Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [143]
I smiled back at him. "I will and we shall.”
We bade farewell to Eamonn and Brigitta that day; and to Conor, although I didn't see him at first. It was Dorelei who nudged me and nodded. In a quiet corner of the hall, Conor and Alais were deep in conversation, oblivious to aught else.
I raised my brows at Eamonn. "What do you know about that?”
Eamonn grimaced. "Not a blessed thing. Dagda Mor! He knows she's betrothed to Prince Talorcan." He whistled sharply. Conor's head came up, his brown cheeks flushed. "Sorry, my lady," Eamonn said to Dorelei. "I'm sure the lad meant no harm by it.”
"Ah, well." She watched the two of them make their way toward us. "They're young.”
Fifteen, I thought. In Terre d'Ange, that was too young to play the Game of Courtship in earnest, too young for admission to the Night Court. Old enough for other games, though. Alais' violet eyes were sparkling in a way they seldom did at home. At sixteen, she was pledged to wed Talorcan in a ceremony that would doubtless make our nuptial celebration look miserly. There would be no Game of Courtship for her. Alais and Talorcan seemed to like and respect one another, but I'd seen naught else between them. I remembered what she'd said when I asked if she'd consented to the betrothal. I couldn't think of a reason not to. I wondered if she fancied she might find one in Conor mac Grainne, son of the Lady of the Dalriada and a harpist of the Maghuin Dhonn.
"Why are you looking at me like that, Imri?" Alais asked.
"No reason," I said. "Yet.”
Like as not, it was only harmless flirting. Still, Elua, what a mess that would be! For some perverse reason, the thought made me grin. Alais narrowed her eyes at me. "Whatever it is, it's not funny.”
"You're probably right about that," I agreed.
Amid fond farewells and further promises of visits, they took their leave; and once the Dalriadans had left, there were dozens of clan-lords who must be thanked for their attendance and whatever gifts they'd brought.
All in all, 'twas a long, wearying day of courtesy.
I was glad Phèdre and Joscelin weren't leaving today, although the matter was problematic in its own way.
Two days hence, Dorelei and I, along with her mother and Alais, would leave to take up residence at Clunderry. It was Joscelin's initial desire to accompany us there to see to the skill of the estate's garrison and the security of its borders he had done in Montrève. Urist, appointed by Drustan to accomplish that very task, had taken it amiss. The Cruarch had stayed out of the matter thus far, and so had Phèdre, although I daresay she would have been glad to go to Clunderry with us. It was my first test of statecraft as a Prince of Alba, and fortunately, I'd had enough wits to consult Dorelei on the matter.
"Truly?" She had hesitated. "Imriel, it is not only Urist who would take it amiss. In the eyes of Alba, it is we who saved Terre d'Ange in her hour of need. It would not sit well to have a D'Angeline presume to teach us.”
Together, we had made our decision, and I was glad I'd heeded her counsel. That night, over a blessedly quiet meal, we discussed the matter. I'd thought Joscelin would be angry, but he surprised me, merely smiling ruefully.
"You've a point," he said. "I wouldn't have tolerated it at Montrève.”
"You're welcome to come, of course," Dorelei added.
Phèdre fixed her with one of those deep looks. "I remember how it was when I first inherited Montrève," she mused. "They're a stiff-necked folk, the Siovalese." Joscelin snorted, which she ignored. "No matter what I might have done, no matter that I was my lord Delaunay's legal heir. They were none too pleased to have the estate given over to a City-born courtesan. The wisest thing I did to earn their trust was to stay away a good deal of the time until they realized I didn't intend to alter the nature of Montrève.”
"You think it best if you don't come with us," I said, realization dawning.
"What do you think?" Phèdre glanced around the table.
It was all family there that night; Drustan