Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [159]
But the Lady Breidaia had a small flower garden which she maintained for pleasure, growing roses, columbine, and lavender, and there was a place near the little lake where lilies grew wild. After consulting with Alais, who was pleased by the notion, it was there I decided to set the shrine. Urist's lads lent a hand. We built a small arbor to house the effigy, and Breidaia generously donated plants from her garden.
I did most of the work of transplanting them myself, reckoning it ought to be done with reverence, and it gave me a profound sense of satisfaction. The rosebushes were barren, the lavender dry and desiccated, and the columbine looked nearly dead, but their roots were healthy and thriving. Come summer, the arbor would be glorious.
A week after the work on the arbor was completed, Elua's priest arrived; or priestess, rather. It was a bright, crisp day, and all of Clunderry paused to watch her arrival as she entered the estate, accompanied by two acolytes and a horse-drawn wagon.
After so long among the Cruithne, it came as a bit of a shock. I'd not seen another D'Angeline face save Alais' for weeks on end, and she could nearly pass as Cruithne. And, too, the priestess was young. I hadn't expected that.
I greeted her in the courtyard, bowing. "My lady priestess, I am Imriel of Clunderry. Be welcome here.”
"Imriel of Clunderry, is it?" A smile touched her lips. One of the acolytes scrambled out of the wagon and held her reins as she dismounted. "Well met, your highness. I am Nehailah Ansout.”
She took my hand and I gave her the kiss of greeting without thinking. Her lips were soft and cool. Beneath the blue robes of her office, Sister Nehailah Ansout was tall and slender. Despite the day's chill, her feet were bare. Her bright blonde hair fell down her back in a long, thick braid and her hazel eyes were flecked with green and gold.
My bindings began to itch.
"Where is your lady wife?" the priestess asked.
I cleared my throat and tried not to scratch at my wrists. "Awaiting you within, my lady. She is with child, and we thought it best if she didn't wait in the cold air.”
"I see." Her hazel gaze roamed over me, taking in the golden torc and croonie-stone around my throat, the red yarn at my wrists. "You have indeed become a Prince of Alba, your highness.”
I fought the urge to check my fingernails for dirt. "I've been trying.”
She introduced her acolytes, Denis and Michelet. They were a pair of fresh-faced lads, and I daresay neither was a day over eighteen. Together, they lifted the effigy, swaddled in crimson silk, out of the wagon and carried it inside. It was a small piece, standing waist-high, but heavy with it.
I escorted Sister Nehailah. Her bare feet made no sound on the flagstones, but her long braid swayed as she walked. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Kinadius gaping and shook my head at him.
In the great hall, Dorelei was waiting, along with her mother and Alais. Her eyes widened a little at the sight of the priestess, but she greeted her graciously.
It felt odd to have D'Angelines at Clunderry. We held a small feast in their honor that night. On the morrow, the effigy would be placed and the shrine would be dedicated, and Sister Nehailah and her acolytes would take their leave, but for a brief space of time, a piece of Terre d'Ange had entered Clunderry.
It made me yearn for home.
It was a longing that owed naught to desire; although there was that, too. It was somewhat deeper, somewhat bred in the bone.