Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [81]
We saw them coming a long way off, and heard the cheers. An honor guard of D' Angeline soldiers flanked them on either side, riding helmetless and crowned with wreaths of violets and irises, parade-trained mounts prancing and arching their necks, violets braided into their manes. There were Alban war-chariots in the procession, covered in chased gold-work and shining in the bright sun, driven by men and women both.
And in the lead rode Drustan on his black horse.
He wore the trappings of the Cruarch of Alba; the scarlet cloak that spilled over his mount's hindquarters, the gold torque at his throat and a simple circlet of gold pinning his straight black hair. Intricate spirals of blue woad decorated his features, entwined his bare brown arms. Drustan mab Necthana was unquestionably Cruithne, whom scholars call Picti and name barbarians. I could not help but hear murmurs among the gathered nobility.
But along the way, the D' Angeline people threw a flurry of spring petals and shouted themselves raw in adoration, because Drustan mab Necthana had brought an army ofCruithne to our aid when the civilized folk of Caerdicca Unitas wouldn't even muster a delegation to cross our borders. And he married Queen Ysandre de la Courcel, who loved him.
We waited as the Alban procession made its way to the very foot of the gates, and the crowd fell silent. Ysandre stood tall and slender in the colors of House Courcel, backed by her Palace Guard. Astride his black horse, Drustan sat motionless, and the Albans lowered their banners as King and Queen gazed at one another, their eyes speaking silent volumes.
Ysandre broke it first, opening her arms. "Welcome, my lord!" she cried, and her voice caught a little at it. A clarion blast of trumpets rose skyward and Drustan mab Necthana laughed like a boy, swinging down from his mount and taking Ysandre in his arms. We cheered as they kissed, cheered and cheered again, and I prayed that the tears in my eyes and lump in my throat were due more to joy than envy.
In the days that followed, there was feasting and celebrating sufficient to delight even the most libertine of souls. No talk of Naamah's Service now; I was at Ysandre's bidding, and busy enough for two. There were far more translators now than before, but Drustan had brought two hundred Cruithne in his entourage, and my skills were sore needed.
We had greeted each other, Drustan and I, and I was surprised to find how deeply glad I was to see him. Our eyes met in that familiar understanding; his dark and quiet in his tattooed face, like those of his sisters and his mother, who saw true things in their dreams. We both smiled a little, and then he took my hands and I gave him the kiss of greeting. There were murmurs at that, too, but Ysandre's calm mien silenced them. When he greeted Joscelin as a brother, I saw Joscelin smile for the first time in days.
For all that, I had precious little time to speak to Drustan mab Necthana, and I fretted at it, longing, as I never thought I would, for the fearful days when he was a deposed heir unable to move his allies, and I the terrified emissary of anembattled Queen, wholly unsuited for my role. It is a time I never thought I would wish to revisit—and yet, it seemed to me in retrospect, I had friendship and companions about me, instead of pageantry, court politics and dire intrigue.
I'd had Hyacinthe ... and Joscelin. One I had lost, and the other, I was losing.
At night, I had nightmares still. I woke bathed in cold sweat and could not remember.
At the Palace, I attended court functions and watched, while those I suspected—Barquiel L'Envers, Gaspar Trevalion, Percy and Ghislain de Somerville—surrounded Drustan, speaking to him sometimes as a companion of war, sometimes as the Cruarch of Alba, feeling him out for trade, attempting to discern the hierarchy of power that supported