesty that I will present myself on the morrow."
He blinked at me. "Pardon?"
"Tell her majesty that I will present myself at Court on the morrow," I repeated. I waited until he opened his mouth to protest. "Lieutenant, I've come a very long way, and I've just buried a man who died because he was loyal to me. I'm tired. I wish to spend the remainder of the day with my family." I gave the word a deliberate emphasis. "You've seen with your own eyes that I'm alive and well. Pray tell her majesty as much, and that I look forward to seeing her anon."
He stared at me for a moment, then glanced around. Phèdre met his gaze with a mild look. Ti-Philippe opened the door for him, bowing as if to usher him through it. Joscelin leaned against a wall, vambraced forearms folded over his chest.
"I'll… I'll tell her," the lieutenant said.
I inclined my head. "Thank you."
He left. For a moment, I nearly thought Phèdre would follow to offer some words to soften the message—she watched him go, her expression thoughtful—but she didn't.
Joscelin straightened and grinned at me. "And how did that feel?"
I smiled back at him, and knew he knew exactly how I felt. Good and proud, and a little bit foolish, too. Ysandre would pay dearly for Tiberium's aid in Lucca and I was grateful for it, but she was getting her money's worth. I'd agreed to her plans for Alba. It didn't meant I was placing myself at her beck and call. "It feels… ah, Elua!" I took a deep breath. "Good, mostly. And very, very good to be home."
It was a late night.
The story came out in bits and pieces. Everyone wanted to hear it, from Eugenie and Clory to Benoit the stable-lad, and certainly all of Gilot's comrades. With her usual grace, Phèdre acquiesced, inviting the entire household to dine with us. There was enough food prepared for a small army, a fact which I appreciated. One of the retainers—Marcel, who had known me for years—teased me at the dinner table.
"Are you sure you've got enough on your plate, your highness?" he asked. "I can still see the top of your head."
Eugenie glared at him. "Hush, you!"
I swallowed a succulent mouthful of roasted beef. "You'd have an appetite, too, if you'd spent weeks on Gallus Tadius' rations."
"Gallus Tadius?" Ti-Philippe frowned. "I was the Admiral's man, but wasn't there a Caerdicci warlord—?" He shook his head. "No, no mind. Old sailors swapping tales, that's all. He's long dead."
"Well, he was," I said.
Throughout the course of the dinner, and afterward in the salon, I told them about Lucca. About Helenas abduction, my haunted friend Lucius, the mundus manes and the broken mask in the lararium. Gallus Tadius. The battle for the gatehouse, Valpetra's hand.
Gilot's death.
I didn't try spinning a tale out of it, I just told them. Told them that what Gilot had done in the gatehouse had saved countless lives, mine included. How he was a hero after all.
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