Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [186]
Fearless, she'd said. Ah, Elua! I'd been anything but.
I wept for the child I'd been, masking terror that made me awaken thrashing and screaming in the night. I wept for the man I'd become, trying to be good and making a mess of it. I wept for Sidonie, who had reckoned the cost of our dalliance so much better than I, and yet had taken the rare risk of being careless.
I wept for love's terrible price.
I wept for Dorelei, who had been brave and strong and kind, and taught me to be the things I only pretended to be. Who had forced me to confront my own insufferable self-absorption with courage and honesty. I wept for her warm, brown skin that had smelled like fresh-baked bread, for the dimples that showed in her cheeks when she smiled, truly smiled.
And I wept for our son, who never had a chance.
It felt like being torn apart; and yet the chirurgeon Girard was right. There was healing in it. I was aware, distantly, of Alais' alarm. She went to fetch the chirurgeon, and I heard his gentle voice telling her not to worry, to let my grief run its course.
And in time it did.
When it passed, I was limp and exhausted and hollow. My chest and abdomen ached with a deep, burning pain, and I could tell my healing wounds had been opened anew. But I felt calmer, like the sky after a terrible storm has passed, discharging all its fury.
Alais was still there, watching me fearfully. "I'm sorry, Imri," she whispered. "I didn't mean to make you cry.”
"It's not your fault." I dragged my forearm over my swollen eyes, then shifted and patted the bed. "Come here." She came over and curled up beside me. I ran my hand over her black curls. "Whatever happens, in my heart, you'll always be a sister to me, Alais. I couldn't ask for a better one.”
She swallowed. "I'm so sorry about Dorelei. I miss her.”
"So do I." I closed my eyes. "So do I, villain.”
"You loved her after all, didn't you?" she asked. "In the end?”
"I did." I stroked her hair. "It was hard not to.”
"But not like you love Sidonie?”
"No." I opened my eyes and met her solemn gaze. "No, that was different. I'm sorry if it was hurtful to you, Alais. I didn't intend it to be. Neither of us did.”
"I think Sidonie must love you very much," she mused.
"Do you?" I asked.
Alais nodded. "I do. She's like that. She's very fierce, even though it doesn't show.”
I couldn't help but smile. "Oh, I know.”
She made a face. "It's a little strange to think about, Imri.”
"Well, don't think about it," I suggested.
"But I might have to, mightn't I?" Alais considered me. "I'll do it if you promise to stop thinking about dying.”
"Oh, you will, will you?" I tugged at one of her curls. "I'll be honest. It hurts, Alais, at least right now. It feels an awful lot like dishonoring Dorelei's memory.”
"You smiled, though," she said shrewdly. "I saw it. Anyway, Dorelei wouldn't want you to die, Imri. She'd want you to go on living. And she would want you to be happy. I know.”
"It's complicated." I shrugged. "We'll see.”
Alais kissed my cheek, then clambered out of bed. "I have to go,” she said. "It's getting late, and you should rest. I think Messire Girard wants to check your bandages, too." She stood for a moment, pursing her lips. "There's something else you should know.”
I peered at her. "Oh?”
"Father got a message last night," she said. "Hyacinthe was watching in his sea-mirror. He saw a bear climb out of the water on the far side of the Straits, yesterday morning, in Azzalle. It lay on the shore for a long time. He thought it was odd.”
A cold, satisfying rage rose in me. "Did he kill it?”
"No." She frowned. "He said that he couldn't be sure. He's seen other bears, dozens of them, and he's not going to start calling down the lightning to purge the earth of them." She shuddered. "We…we told him to look for a bear with pale eyes, but he couldn't tell. Do you think a bear could swim that far? Father didn't.”
It was at least seven leagues across