Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [17]
The Queen's Poet entered the hall to a round of applause and bowed deeply. "I am indebted to the Lady Morit for this tale," he said, then began.
"My thanks," I whispered to Sidonie.
She nodded without looking at me.
Gilles Lamiz told the story of how Phèdre and Joscelin and I had gone to Saba, seeking the Name of God. Only this time, he told it from the perspective of the Sabaean women; how they had marveled at the news we brought, how they had debated whether or not our appearance among them was an omen. How they had decided among themselves to aid us, and Morit had taught us to read the stars and chart a course across the Lake of Tears to find the hidden temple.
I rubbed my palms, remembering the blisters. We had rowed for hours that night, hours and hours. Mostly Joscelin, but Phèdre and I had taken turns, too.
He didn't tell the part about the temple and what had transpired there. No one truly knew except Phèdre and the tongueless priest who tended it. But he told of our return, and how the light had shown from her face and the Sabaeans had known that the Covenant of Wisdom was restored.
"Thus did the words of Moishe bear fruit, a fruit at once wondrous and bitter, for we were restored in the world, though a stranger led the way; and yet did he not bid us to aid the stranger among us? For we were strangers ourselves in the land of the Pharaohs, and their hearts are known to us," he concluded.
The applause that followed was thoughtful, and I was glad to hear it. D'Angelines are a proud folk, but we can be insular. It was brought home to me in Caerdicca Unitas that we think too seldom about our role in the broader world.
That has changed under Ysandre's rule, but change comes slow. There are still those who look askance at Sidonie and mutter about a Pictish half-breed heir.
I stole a glance at her, thinking about the unfettered laughter she had loosed in the woods. It was the only time, I think, I had truly heard her laugh. Brittle, Mavros said. I didn't believe it.
She raised her brows slightly. They were a burnished gold, almost bronze; darker than her hair. The same shape as mine, the same shape I'd seen in my father's portrait. Cruithne eyes, Pictish eyes, black and unreadable. I could read most people's eyes. But my sixteen-year-old cousin had been raised from birth to inherit a nation and keep her thoughts to herself, and I could not read hers.
"Did you like it?" she asked.
"Very much," I said.
Her smile came and went. Dark currents, stirring. "I'm glad.”
Ysandre ended the dinner with a pretty speech welcoming me home and reaffirming her gratitude for my decision to wed Dorelei mab Breidaia and ensure a peaceable succession in matrilineal Alba. I made a little speech of thanks, which Phèdre had insisted I prepare. And then cordial was served and we were given leave to depart or mingle, according to our pleasure.
We stayed, of course. I was the guest of honor and it would have been an insult to leave before the Queen did, and she was still conversing. Morit left, and the members of House Trevalion, too; as early as protocol would allow. For that, I was grateful.
Alais and Sidonie left. I watched them go, Sidonie holding her younger sister's hand. Her lady-in-waiting went with them.
"Ye gods!" Mavros flung himself down on the couch beside me. "My bollocks ache. I'd like to get that priestess' daughter alone in a room for a few hours.”
"You waste your time, my friend," Julien Trente advised him, leaning against the couch. "She's loyal to the Dauphine.”
Mavros gave him a slow, smoldering look. "Well, I'd not mind trying." He slapped my knee. "Come, Imri! Let's take ourselves off to the Night Court and ease our aches with Naamah's sweet succor." He gauged my expression. "Not Valerian House, no fear. I've somewhat lighter in mind.”
"You go." I nodded at Ysandre. "I'm honor-bound.”
"What of you, young lord Trente?" Mavros cocked a brow at him.
Julien blushed. "I'm game.”
"Good." Mavros swung himself upright. He gazed down at