Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [54]
"No." Her shoulders slumped. "He's just gone! And Elua, Elua did nothing to protect him." A spasm of bitter grief contorted her features. "Brother Selbert says we are all in Elua's hand! Where was Elua when Imri needed him?"
In the silence that followed, Honore began to sob methodically, more upset by Beryl's anger than any true sense of divine injustice. Ti-Michel's lower lip quivered, and Cadmar set his jaw and looked sullen. I had done a poor job of heeding the priest's wishes. Joscelin moved to sit cross-legged on the floor, drawing Honore onto his lap where she soon quieted.
"Beryl," I said. "Elua cannot prevent ill things from happening. He can only give us the courage to face it with love."
"It's not enough!" she cried.
"It is," I said. "It's all we have."
Who was I, to teach theology to the wards of Elua's priesthood? And yet Joscelin had been right. It is a hard truth that lies at the center of faith. I watched Beryl measure that truth against the half-lies and omissions that had surrounded the disappearance of Imriel de la Courcel, and brace herself against it, drawing strength from its acceptance. Slowly, her shoulders squared and she sat a little straighter, fixing me with a direct regard. "And if I pray for him? Do you believe still that Elua will hear my prayers?"
"I do." I said it firmly, as if I had never doubted myself. Whether or not it would aid the missing Imriel, I did believe it would help Beryl.
"Then I will," she said.
Thus, for better or ill, was our encounter with the children of Elua's sanctuary. They were subdued when we took our leave, and I did not think Brother Selbert would be pleased, but there was a spark of new resolve in Beryl's green eyes, and I did not think it was entirely ill-done.
It was not until Joscelin and I were alone in our humble guest-chamber that I gave vent to my own frustrations.
"Name of Elua!" I hurled a down-stuffed pillow at the stone wall. "Brother Selbert, the priesthood, the acolytes, the children . . . they're telling the truth, aren't they?"
"Mm-hrnm." Joscelin prudently moved the oil lamp on the bedside table out of reach of my swirling skirts. I paced the chamber in disregard.
"They're telling the truth," I said, ticking them off on my fingers, "L'Envers is telling the truth, Melisande's spies . . . Melisande, for love of Kushiel! Melisande is telling the truth. What am I missing, Joscelin? I cannot see the pattern here! Where's the lie? Who are we overlooking?"
"La Serenissima?" He fetched the rolled map from our travel-bags, spreading it on the narrow bed. "Selbert took the boy to see Melisande. Someone could have guessed."
"Severio would have told me if he'd gotten wind of it." I pondered the map, tracing a semicircle north of Landras. "If they'd made for Marsilikos, someone would have seen them along the way.”
"Mayhap they didn't." Joscelin traced a ragged route southward. "Mayhap they stuck to the mountains."
"And crossed into Aragonia? L'Envers searched there." I thought about it and shrugged. "We could ride south, and inquire. We'd pass near to Verreuil, Joscelin. We could visit your family."
His eyes shone briefly in the lamplight, then dimmed. "I'd not want to take time from our errand. If we stop anywhere, it ought to be Montrève."
"It's no time to speak of. We'd need to take lodging somewhere." I got up and retrieved the pillow I'd thrown. "And Montrève's not on the way. Verreuil is."
"As you wish." He smiled with unalloyed pleasure, rolling the map.
I was glad I could make someone happy.
SEVENTEEN
WE SAID our farewells to Brother Selbert in the morning, standing in