Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [16]
The woman bowed her head. "Shalom, your highness.”
Her accent and the sound of her voice made me think of stars, a vast field of stars, hanging over an endless lake. Habiru. She had greeted me in Habiru. "Morit?" I whispered incredulously, dredging the name from my memory.
She smiled. "You remember.”
"Name of Elua!" I found myself laughing. "How not?”
I learned that there were a dozen of them, an entire delegation of Sabaeans sent to Terre d'Ange to study among the Yeshuites here; and too, to study D'Angeline theology. Only Morit had been invited to attend the fête tonight, owing to the service she had done us, but Phèdre had met the others.
I forgot about everything else, listening avidly as Morit described the chaos our visit had sown in Saba, a land forgotten by time. It was far away, far south even of distant Jebe-Barkal, and the descendants of the Habiru Tribe of Dân who had lived there for isolated centuries practiced customs that scarce existed elsewhere.
They had not known of Yeshua ben Yosef, whom their brethren elsewhere had acknowledged as the mashiach, their savior, after he was slain by the Tiberians.
And of a surety, they had not known of Blessed Elua, who was conceived in Earth's womb, engendered by the mingled blood and tears of Yeshua and Mary of Magdala, who loved him. Earth-begotten Elua, claimed by no god, who made Terre d'Ange his home.
At the time, I'd been too young—and too haunted—to imagine what it must have been like to have all of one's beliefs turned upside down, to learn one's people had moved on to hold new truths, new beliefs. To find that the world was so different. But since then, I'd stood atop a building in flooded Lucca and watched Gallus Tadius open a portal onto the underworld and send the floodwaters straight to hell, just as he'd promised.
It must, I imagined, have felt somewhat the same.
"What now?" I asked Morit. "Will your people become Yeshuites, do you think?”
"Or D'Angelines?" She looked thoughtful. "No. I do not think so. But perhaps some Yeshuites will become Habiru again." I wanted to speak more with her, but the call to dine came and she was seated too far away to allow for conversation. "We will speak later," Morit promised. "Lady Phèdre has been very gracious.”
I had been given a place of honor next to Sidonie, who sat at her mother's right hand.
"Cousin Imriel," she said in her cool, measured tone. "We're so pleased to have you here with us tonight.”
I kissed her proffered cheek. "Are you indeed?”
"Of course." A faint smile curved her lips. Unlike Alais, Sidonie resembled the Queen. The same fair skin, the same fine-cut features.
There was a time she had feared me, and there was a time I had found her unbearable. And then there had come a hunting accident, and I'd flung myself atop her in the woods, thinking to protect her. The danger turned out to be imagined, but in the space of a few heartbeats, everything had changed. Now the danger lay between the two of us.
There was desultory small talk at the table while course after course was served: veal tarts, suckling pig, stewed cabbage and quinces, and more. I applied myself to my food and ate with a good will, conscious of Sidonie's amused gaze.
"Did they not feed you in Tiberium?" she asked.
"In Tiberium, yes." I wiped my mouth with a linen serviette. "In Lucca, no.”
"Tell us about Lucca, Imriel." There was a conciliatory note in Bertran de Trevalion's voice. "We're all eager to hear about your heroics.”
I gave him a long look. "I survived a siege, that's all. There were no heroics.”
Across the table, Alais said, "But what about when you cut off—”
"My lord Bertran" Sidonie's clear voice carried over her sister's. She glanced at her mother, who made a gesture of acquiescence. "My lords and ladies, fear not that you will lack for tales of heroism this evening. In honor of our cousin's safe return, and in honor of our admired Sabaean guest, Gilles Lamiz