Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [299]
"People died because of you!" he spat.
"Yes." Her voice was steady. "And people have died because of Ysandre de la Courcel, and because of Phèdre nó Delaunay, too. Messire Verreuil here has dispatched a good many of them himself. Do you despise them because of it?"
"No." Imriel sounded uncertain. Joscelin shot a concerned look atme, and I shook my head imperceptibly. "That's different."
"It's different because you know their story, their side of the story." Melisande's face was impossibly calm. "You don't know mine. You have asked. Will you hear it?"
We were standing, all of us, at odd angles to one another, awkward and formal. Winter sunlight filled the marbled chambers and a pair of charcoal braziers provided warmth. In the background, the unseen fountain splashed. Imriel turned to me, tears in his eyes.
"I don't want to know," he said in Jeb'ez. "I shouldn't have asked. Do I have to listen?"
"No." I shook my head. "The choice is yours."
"Is it true?"
I regarded Melisande, whose gaze had sharpened upon hearing her son address me in an unfamiliar tongue. "Yes," I said to Imriel in D'Angeline. "It is true. Every story has two sides, even your mother's."
Joscelin shifted, but offered no comment.
Imriel stared at his mother.
There was no escaping the resemblance between them, nor ever would be. The shape of his chin, he'd got from his father, and the straight line of his brows. Everything else was hers—the elegant bones of his face, the clear brow, the generous, sensual mouth, the blue-black hair that fell in ripples rather than curls. And the eyes, Elua, the eyes!
"No," he said finally, his voice harsh. "I know enough. I don't want to hear more."
Melisande inclined her head. "It is as you wish, Imriel. Remember it is there."
He turned back to me. "Can we go, now?"
"Yes," I said. "If it's what you want."
He nodded, his face sick and pleading.
"Then go with Joscelin," I said gently. "You can make an offering to Asherat-of-the-Sea, who once saved my life. I will stay a moment, and speak with your mother."
They went, Imriel placing his hand trustingly in Joscelin's, Joscelin gave me a dour warning glance as they went, but never spoke a word. And Melisande watched them go, and I felt against my skin the bitter intensity of her longing. When they left, she sat down on the couch with a shuddering sigh, passing both hands blindly over her face.
"How is he, truly?" she asked me.
I remained standing. "Whole enough in body, my lady. He has nightmares.”
Melisande lifted her gaze. "Do I want to know why?"
"No." I shook my head. "You don't."
She looked away. "And I am in your debt, twice-over. Do I want to know what you endured to find him, Phèdre?"
"No." I couldn't rid myself of a terrible compassion. "No, my lady, you do not."
"The kingdom that died and lives." Melisande laughed without mirth. "Drujan. Jahanadar, the land of fires. Ptolemy Dikaios feared it, I know that much, and he is a learned man. It lies under the rule of Khebbel-im-Akkad now, had you heard?"
"No."
"It seems they surrendered peaceably." She eyed me. "Passing strange, when even the Khalif s formidable army feared to cross its borders. So, I understand, did Lord Amaury's men."
I said nothing.
Melisande sighed. "What of the men who harmed my son?"
"They are dead."
Her face hardened. "You swear to it?"
"Yes." I thought of Imriel, checking time and again to make certain that the Kereyit Tatar warlord Jagun was dead; and I thought of Mahrk-agir's heart beating beneath my hand, his brilliant, trusting eyes as I positioned the hairpin against his breast. "I swear to it."
"You took my son to Jebe-Barkal."
"Yes." I crossed over to the low table where a tray of refreshments sat ignored, pouring myself a glass of wine. My mouth was dry with fear. "I did."
"Why?"
Her gaze was sharper than Kaneka's hairpins. I kept my face neutral as I sat on the couch opposite her and sipped my wine. "Do you know, he followed us? He pulled one of your own tricks, my lady, trading cloaks with a Tyrean serving-lad. Elua knows what Lord Amaury made