Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [105]
It was a piece of irony. Firdha had crammed my head with ten thousand bits of law and lore, none of which applied. I hoped I'd have more luck with this Aodhan.
"Shouldn't we arrange for an escort?" I asked Conor as he led me to the stable. Our company had set up an encampment in an open field not far from the hall. I could see our men, Cruithne and D'Angeline alike, bored and idle, dicing and gossiping.
He shook his head. "Aodhan won't show himself if we do.”
"I see," I said, although I didn't.
He gave me a considering look. "It's safe, you know.”
"I'm glad you think so," I said wryly.
We caught sight of the others as we rode forth from Innisclan, or at least the men. Eamonn and his bright-headed brother Brennan, pacing off a possible building site with Joscelin's keen Siovalese assistance. Eamonn, seeing me riding beside Conor, lifted one hand in salute. I waved. No one thought it odd. After all, I'd promised to have a word with the lad.
"How far is it to Aodhan's?" I asked Conor.
"Oh, only an hour or so," he said. "Or mayhap two.”
At least it was a pleasant ride. For most of it, we rode along a ridge that paralleled the sea, picking our way amidst the occasional boulder. It was a fine day, sunlight sparkling on the water, a light breeze lifting wavelets. I glanced often at the empty water and thought about how the Master of the Straits warded Alba's coast, and what it might mean if he ceased to do so.
Along the way, I sought to draw out Conor. "Are you wroth with your mother?”
He hunched his shoulders. "No," he said in a voice that meant Yes.
"I would be," I said. "Do you know, something very like happened to me.”
He looked at me warily. "Truly?”
So I told him, then, how I had come to find out who I was. How I'd thought myself an orphan and been raised in the Sanctuary of Elua, how I'd been stolen from it. How I'd been rescued from a terrible place, and how I had learned, from the inadvertent words of a soldier, that I was the son of Benedicte de la Courcel and Melisande Shahrizai.
"What did you do?" Conor asked, wide-eyed.
I shrugged. "Sulked.”
He colored. "No, really.”
"It's true," I said. "I was angry at Phèdre for not having told me.”
Conor rode in silence for a while, thinking. "Well, but it's not the same, is it?" he said at length. "She's not your mother.”
"No, she's not," I agreed. A memory; her wrist in my grasp, a leap in her pulse. Kushiel's Chosen. I ignored it. "But it's a little bit the same, Conor. And I forgave her because I knew she loved me." I leaned over in the saddle and nudged him. "It could be worse, you know. Better one of the Old Ones than the realm's greatest traitor.”
He sneaked a sidelong glance at me. "You think?”
"Oh, yes," I said. "I do.”
At a place where a narrow stream emptied into the sea, we departed from the high ridge and turned inland. We followed the stream's course as it burbled over mossy rocks and miniature falls. The underbrush grew thick and dense, until we were forced to dismount and hobble the Bastard and Conor's shaggy pony, continuing on foot. At one point, we entered a thicket of blackberries so dense it forced us to crawl.
"Are you sure about this?" I asked, swatting at bracken.
He held a finger to his lips. "Shhh!”
I hushed and listened, pitching my ears to hear intently as Phèdre had taught me. Somewhere, there was humming; a man's voice, deep and resonant. Conor clambered to his feet, thorns plucking at his woolen tunic. "Master Aodhan!" he called. "It's me, Conor! I've brought a friend, at my mother's request. Is that all right?”
The humming broke, then resumed.
"I'm thinking it's fine." I squirmed out from under the brambly canes. "Come on.”
At a place where the stream widened and deepened enough to pool and eddy, we found the ollamh of the Dalriada engrossed in fishing. Aodhan was perched on a moss-covered rock, casting his line carefully on the waters. At first glance, he was an unprepossessing figure: a nut-brown man with