Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [102]
"I'm not sure yet." She studied me. "You were careless, you know.”
I shook my head. "You speak in riddles.”
"Often, yes." Morwen smiled. With one hand, she stroked a leather bag that hung about her neck on a thong. A bolt of desire shot through me, so acute it weakened my knees. She regarded me with amusement. "We were curious and a bit afraid. Your marriage is a portent of change. I've been following you. Have you not heard me? And then you dreamed of love and spilled your seed on taisgaidh soil for anyone to find." She reached into the leather bag and withdrew an object; a crude mannekin formed of soil and clay. She showed it to me, then replaced it in the bag. "That was careless.”
I gritted my teeth. "What have you done, lady?”
"Oh, I've bound you with your own desires." A frown creased her brow. "I mean no harm by it. We are not sure, any of us, what is the best course. Not even Berlik. We cannot untangle the threads to see past the gates into the future, not yet. But this, at least, I have done.”
She stroked the leather bag.
I groaned.
"Will you make love to me?" Morwen inquired. "You want to, don't you?
"No." I glared at her. "Not you.”
She laughed. It was the laughter that had haunted my dreams. Not Sidonie's; not the laughter that had turned my world upside down. But her fingers stroked the leather bag that contained my seed mixed with Alban soil, and all I could do was groan.
"I could make you want me," Morwen said. "Mayhap that would change things.”
I bowed my head. "Duzhmata," I whispered. "Duzhûshta, duzhvarshta.”
Ill thought, ill words, ill deeds.
The shackles of desire loosened, held at bay by the spectre of Daršanga. It seemed the lesson of Bryony House had not been useless after all. Breathing raggedly, I glanced at Morwen. Her lips were parted in surprise.
"Interesting," she said mildly. "D'Angeline magic?”
I gave a bitter laugh. "Hardly. Why are you doing this?”
Morwen tilted her head. "Curiosity." She took a step closer to me, peering at my face once more with those odd, moon-pale eyes held between raking tattooed claws. "We are a very old people, D'Angeline, and you are a very young one. Your coming may be a tide we cannot stop; or it may not. We have held Alba for a long, long time.”
"The Maghuin Dhonn?" I said. "Not for centuries, I hear.”
She reached up to stroke my cheek with one hand, tightening her grasp on the leather bag with the other when I sought to jerk away from her touch. Her fingers smelled of musk and berries. "Oh, yes. We hold the secret heart of Alba. All those places sacred to the Cruithne, to the Dalriada; ours, first.”
"Until you sacrificed your diadh-anam" I hazarded.
"That is a lie." Her fingers curved. I felt the prick of heavy claws against my skin, and then they withdrew. Morwen stood. "Are you brave?" she wondered. "Or merely foolhardy?”
I closed my eyes. "Tired, mostly.”
"Poor boy." She laughed and stroked the leather bag, and a rill of unwelcome desire ran through me. "You shouldn't want so badly. These bonds are of your own making. I merely tied the knot.”
Behind my closed eyes, I evoked another memory. Sidonie, standing in a shaft of sunlight in Amarante's bedchamber. Her unguarded smile when she turned to see me; her laughter when I bowed and greeted her as the Sun Princess. My heart, expanding with unexpected joy. "You should be wary about tangling with D'Angelines in matters of love, lady," I said to Morwen, opening my eyes. "Blessed Elua does not like it.”
"This is not his place," she said simply.
"True," I said. "But I am his scion, and Kushiel's, too.”
We regarded one another. "I will go now." Morwen tapped the leather bag. "You will not be harmed, not here on the Lady Grainne's holdings. But I think that Alba, old Alba, does not want you here. If you are wise, you will go. Go back to your Terre d'Ange and your Elua and your love.”
"Lady, I would like nothing better," I said grimly.
She shrugged. "So, go.”
As I opened my mouth to reply, a cloud passed over the moon. Shadows moved like fog and the pale glint of Morwen's eyes