Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [195]
"I know," I whispered. "I do, too. But it's not your fault. You couldn't have known, no one could. We were trying to do the right thing, the sensible thing.”
She touched my tear-damp face. "I wish we hadn't.”
My heart swelled and ached all at once. This was love, in all its fierce, awful glory, tinged forever with sorrow and regret. "So do I. Oh gods, Sidonie! So do I.”
The voices in the hallway hadn't gone away; they'd grown closer, or at least two of them had. One was Amarante's, sounding uncommonly harried. I knew the other one, too. A cool voice rising to a sharp, irritated note, unaccustomed to being thwarted.
Sidonie raised her head and breathed a single word. "Mother.”
"Name of Elua! One would think—" Ysandre de la Courcel halted in the doorway and beheld the scene confronting her. For a moment, her face was utterly blank with shock. "No. This is unacceptable.”
Behind her, Amarante shook her head in a helpless gesture. I let my arms fall from Sidonie's waist. Sidonie released me slowly. I sank down to sit on my heels.
"No," Ysandre said simply, as though saying it would make it so. Bright spots of color rose to her cheeks. "Oh, no.”
Sidonie held her ground, her face still and grave. "I would speak to you about this.”
"No," Ysandre repeated. She turned to Amarante in a fury. "You …you are dismissed for conspiring to treason!" Amarante glanced at Sidonie. Ysandre pointed toward the door exiting the quarters, which was thronged with Cruithne. "Don't look to her. Go! Now!”
Amarante hesitated.
"Don't go," Sidonie said to her, and then to Ysandre, "Mother, I'm of age, and Amarante is sworn to my service, not yours. You've no right to dismiss her. And there is no treason here, only love, however ill-advised. We need to speak.”
"Love!" Ysandre laughed bitterly. "That's a fine jest.”
"Ysandre." I got to my feet with difficulty, pressing my bandaged torso. "I'm sorry. Elua knows, sorrier than I've ever been. We should have been honest. We should have been brave. Or mayhap just dared to be foolish." I smiled sadly. The Queen didn't smile back, but she was silent, listening. "My lady, the truth is, I have loved your daughter since she was sixteen years old. We weren't sure. We thought it might pass, both of us. We hoped it would pass. So we did what we thought was right and sensible. I'm sorry, I can't help that I love your daughter. I did my best not to." My voice cracked. "I did all you asked of me, Ysandre! My wife, our child…do you think I don't grieve for them?”
"And yet," Ysandre said coldly, "conveniently, they are gone.”
My ears rang.
If Ysandre could have taken the words back, I think she would have. She had a temper and she'd spoken in haste. It didn't matter. A white-hot rage possessed me. I could have struck her; I wanted to strike her. Since I couldn't, I pushed past her in a state of perfect fury. Thanks be to all the gods of Alba and Terre d'Ange for Urist and his men. They fell in around me, insulating me. I strode down the corridor and descended the staircase in their midst, deaf to everything around me, striding through the main hall.
And then there was Maslin de Lombelon, blocking my way, his lips moving. I couldn't hear through the ringing in my ears. I shoved futilely at him, and we struggled for a moment. Urist stepped forward, laying a warning hand on his sword-hilt. Maslin grabbed my arm and pointed, his face filled with intense, complicated dislike.
"Imriel!”
I turned and saw Sidonie.
She walked toward me, steady and deliberate. Maslin released me in disgust. I could hear again, hear the murmurs of speculation rising. The Palace was awake, buzzing with gossip. People were hurrying to see. Footsteps, running; guards shouting. I waited, aware of the slow, steady pounding of my heart. There, before a watching audience, Sidonie put her arms around my neck and kissed me.
It was a gentle, tender kiss, but the intent was unmistakable. I heard the gasps of shock. The Cruithne moved to encompass us in a protective circle. I bowed my head and leaned my brow against Sidonie's, resting