Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [123]
"We've not even spoken of your affairs," Phèdre said to Hyacinthe. "Have you made any decisions?”
"Yes." He glanced at his wife, then back to Phèdre. "But we'll speak of it on the morrow." Hyacinthe grinned, and for the first time, there was a merry glint in his black eyes, mortal and ordinary. "I may have one last task for Anafiel Delaunay's pupil and her Perfect Companion.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
On the morrow, I found myself abandoned.
Hyacinthe, Phèdre, and Joscelin closeted themselves in his tower to discuss whatever mysterious task it was for which the Master of the Straits might seek the assistance of Kushiel's Chosen and a Cassiline warrior-priest. Dorelei besought the counsel of her aunt in the matter of her dreams, which had been silent for longer than was their wont.
And I, who was neither a god's chosen, a warrior without parallel, nor a visionary dreamer, was left to my own devices.
Oh, I had a task of my own to accomplish; one small measure of responsibility. Hyacinthe had offered to extend the Stormkeep's hospitality to a half dozen of our men, which was as far as the keep's resources could stretch. The rest would be dismissed with generous pay to await us in Bryn Gorrydum, which would be better than the idle tedium of the encampment.
The unused garrison quarters were being cleaned and aired that morning. I rode down to the base of the crag to consult with Urist.
He polled the men, asking for volunteers. I wasn't surprised when the D'Angelines elected to a man to depart for Bryn Gorrydum.
"No offense, your highness," one of them said cheerfully, "but I've heard tell there's a pleasure-house in the city where a few of Naamah's Servants have elected to serve." He nudged the fellow next to him. "You'll do in a pinch, but I fancy somewhat prettier. Cleaner, too.”
"Buggering perverts," Urist remarked without heat.
"Painted prude," the D'Angeline retorted cheerfully. "Your highness, will you tell Lady Phèdre and Messire Joscelin that it's been an honor to ride with them, bear-witches and all?”
I smiled. "I will.”
To no one's surprise, the six who elected to stay were Urist's men, members of the ollamh Firdha's former honor guard. They drew lots for it, grumbling and arguing, while the others taunted them with exaggerated tales of the pleasures they were forgoing. Urist watched the proceedings with a wry, competent gaze that put me in mind of Gallus Tadius. It made me strangely nostalgic for my days as a member of the Red Scourge in Lucca.
There are worse things than being a soldier; one among many, a cog in a wheel. Gallus Tadius taught us to do our jobs, and he taught us well. As much as I'd hated the drilling, I'd come to take pride in it, too. By the time Lucca's wall fell, we'd all known what to do. Gallus Tadius gave us orders. We followed them.
There was a simplicity in it.
I missed that, even if I hadn't been terribly good at it.
I'd slept poorly the last night. I didn't dream of Sidonie—indeed, if I dreamed at all, I do not remember—but my thoughts kept returning to her, blurred and incomplete. Ever since I'd seen her in Hyacinthe's sea-mirror, I'd felt myself chafing at my bindings. They felt tight and bothersome, and I was frustrated by my inability to truly feel my own emotions. I knew it worried Phèdre. Blessed Elua bade us to love as we willed. Was I violating his precept in protecting myself from the Maghuin Dhonn? Did it matter that I was doing my best to learn to love Dorelei? I didn't know.
After I'd distributed a generous purse among the men, Cruithne and D'Angeline alike, I left them to the work of striking the camp. I let the Bastard stretch his legs along the high cliffs overlooking the sea, giving him his head. Like me beneath my charmed bonds, he'd chafed at the slow, measured pace of caravan travel.
The Bastard ran for the sheer joy of running, plunging and