Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [317]
Imriel grinned. "Can you swim when you're seasick?"
"Shhh." Joscelin tweaked a lock of his hair. "You're not supposed to reveal that, especially in front of the Queen's Poet,"
I caught Thelesis watching their exchange. She smiled, seeing me take notice. "What was it you said to Ysandre? Not all families are born of blood and seed?"
"She told you that?" I was surprised.
"Even a Queen may recognize Elua's hand at work, Phèdre nó Delaunay. Give her time." Thelesis turned her head away to cough, covering her mouth with a kerchief worked with the Courcel insignia. In the background, the apprentice girl set down her pestle and slipped from the stool, bringing the bowl of fine-ground gall for inspection. "Well done," Thelesis said, regaining her voice. "Thank you, Alais."
Alais? I startled, only now recognizing the dark-haired girl in thedrab smock as Ysandre's youngest daughter. So much, I thought, for my vaunted powers of observation. "Princess Alais," I said with alacrity, rising to curtsy.
She peered at me with the violet eyes of House L'Envers and wrinkled her nose. "I'm only Alais, here. Thelesis lets me help, sometimes."
"Now?" I raised my eyebrows at Thelesis.
"She wanted to hear her cousin's story," she said. "Ysandre did not object. Her grandfather Ganelon sought to protect her from unpleasant truths when she was a child. She will not do the same with her daughters. Better they should know the worst, from the beginning, and live their lives accordingly."
"Sidonie didn't want to hear it," Alais said complacently. "She doesn't like to get dirty, either. I do. Will you tell me about seeing lions, cousin?" The latter was directed to Imriel. "I will show you how we make ink."
Imriel glanced at me, uncertain. I shrugged. "Go ahead, if you like."
"Alais, you're not to touch the vitriol," Thelesis called. "Remember last time."
"I won't."
Joscelin, who had risen to bow to the young Princess, laughed aloud as she led Imri away to her worktable. "That one's a handful! I remember, it was Alais who wanted to play with my daggers. How old is she, now? Seven? Eight?"
"Eight," Thelesis said. "She has dreams, sometimes, that hold truths; small things, but accurate. Drustan thinks she may have inherited the gift of his mother, Necthana."
We watched them without speaking, the two heads bent intently over the worktable as Alais explained to Imriel how the powdered galls were mixed with vitriol and gum arabic to make an enduring ink that would not run or smear, even in dampness. At a distance, they might have been brother and sister. She has dreams, I thought, and he has nightmares. I have both, but Blessed Elua willing, that will soon be over. For these two, life is composed wholly of beginnings.
"We speak of stories ending," Thelesis de Mornay said softly, "when in truth it is we who end. The stories go on and on."
I prayed silently that they would not go on without me.
Not yet.
Hyacinthe.
NINETY-THREE
THE FITFUL winds of early spring came and went.
All across Terre d'Ange, the fields began greening. Shoots emerged from the rich soil, straining toward the sun. Crocuses blossomed in purple, white and yellow, and trees were hazed with leaf-buds. In the mountains, shepherds prepared for lambing. In the countryside, farmers watched the weather and planted seed. On the coasts, sailors gauged the winds and made ready to voyage.
And in the City of Elua, they wagered on the date of the Cruarch's arrival.
I daresay I had never awaited it with such anxiety myself, fond though I am of Drustan mab Necthana. For that was the letter of Ysandre's sentence upon me: When the Cruarch entered the gates of the City, I was free to leave it.
It was Guillen Baphinol who brought us the news, ostensibly in the form of an official visit. But his horse was lathered