Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [135]
"Of course, my lord," I promised, and Dorelei nodded.
"Mayhap he can be swayed," Drustan mused. "Or at least persuaded not to destroy the Book of Raziel's pages.”
"What?" I was startled.
"Oh, yes." His dark eyes were somber. "Master Hyacinthe is concerned that the knowledge is too dangerous, and he is minded to see it pass forever from this earth with him." He shook his head. "I do not know the answer. It is a grave matter, and I would sooner discuss it at length. I would be willing to take the Book into my own safekeeping rather than see it destroyed.”
"You couldn't use it, you know." I frowned. " 'Tis writ in an alphabet no one can read.”
"I know." Drustan looked steadily at me. "But it is a powerful tool of protection. Alba's curse has become Alba's blessing. I would not discard such a gift out of hand. It may be that one day someone could decipher it." He smiled a little. "Your own heir, mayhap.”
Dorelei and I exchanged a glance. "I'm not so sure I'd want that," she murmured.
Nor was I.
I thought about the way Hyacinthe sought so assiduously to protect his own children from the burdens of power, and I thought about how he'd changed over the course of our stay at the Stormkeep, seeming to grow younger and easier in his skin. I'd attributed it to Phèdre and Joscelin's presence; old friends who had known him long before he was the Master of the Straits. Doubtless that was part of it.
But part of it may have been the sheer relief of having the thing done, the decision made. He would carry his burden until the end of his days, but there it would end. For good or for ill, no one would carry it afterward.
At least if he truly meant to destroy it.
I had my doubts. I didn't know Hyacinthe well enough to guess at his thoughts, not really. But I knew Phèdre and Joscelin better than I knew anyone on the face of the earth, and it wasn't in either of their nature to do such a thing gladly. Phèdre had dedicated years of her life to the pursuit of arcane wisdom, and Joscelin was a scion of Shemhazai, whose credo was All Knowledge Is Worth Having. Whatever it was they'd been plotting over the past weeks, I was willing to bet it wasn't destroying the pages of the Book of Raziel.
I was also wise enough to keep my mouth shut on the thought.
After our meeting with Drustan, Dorelei and I were separated in accordance with Alban tradition, which had been explained to me that morning along with a great many other details. Since there were fewer of them—most of the clan-lords didn't travel with their wives—the women were sequestered in a private salon, while the men occupied the great hall.
"What do the women do there?" I asked Eamonn.
He grinned. "Talk frankly about bedchamber secrets. They're all very excited about having Phèdre among them.”
"I don't doubt it." I laughed. "And what do we do?”
"Eat, drink, brag about women, and get into fights," he said cheerfully. "Like as not, you'll get at least one challenge tonight.”
"Lovely," I said.
He was right, of course.
The eating and drinking commenced immediately; in truth, it had never really ended, thanks to the Cruarch's boundless hospitality. If I'd thought last night was raucous, it was nothing to this one. Hyacinthe was not in attendance, for which I didn't blame him. Drustan presided over the early proceedings, then offered a toast in my honor and turned the affair over to Talorcan, retiring.
Once he'd left, the bragging began.
It took a more stylized form than I'd anticipated, beginning with verses of praise offered to one's absent lady-love, each man standing to declaim his own. As the night wore on and the uisghe circulated, the poems grew increasingly ribald and the bragging more pronounced. Conor mac Grainne, the youngest one present, listened with mortified delight, while his older brother teased him for squirming.
When his turn came, Eamonn rose. "Brigitta's eyes are blue as harebells," he said with pride. "Her hair is wind-tossed flax. The curve of her arse makes strong men weep,