Kushiel's Dart - Jacqueline Carey [366]
After that, came the toasts, which I will not recount. I had to rise when Grainne, resplendent in the crimson-and-gold gown of Ysandre's choosing, gave hers in a thick Eiran accent. It was something to do with the Fhalair Ban and the honor of the Dalriada, and a wish for fruitful joy; I cannot remember, now. I must have rendered it well enough, for everyone cheered. When I had done, Grainne gave me thanks and named me her sister, with an embrace and a deep glimmer of amusement that was not entirely sisterly.
I'd not told Ysandre that, either; only that the Lords of the Dalriada had been persuaded. Later I learned that Quintilius Rousse had related the tale of how I had brought the Twins into accord, and Ysandre laughed until she wept.
It was her fault, for making me her ambassador. Still I grieved that never again would Eamonn balance his sister.
Drustan made a toast, then, and to my great pride, he gave it first in Cruithne, then in near-flawless D'Angeline. His dark eyes shone with wine, and the flickering light of a thousand candles turned the intricate blue whorls of woad into a subtle, shifting pattern on his skin.
"We have won this day's joy at great price," he said solemnly. "Let us treasure it all the more, and pledge, together, that as Ysandre and I have joined our lives, so will our nations be joined, in strength and harmony, that we may never be any less than what we are today."
It was well-said, and they cheered him wildly; he gave a courtier's bow and sat down.
Then Ysandre stood. So young, to have borne what she had, but there was steel in Ysandre de la Courcel, forged between the bitter triangle of Rolande, Isabel and Delaunay, hammered on the anvil of her grandfather's rule, mettle tested in the dreadful siege of Troyes-le-Mont. Tempered, by love.
"D'Angeline and Alban alike," she said. "We give praise this day to Blessed Elua, and celebrate his words! Why are we here, if not for that? Nation, home and hearth, land, sea and sky, kith and kin, friend and lover, mistress and consort-" A rippling laugh answered, and she smiled. "-and husband and wife, we honor Elua's sacred precept. Join me, then, on this day and ever after, and love as thou wilt."
No other sovereign would have given such a toast, I think; but this was Terre d'Ange, and Ysandre was our Queen.
We drank, and drank deep, servants filling our nuptial goblets with joie, that clear, bright cordial that made the torches burn brighter.
Afterward, the musicians struck up in earnest, and we danced on the green lawn, while the soft candlelit twilight faded unnoticed and the stars kindled in the black sky, a scent of flowers heady in the summer night. I danced first with Joscelin, and then Caspar Trevalion bowed and extended his hand, and after that I lost count, until Drustan mab Necthana claimed a dance.
There were whispers, at that; some of the nobles knew who I was, and some did not, but now my name was known, and Kushiel's Dart gave me away. Always, at court, there runs the murmuring river of politics, beneath the surface at any occasion.
Drustan ignored it and so did I; he danced well for an Alban, despite his lameness. I remembered the first time I'd heard his name. Ysandre de la Courcel shall teach a clubfoot barbarian Prince to dance the gavotte. So she had, and I danced with him now, while we smiled at one another. Cullach Gorrym, Earth's eldest children. It meant nothing to the D'Angelines, but they had not been there when the black boar burst from its copse outside Bryn Gorrydum. I had.
We always did understand one another, Drustan and I.
I had patrons there, too. I'd chosen my assignations from among the highest-ranked in the realm, that last year or so. I gave none of them away. It was not the place to acknowledge such things. Some, like Quincel de Morhban, would not have cared; others depended on the discretion