Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [169]
Near the edge of the lake, I paused to remove my boots. Leaving melted footprints in my wake, I approached the shrine. Beneath the barren arbor, the effigy of Blessed Elua smiled serenely under a cap of snow.
I bowed and kissed his feet, then stepped and knelt, bowing my head. The croonie-stone was heavy around my neck.
A year; only a year.
A year ago tonight, I had danced with Sidonie and kissed her behind the hollow mountain in the ballroom, had sat atop a table in Cereus House and watched the revelries, had ridden barefoot and rag-clad through the streets of the City to watch the dawn come at the Temple of Elua. A year ago tonight, it had all begun in earnest. It seemed like much, much longer; and it seemed like yesterday.
I wanted to pray, but I didn't have any words. Only memories so strong and vivid they strained at my bindings. I rested my hands on the ground before me, cooling them, and heard the sound of snow crunching behind me. I recognized the footsteps, steady and deliberate. Phèdre had taught me to listen for such things.
"Urist?" I called.
He grunted. "How'd you know?”
I didn't answer his question. "It's all right, I don't need a minder.”
Urist leaned against a tree. "I disagree.”
He was right, of course; I didn't like it, but I couldn't argue against it. And so Urist stayed while I knelt and kept Blessed Elua's vigil, melted snow soaking the knees of my breeches. At some point, one of the others came to relieve him—Budoc, I thought. And then, later, Kinadius. He was restless, shifting and coughing and blowing on his fingers. I finally turned to raise my brows at him.
"Sorry, my lord," he apologized. " 'Tis cold.”
"It's almost over," I said.
Kinadius managed to contain himself then. I stayed and watched until the sun rose. There was no horologist to announce its arrival. Somewhere in the middle of the night, a heavy bank of clouds had covered the sky, and dawn broke grey and sullen.
Still, it was dawn.
I got to my feet, gazing toward the east. In Terre d'Ange, the revelers would be stumbling toward their beds. I wondered, briefly, who would be sharing Sidonie's, and pushed the thought away. It wasn't as hard as it might have been. I was stiff and very, very cold.
"Is it finished, my lord?" Kinadius asked. I nodded. "Let's get you back, then.”
There was no temple vestibule, warmed with braziers, in which to thaw. My hands and feet were too cold to draw on my boots. I leaned on Kinadius and hobbled back to the castle. He glanced behind us once, shaking his head at the dark, melting tracks my bare feet left in the snow.
"Just like the story of your Elua, isn't it?" he said. "Do you reckon flowers will bloom where you tread?”
"Not likely." I smiled. "I'm surprised you know of it.”
He smiled back at me. "Oh, I learned a few things in the City.”
The castle was just beginning to stir when we returned. There wasn't any water heated for a bath yet, so I simply shucked my damp clothes and crawled into bed beside Dorelei. Although I was careful not to touch her, I'd begun to shiver violently and it woke her. She rolled over to regard me, her head pillowed on one arm.
She knew.
She didn't say anything, but I could see it in her eyes. Dorelei was no fool, and she'd come to know me. She'd seen the change in me when Alais had spoken of Sidonie. She'd never wanted to know to whom my innermost heart was given. Now she did. I opened my mouth to speak, and she covered my lips with her free hand.
"Don't," she murmured. "Let me keep what's mine." Taking her hand away, she leaned over to kiss my cold lips, then smoothed the hair from my brow. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you in a few hours.”
Betimes there is a mercy in things left unspoken.
I obeyed, and slept.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Day of Misrule was a riotous affair, and tired though I was, I enjoyed it. I was young and I'd gotten used to