Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [182]
And my son, the boy who became a monster.
There is a mercy in madness and forgetting.
I don't think I could have borne those days.
I had a few vague memories. Lady Breidaia, weeping as though her heart would break. Talorcan, shouting in fury. Drustan. Later, I learned that Hyacinthe had kept his promise. He'd caught a glimpse of Morwen and Berlik in his sea-mirror and sent a pair of swift couriers.
Too late.
The Maghuin Dhonn had struck more swiftly.
I remember Firdha speaking ritual words, and a sense of terrible loss. And I remember a jolting wagon and a great deal of pain. Someone cursing at the Bastard. Sweating and shivering. Anxious faces. Alais, placing a cool, damp cloth on my brow, begging me not to die.
For a long time, nothing more.
When at last I came to myself, I was in a strange place. It was bright with sunlight and there was birdsong. I was lying in a bed with cool, clean sheets. My mouth was parched and my eyelids felt heavy and crusted. When I cracked them open and squinted, I could make out a small figure with black curls sitting in a figure and reading a book.
A rush of indescribable relief washed over me. A dream, I thought; a fever-dream. I'd been sick, as sick as I'd been after the first time I'd kept Elua's vigil with Joscelin on the Longest Night. I was sick, and Ysandre had ordered me brought to the Palace.
I tried to laugh and made a croaking sound.
"Imri?" Alais' head lifted. "Imri?" She dropped her book and hurried to kneel at my bedside. I tried to sit up and discovered I couldn't. My entire torso was swaddled in thick bandages and it hurt unbearably. I rested my head on the pillow and gazed at Alais, watching her violet eyes fill with tears.
No dream. It was real, all real.
"Can you hear me?" Alais asked softly. "Imri, do you understand?”
"Ye—" The word stuck. I tried to moisten my stiff, dry tongue. "Yes.”
"Oh gods!" she breathed. "Elua be praised! Here." She cradled my head and put a clay cup to my lips. It felt cool and soothing, and that first sip of water was better than the best thing I'd ever tasted. Alais gave me several more sips, then rose. "I'll get the chirurgeon.”
"Where am I?" I whispered.
"Bryn Gorrydum," she said. "The Temple of Elua and his Companions.”
She hurried out and returned shortly with the chirurgeon, a young man named Girard, sworn to Eisheth's service. He placed a hand on my brow, lifted my lids to peer at my eyes, and bade me stick out my tongue. "The fever's broken," he confirmed. "How do you feel, your highness?”
I tried to answer and began to cry.
"It's all right, my lord." Girard stroked my hand. "There's healing in tears.”
"Not enough tears," I choked. "Not for this.”
"No," he said softly. The chirurgeon had sea-grey eyes, warm with compassion. "I don't imagine there are. But weep them anyway, my lord, and try to stay with us for the sake of the living." He rose. "I'll send word to the Cruarch. And I'll send for broth and a tincture of opium for the pain.”
I shook my head. "No opium.”
Girard paused. "As you wish, my lord.”
I rested my head on the pillow, exhausted. Alais returned to kneel beside me. For a long time, neither of us spoke. "Promise me you won't die, Imri," she said at length, her voice sounding small and lost. "I don't want to lose you, too.”
"Oh, Alais." I couldn't. "It hurts!’
"I know." Her eyes welled again She laid her hand on mine. "Please?”
"I'll try." I glanced over and saw that there was red yarn tied around my wrist. My right wrist. I remembered the stone knife. Freedom. Firdha, and a sense of loss. "Alais, why am I bound again?”
She dashed away tears. "For safety.”
"But the mannekin …" I stopped. I had no memory of what had become of the leather bag containing it. I'd put it in my lap when Morwen bade me take her hands. "Lost?" Alais nodded somberly. "Ah, Elua!" A bitter laugh escaped me. It felt like something stretched and tore in my chest, but I welcomed the pain. "Surely, I must be cursed!”
"Don't say that, Imri," Alais begged. "Don't!”
I closed my eyes. "Tell me what