Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [207]
He gazed stubbornly into the chasm beneath his feet. "But it's not
fair."
"No." My heart ached for him; for me, for Joscelin, for all of us. "It's not. Ah, Imri! Even gods may falter, and I am only mortal. I would have spared you any harm, but I failed to protect you in Darśanga, and I failed here, too. I am sorry. I did my best."
His shoulders twitched. "You were hurt worse. In Daršanga."
"Mayhap." I flinched at the memory, knowing he couldn't see, and made sure my voice was steady. "But it was of my choosing, Imri, and it was worth it in the end. The Mahrkagir is no more. And you . . . you are safe, and will soon be with the Queen, who has yearned these many years to welcome you into her household as kindred. I can ask no more."
"It's still not fair," he muttered.
"I know." Reaching out with one hand, I stroked his hair. "Ah, love! I know."
"I want to stay with you." Abruptly, Imriel lifted his head, his expression at once belligerent and vulnerable. "With you and Joscelin. I don't want to go back with Lord Amaury, to be her son and his, where all the world will hate me! I don't care about thrones and all that! I don't care about the Queen! I want to stay with you."
"You can't," I said gently. "Like it or not, it is true. You are Imriel de la Courcel, a Prince of the Blood, and you have a future awaiting you. Right now, there is a caravan awaiting your pleasure, and a pony picked out just for you. Uru-Azag saw to the trappings himself. And there are injured women awaiting, who would be better served by the chirurgeons of Nineveh than my poor endeavors. Will you keep them waiting all day?"
"No." Sober at the reminder, Imriel got to his feet at the verge of the yawning gorge. I swallowed my fear and rose, holding out my hand.
He took it gravely, crossing the gap between us. "I'm sorry, Phèdre," he said, looking at me with guilt-stricken eyes. "Will they hate me for it, do you think? Because I am my mother's son?"
"No." I held his hand hard, my heart aching. "I won't let them."
SIXTY
SINADDAN-SHAMABARSIN DID not wish us to enter Nineveh with fanfare, and therefore we passed through the gates in the small hours of the night, when the horned moon hung white and distant overhead, diffusing a silver light over the clay buildings, casting odd shadows on the empty streets.
It was the only way. A company of our size, mainly comprised of unveiled women from a dozen nations, would have drawn attention. I was glad of it, for it meant the Lugal had taken the warning I'd sent ahead by courier to heart. He would not act until he had heard me out.
Still, it was strange, everything muffled by night, the faces I'd come to know so well rendered indistinct. And stranger still when we parted ways at the Palace of Nineveh. Valère L'Envers, the Lugalin, had ordered an unused wing of the women's quarters thrown open and made ready for their arrival, and there they would be housed, while their fates were decided.
A different welcome awaited the D'Angelines.
The rest of us—Amaury, Joscelin, Imriel and I—would be treated as royal guests, and Amaury's three comrades quartered within the Palace. And despite the lateness of the hour, we were formally received as such by the Lugalin herself.
"Comtesse Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève." Color stood out on Valère L'Envers cheeks as she sat like a gilded effigy on the throne in her private audience hall, and I could not say if she was pleased to see me or not. "My lord Trente, Messire Cassiline." The jewel-bedecked headdress dipped, and her voice changed. "Prince Imriel de la Courcel."
We all made obeisance. Imriel bowed stiffly, wary. "Your highness."
In the cloistered hall, I saw him anew—saw what Valère saw, the gemlike beauty, the blue-black hair of House Shahrizai, his eyes thecolor of sapphires, the hue of twilight. His mother's face, carved in miniature.
Her mouth twisted as she regarded me. "So again, despite all odds, you return alive, Comtesse. It seems I will not