Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [120]
So it was that the four of us mounted the pathway alone, our horses picking their way along the winding path. At the top, we found the portcullis raised and the tall doors to the Stormkeep's inner courtyard standing open.
We were expected.
They were there, waiting for us. A pair of Cruithne stable-lads waited to take our mounts. And beyond them was the Master of the Straits and his family.
Hyacinthe.
It had been some seven years since I'd seen him. I'd been no more than a boy when it had all happened, but seeing him brought it all back. The wind-driven ship, the maelstrom. The bright figure emerging from it, awful and wonderful. Phèdre, standing on the waters, speaking the Name of God.
"Hyacinthe." She said his name through tears, dismounting.
I watched them embrace, a lump in my throat. He didn't look all that much older; nor did she. But they'd known one another for a long, long time. I saw his face when he released her, saw the flicker of anguish and regret that came and went so swiftly I might have imagined it.
"Cassiline." Hyacinthe approached, hand extended.
"Tsingano." One corner of Joscelin's mouth quirked. He clasped Hyacinthe's hand. "Good to see you.”
"And you." Hyacinthe moved to hold Dorelei's reins as she dismounted. "Welcome, my lady Dorelei," he said courteously. "Your aunt has been very much looking forward to this visit, as have I.”
"Thank you, Master Hyacinthe," she whispered.
He tilted his head. "Please, go greet her.”
I watched her go, exchanging happy greetings with the Lady Sibeal, Drustan's sister, who appeared to have two smallish children clinging to her skirts. Joscelin went to Phèdre's side. She hugged him briefly, hiding her face against his neck. The Bastard sat motionless beneath me, prick-eared and interested.
"So." Hyacinthe took hold of the Bastard's bridle. "Imriel de la Courcel.”
I dismounted with alacrity and bowed, keeping a wary eye on the Bastard, who continued to behave himself. "My thanks, Master Hyacinthe, for your hospitality.”
Hyacinthe looked at me without speaking. Dark eyes; Tsingano eyes. As dark as the Cruithne. Only things shifted and changed in their depths, like shadows moving over the ocean's floor. There was power enough behind those eyes to scatter the Maghuin Dhonn to the four winds. "I would not have Phèdre nó Delaunay's foster-son stand on ceremony with me," he said at length.
I put out my hand. "Imriel, then.”
He clasped it. "Hyacinthe.”
Thus, our welcome at the Stormkeep. Dorelei reintroduced me to her aunt, the Lady Sibeal, whom I'd also met as a child. She embraced me with unreserved warmth as a member of the family. We all met their two children. Galanna, the girl, was six; the boy Donal was four. At first they were shy of us, but it passed quickly. Once it did, we discovered they were both prone to chatter.
For all its isolation, there was a surprising degree of warmth and informality within the keep's walls. There was no garrison, but they maintained a small household staff, a mix of Alban folk who cooked and cleaned, and tended to the stables and the extensive gardens that supplied much of the Stormkeep's provender. They were respectful of their imposing master and seemed genuinely fond of Sibeal and the children. Hyacinthe showed us the place, as gracious as any regional lord playing host to old friends; except that his holdings included a locked room at the top of the tower, which contained an ancient leather case bound with bronze straps, in which resided pages torn from the Book of Raziel.
"This is where you study?" Phèdre asked, gazing out the high windows.
"I come here to think." Hyacinthe watched her. "There's naught left to study.”
She glanced at the case. "You've committed it all to memory?”
He nodded. "All of it, yes.”
"The ollamhs would approve," I observed.
Hyacinthe laughed. "So Sibeal says. Come, I'll show you the sea-mirror.”
He led us