Kushiel's Scion (22 page)
"It's cold!" she cried in dismay.
I laughed. "I told you. It's spring-fed."
Her chin lifted, and she nodded toward the lake. "I dare you!"
Somewhat in her tone reminded me of the children's dares we had once undertaken together, that first summer in Montrève; and somewhat, to be fair, did not. But I was weary of my own caution and cowardice.
"All right," I said recklessly, standing and stripping off my shirt. "I will."
"Imriel." Roshana, reclining on the spread blankets, roused herself. "Are you sure—?"
I ignored her, shedding my boots and untying my breeches and linen undergarments, kicking them loose until I stood naked beneath the vast blue sky. In the bright daylight, the faded weal-marks on my back and the pale brand on my flank must surely be visible. Pretending they were not, I ran the few paces to the lake's verge and launched myself in a shallow dive.
The water was cold.
It was very cold.
I came up sputtering, my teeth already chattering. "Satisfied?" I gasped.
They stood on the edge, peering at me while I trod water. "Well, you've proved you can swim," Roshana said. "Was there some other point to this?"
I splashed a bright spray of water at them until they retreated to the blankets, laughing. I hauled myself out of the water onto the stone ledge. There I stood, dripping in the warm sunlight, my skin prickling with gooseflesh from the lake's chill. Though I stood on solid ground, I still felt strangely bouyant, suspended between the carefree child of the Sanctuary I had once been and the confident adult I wished to become.
"I don't know," I said to them. "Was there?"
Roshana chuckled, and Katherine ducked her head, a curtain of her honey-brown hair swinging forward to conceal her smile. She groped for my clothing and tossed my shirt at me. "Go on, dry off! You don't want to take ill again."
At that I made a face, but I did as she said. My clothes clung to my damp skin. I wrung out my soaked hair, leaving it to hang in a sodden mass down my back. "So," I said, joining them to sit cross-legged on the blankets. "What now?"
"Lunch," Katherine said, eyeing me sidelong.
We ate well, our appetites honed by the long ride and the clean air. The food was shepherd's fare, simple but good—Richeline's crusty bread, sharp cheese and sausage, seasoned ham and oil-cured olives sprinkled with rosemary. We ate everything we had brought, sharing a skin of crisp white wine to wash it down.
When we had finished, I felt replete and lazy. The sun had dried my clothing, and I was warm and content. I lay on my back, closing my eyes, listening to the hum of the meadow, the long grass rustling. It didn't matter why we were here, what scheme the girls had concocted. The world was good, which was reason enough to rejoice. I let go of desire, content to relish the moment and my own sense of well-being.
"Mavros says there are things you wish to understand," Roshana said softly.
I opened my eyes, squinting.
Her deft fingers were at work, plucking stalks of tall grass and weaving them into a neat plait. "We were talking," Roshana continued. "Katherine and I, on the ride back from the village. About the games that we learn to play in Kusheth and Siovale, and the differences between them."
I sat upright. "What games?"
"You know!" Katherine blushed. "Games, Imri!"
I shook my head. I had an idea of what she was trying to get at, but I had no experience in such matters. "You'll have to teach me."
Katherine sighed. Leaning over, she grasped a handful of trailing bindweed, tugging the blue-flowering vines loose and gathering them into a loop. " 'I cast a net to catch true love,'" she chanted, tossing the impromptu noose aloft. It fell onto the blanket, half draped over my foot. "You never learned that one?"
"No." I frowned at the length of vine. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Nothing!" Katherine's voice held a trace of acerbity. "I didn't catch you. If it had landed over your head, you would have owed me a kiss."
"So—" I began.
"This is a game we play in Kusheth," Roshana intervened. "It has a sharper edge than those you play in Siovale." She gave her grass-plaited quirt an experimental snap, and smiled when both Katherine and I jumped involuntarily. "There's no harm in it, Imriel."
"For whom?" I asked uneasily. "And why?"
"For anyone." Her smile deepened. " 'Tis a light game." She touched the trailing end of her grass quirt to my cheek. "You're afraid, aren't you?"
I brushed away the plaited grass in an irritable gesture. "Of you? No."
"Of your own desires," Roshana said calmly. "Of those things you crave and fear to give voice to. This is only the merest taste of them, and one you should enjoy." She turned to Katherine. "You understand, do you not?"
I opened my mouth to answer for her, to say, No. But Katherine raised her chin as she had when she dared me; this time, daring my cousin. "I'm not afraid," she announced.
"So we play." Roshana trailed the ticklish end of the grass quirt along Katherine's cheekbone, circling her ear. "This is the nature of the game. If you squirm or make a sound," she whispered, "you earn a lash. If you don't…you win a kiss."
Katherine whimpered.
