Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [134]
This is how it ends.
I looked at Joscelin, his quiet, capable hands curled around a cup of honey-beer, no rejoicing in his expression, only quiet compassion awaiting my reaction. I thought of my dream, my vow, the diamond held forth on Kushiel's hand. I wondered at the absence of desire within me, that terrible, waiting emptiness. And I felt the looming pattern that had hovered over us since that first awful moment in Siovale, when I realized that there was no intrigue, no plot, behind Imriel's abduction, come to a terrible fruition.
Branching paths, and each one lying in darkness.
It is said the Mahrkagir searches for the perfect victim . . .
What was Kushiel's Chosen if not that?
Ah, no, I thought; Blessed Elua, no! It is too much to ask; too much!
And even as I thought it, the emptiness was filled, a vast inrushing presence of joy and love and light, more light than I could bear. It swelled within me, lovely and unbearable. Filled with presence, I was vastened, conscious of an overarching pattern that encompassed all of life within it; all of love. Love, and all that it entailed; the complicated ties that bound us to one another, that begat life, loyalty, compassion, and sacrifice in its truest sense. I had not believed it possible, until then. I did not think it possible for a mortal being to contain such glory. What was it that filled me? Not Kushiel, no, nor Naamah, but Elua, Blessed Elua, the bright shadow whom they all followed, all of them, revealing at last the immensity of his plan, filling and surrounding me, golden and irresistible, filling my soul with radiant light, filling my mouth with the taste of honey, setting my heart to beating like a hummingbird's wings, yes, yes, yes.
No, I thought. Tears stung my eyes. No.
It is too much.
I drew in a breath and heard the air rasp in my lungs, and the presence eased, loosening its grip, beginning to fade like the dying strains of a beautiful song. Forgive me, I thought, desperately grateful, forgive me, Elua my lord, thank you for your compassion, for understanding, I swear to you, I will heed you in every action, I will pour incense upon your altar every day, I will say a thousand prayers in blessing. . .
The presence continued to fade, withdrawing in regret, all of it. Farewell, I heard, final and unarguable, farewell. And it was not only Elua, Blessed Elua, but the others, too—Kushiel, the bronze wings beating their last in my bloodstream; Naamah, her enigmatic smile fading.
All of them, leaving me forever.
And the dull grey emptiness waiting to take their place.
"All right!" I clenched my hands, nails digging into my palms, not realizing I'd spoken aloud. "I will do it."
"Phèdre?"
It was Joscelin's voice, low and concerned. I blinked at him through my tears, unsteady in my chair at the massive inrushing presence thatfilled me, vastening and painful, but there. I was not abandoned, no, and I was myself. "Yes?" I whispered.
"I thought ..." His beloved face was perplexed. "You were just staring, at nothing, and for a moment I thought ..." He shook his head. "I thought I saw the mark, Kushiel's Dart, the scarlet mote in your eye ... it was disappearing, I swear it, shrinking before my eyes. I saw it dwindle to a pin-prick, and then ..." Joscelin touched my cheek, wondering. "Then it returned."
"Yes." Giddiness and despair made my voice strange. "I suppose it did. Oh, Joscelin . . . you're not going to like this." Before he could ask what, I turned to the Lugal. "My lord Sinaddan," I asked him in Akkadian. "Would you perchance know anyone willing to guide us to Daršanga? Not as an embassy, but as merchants with human goods to sell?"
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