Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [14]
That was the other thing I'd learned in Tiberium; that games of power and influence were played out across the face of the earth by a hidden consortium of players. I'd been recruited to be a part of it, a choice I had refused. I wasn't entirely sure of the extent of their influence, nor was Phèdre.
But whatever it was, my mother was a part of it.
"Do you think it's safe?" I asked.
The frown-lines were back between her brows. "Nothing's certain. But all the world knows I keep a vast and extensive library. There's naught anyone should find amiss in one of my retainers seeking to add to it. And Ti-Philippe's not a green lad, he knows what he's about, even if he needn't know why.”
"True." The healing welts on my back were itching. I worked my shoulders, feeling the scabs tug and crack. Phèdre's expression changed, touched with rue. "What?" I asked.
"Ah, love!" She shook her head. "'Tis nothing, only that you've grown so. I remember worrying, after Daršanga …you were so small, so thin. Bird-boned.”
"Not anymore," I said lightly.
"No," she agreed. "Not anymore.”
We were silent a moment. We had been victims together in that place, that dark place. We understood each other. But Phèdre had entered it willingly, knowing what she would face. It was worse, I think, than she could have guessed; but she endured it and survived. And after my visit to Kushiel's temple, I understood us both more than I had before. His mercy was harsh, but it was not without purpose.
"Well." I leaned down to kiss her cheek. "I look forward to my surprise.”
The days passed swiftly. I spent long hours sparring with Joscelin, feeling my skills return. Betimes I set aside the trappings of the Cassiline style and sparred with him using a sword and buckler, the way old Gallus Tadius had insisted we train. I surprised him a few times, too. Gallus had made a passable soldier out of me.
I began brushing up on my Cruithne.
I spoke the Alban tongue well enough, but I wanted to be fluent beyond reproach. Come spring, Drustan mab Necthana would set sail to Terre d'Ange, bringing my Alban bride. We would be wed in the summer, Dorelei and I. And when the Cruarch of Alba set sail in the fall, I would go with them. I would leave behind Terre d'Ange to become a Prince of Alba and beget heirs to a foreign kingdom.
All my days, I thought, would pass swiftly until then.
I spent time in the salon of Favrielle nó Eglantine, Phèdre's terminally ungrateful couturiere. I'd travelled light to Tiberium, and most of what I'd brought back with me was unsalvageable. The clothing I'd returned to was ill-fitting now. I'd put on muscle through the shoulders and I'd lost weight elsewhere due to short rations. Despite Eugènie's best efforts to fatten me, I remained leaner than I'd been.
So it was that I attended my own fête in smart new attire: a sleeved velvet doublet and breeches of Courcel blue, a deep midnight hue. The doublet was adorned with silver stitching and the buttons were silver with an impress of lilies on them, which I thought was a bit much. It was open at the throat, revealing the pointed collars of the white cambric shirt beneath, lace protruding at the sleeves.
At the fête, Alais gasped to see me, clasping her hands together. "Oh, Imri! You look so—”
"Silly?" I suggested, offering her my arm.
"No." Her small, dark face was very serious. "You look beautiful.”
It was a beautiful gathering; we D'Angelines are a pretty folk, as my friend Eamonn was wont to say, conveniently forgetting that he was half D'Angeline himself. I wished he was here with me, but he was off on a quest of his own, pursuing the Skaldic bride he'd wed and lost, taken away by her disapproving kindred.
The fête was held in one of the Palace's smaller banquet halls, with no more than a few dozen peers in attendance. At one end, a long dining table was laid with white linens and gilded plates, awaiting our pleasure. At the other end, where people