The grass-plaited quirt cracked.
I winced at it. Katherine's eyes flew wide open, and she gasped, startled and half-laughing. It was a teasing blow, landing harmlessly on her upper arm, but even so, it was sharp enough to raise a faint pink welt. The sight of it stirred dark unease in me. I knew, altogether too well, how deep a welt a real whip left. I still bore the scars. It had taken a measure of bravado to bare them today; a bravado I no longer felt.
"Let's not do this," I said, finding my voice. "Roshana, please don't."
"It's only a game." She let the grass quirt trace a path down Katherine's throat, tickling the hollow at its base where her pulse beat visibly. "But it is a game of resistance and surrender." She traced a delicate pattern on Katherine's skin, watching her pulse quicken. "You ask why, Imriel. Because in a game of wills, the stakes are raised and pleasure is heightened. And in the playing of it, we come to know ourselves—and each other—more deeply." The quirt trailed lower. "Already, I'll wager Katherine has learned something new of herself since first we met," she said, meeting her eyes. "Is it not so?"
Katherine returned her gaze with mute, sparkling defiancé.
"You see?" Roshana smiled. "She has won a kiss." Rising on her knees, she leaned forward, laying down the quirt. With my mouth agape, I watched her deliver on her promise. It was a real kiss, deep and lingering, and Katherine returned it ardently. I felt a rush of desire so intense I ached. It left me feverish, lightheaded and sick. When they parted, strands of their hair remained caught together, blue-black and honey-brown, shimmering in the sunlight like spider's silk.
"Your turn, cousin." Roshana picked up the grass quirt and placed it in my hand. "You may choose either one of us."
I clutched it hard, feeling the neat plaits press against my sweating palm. I envisioned myself swinging it, the smart snap and the ensuing welt. Both the girls regarded me with amusement. It was true, it was only a game; a silly game. And I, who had reveled in the sense of being suspended between childhood and adulthood only an hour ago, now felt at once too young and too old to play. I couldn't do it. As much as I wanted them—both of them, either of them—I couldn't. Not like this. My mouth went dry, desire shriveling.
"I can't." I tossed the quirt onto the blanket. "I'm sorry, but I can't."
Katherine colored and looked away, and I knew I had embarrassed her. Whatever, exactly, had been offered here today, I had spurned it. She would not be quick to repeat the offer in any form. I wished we'd played the Siovalese game instead. I put my head in my hands and sighed.
"It's all right, Imriel." Roshana's voice was surprisingly gentle. I lifted my head and saw concern in her face. "You know we mean well, don't you?"
I nodded. "I do want to understand. It's just…" I tried to find words that would encompass the enormity of it, that would explain how and why, here in the open air of a flowering meadow, I was haunted by the fetid stench of stagnant water. How plaits of fragrant grass evoked the shadow of knotted leather crusted dark with old blood. "Daršanga," I said.
It was the first time I had said the word aloud to anyone but Phèdre. They exchanged a glance.
"That was the name of the place?" Roshana asked.
"Yes," I murmured.
"I'm sorry, Imri," Katherine said impulsively. "I forget, sometimes. You seem, so…" She shrugged, giving me a sweet smile. "Well, like a brother, only not."
I smiled back at her. "I try to forget, too."
"Try harder," she said, teasing.
So at least a day that bid fair to end in disaster ended in goodwill. We gathered our things and made the long trek down the mountain, arriving at the manor house in ample time for supper. Afterward, Katherine bustled about her duties, while I sat and spoke with my cousins in the great room, as we had done every evening since they arrived.
Nothing had changed.
Save that once again I lay sleepless. And this time it was not the fevered conjecture of my imagination that made me wakeful, but memory, and the piercing desire that accompanied it. When I closed my eyes, I saw Roshana and Katherine, kissing. I sweated and tossed, tangled in my sheets, and cursed myself for an idiot.
Try harder.
Would that it was so simple.
Chapter Thirteen
In the final days of their visit, I quarreled with Mavros. I own it freely; the fault was mine, although Mavros played his part. In truth, after the day at the lake, I was wound tighter than a child's top. Montrève, my respite and haven, had become fraught with tension and desire.
It was not the fault of the Shahrizai. They were what they were; they sought to deal fairly with me. The shadow on my soul was no fault of theirs. I was the one who was unfair. I beseeched them for understanding, and fled when it was offered.
After the lake, Roshana understood. She had caught a glimpse of what I had undergone in that single word: Daršanga. She did not press me, for which I was grateful. And Baptiste… Baptiste was a joy. I saw much in him of what I might have been, had it not been for Daršanga, by turns merry and indolent, partaking in life to its fullest. No priest of Elua would ever need remind Baptiste to rejoice; it was part and parcel of his nature.
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