Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [299]
Caught up in my own turmoil, I turned away without awaiting his answer, nearly fetching up against another priestess. This one I knew, old Bianca with her milk-whiteeyes. Joscelin, hard on my heels, plowed into me from behind as I halted.
"Ah," the ancient woman said, satisfaction in her tone as she raised her hand to feel at my features. "Elua's child, who did his Mother's bidding and cleansed Her household. Truly, you bear Their fingerprints on your soul, child!" She chuckled to herself, "The gods themselves cannot keep Their hands off you. And your faithful shadow, bound to you in light and darkness. Shall I tell your fortune, since you have stood in the place of the Oracle and wrought ours?"
Shivering under her touch, I welcomed the solidity of Joscelin's presence behind me. "Keep your pomegranates, old mother! Let the gods choose some other vessel for a change, and look to their own. I have done my share."
"Neither the fruits of the soil nor the flesh are needed to tell your fate," Bianca said complacently, withered fingertips resting on my skin. "Serve true, and remember what others have named you; ten years' respite shall be yours if you do." Her hand fell away and she blinked like a child, sightless and bewildered. "Thus I am vouchsafed to say, and no more."
"Thank you," I whispered; what else was I to say? Stooping—for age had wizened her so that her head reached no higher than my chin—I embraced her, feeling her bones as frail as a grasshopper. "Blessed Elua keep thee, old mother. It is time for me to go home."
So it was that our audience ended and I left the Temple of Asherat-of-the-Sea for the last time, following my Queen out of the shadow of its domes into the waiting sunlight. I had kept my vow, made in the watery depths. It was finished, and I felt no victory, only loss and confusion. Members of the Queen's party were tired and frustrated, balked by the Temple's protection of Melisande and fearful of what lay before us.
And yet, with undaunted strength, Ysandre de la Courcel raised her head, gazing unerringly in the direction of home.
"You spoke truly," she said. "We ride for Terre d'Ange."
SEVENTY-EIGHT
It took yet another day to make ready our departure.
There was no time for me to seek out Kazan at the Illyrian Ambassador's; I had guessed aright, on that score. I did see Severio Stregazza, who was present at the Little Court to consult with the Vicomte de Cherevin. Although Ysandre had deferred judgement on the matter, it was tacitly assumed that the claim would eventually be settled in Severio's favor.
It was an awkward meeting, though I was glad he requested it.
"I cannot exactly thank you for bringing destruction to my family, Phèdre nó Delaunay."
"I know," I murmured. "I would that it had been otherwise, Severio. But—"
He cut me off with a gesture. "I know. What my father did was treason. What my mother did was blasphemy. By the grace of Asherat or Elua or Baal-Jupiter, or whosoever watches over me, I am enough unlike them to hate them for it. And yet they are my parents, and I was raised to honor them." He sighed. "You did what was right and necessary. I only wish it had not been."
"What will happen to them?"
"Imprisonment is likely." Severio shrugged. "Perhaps exile. It depends on the Judiciary Tribunal's findings, on the mood of the people and the Consiglio Maggiore, my grandfather's wrath, and too," he added quietly, "it depends on Terre d'Ange."
I knew what he was thinking, although neither of us said it. Marco and Marie-Celeste were not accused of plotting to kill the Doge, merely to supplant him. Their part in the conspiracy to assassinate the Queen of Terre d'Ange was a graver charge. But if matters went ill at home ... if Ysandre lost the throne, no D'Angeline voice would call for Serenissiman justice. It would be Percy de Somerville