Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [193]
Or if she'd simply loved me that much, and truly wanted me to be happy. Dorelei hadn't been perfect. She had been too quick to dismiss all of the claims of the Maghuin Dhonn out of hand, too quick to reject their blessing. She'd been cranky toward the end, carrying our child. But on the balance, she'd been awfully good.
Slowly, slowly, my thoughts turned to Sidonie.
It hurt; Elua, it hurt! Alone in my carriage, I stared at the gold knot on my finger and clenched my fist. It felt awful and horrible and disloyal, and…ah, Elua! It felt like life and hope, a bright, shining thread wrapped around my heart, as hard and tight as the knots I'd tied around her wrists on her birthday. I'd been sheltered from my love for her for so long, but the closer I got, the more intense the yearning grew.
I missed her.
I wanted her.
I didn't deserve her.
A year. I gazed out the carriage window as we passed burgeoning fields of sunflowers and lavender. Could it truly be only a year ago that Sidonie had turned seventeen? Elua, but that was young! Still, she never seemed as young as she was, even as a girl. And now, her natal day must have passed. I'd missed it. I daresay I'd missed my own. I'd lost track of days. Weeks. Somewhere, I thought, I must have turned twenty years of age. And Sidonie would have turned eighteen, gaining her majority.
I wondered if it would matter.
I couldn't think about it for long. It hurt too much.
I didn't realize how close we were when we made camp the last night, and it came almost as a surprise to see the white walls of the City of Elua shining before us in the early morning light. My last homecoming had been joyous. This one wouldn't be. Outside the gates, Urist called a halt, ranging alongside the carriage. He leaned down in the saddle, peering into the window.
"What will you, my lord?" he asked. "Shall I alert the Palace?”
"No," I said. "No, I'd rather enter quietly.”
There was no queue at the gate this time, no Tsingano lads idling, waiting for news. I watched Urist speak to a yawning guard, leaning on his spear. I watched the guard's eyes widen. He came over to the carriage window and bowed. "Forgive me, your highness. We didn't know when you were arriving. Shall I send word to her majesty?”
"Is my foster-mother in residence?" I asked. I knew there had been no word of their return by the time I left Alba, but I wasn't sure what had transpired while we were on the road.
He shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Lady Phèdre and Messire Verreuil are abroad.”
"No, don't bother, then. I'll go directly to the Palace.”
The guard nodded. "Very sorry for your loss, your highness.”
My throat tightened. "Thank you.”
I closed my eyes and leaned back against the cushions as we entered the City of Elua, listening to the sounds of the city waking. Domnach was driving the carriage, he had a light, steady hand on the reins, and our passage was smoother than usual on the well-tended streets. I felt strange and weightless, filled with emotions I couldn't begin to name. I listened to the calls of vendors as we passed the market, to the hoofbeats of my escort, to the murmur of Cruithne voices. A few people called out inquiries as we passed, wondering at the sight of the Bastard and his distinctive markings, following the carriage on a lead-line.
The ostler at the Palace knew him. "That's Prince Imriel's horse. His highness isn't…?”
"Dead?" Urist asked bluntly. "No.”
Domnach leapt down from the driver's seat and opened the door for me. I got out slowly, dreading the sight of the pitying, wondering stares.
"Prince Imriel." The footman on duty had come into the courtyard. He greeted me with a bow. "Welcome home, your highness. I am sorry it is during a time of grief." Servants of the Palace are known for their composure and exquisite manners, but his brows rose a little at the sight of me, clad in loose-fitting Alban garb, a gold torc around my throat. "How may I serve you, your highness? Are you …well?”
"I'm