Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [200]
An attendant was taking Sidonie's cloak when I entered the room.
It was rain-dappled, and there were drops of rain in her hair. She was wearing a gown of amber silk. And although she was looking away, she turned her head toward me when I entered, the way it had been between us for so long.
"You came," I said stupidly.
Her brows rose. "I keep my promises.”
I wanted to laugh and cry all at once, to sweep her into my arms and cover her face with kisses. I couldn't, though. Today was different. It would have felt like a grave impropriety. And so we stood there, unsure how to proceed, while her guards and Urist and his men eyed one another.
"This is Captain Claude de Monluc," Sidonie said, breaking the silence. "My lord Claude, Prince Imriel de la Courcel.”
A tall man with blond hair and keen, light blue eyes stepped forward and bowed, correct and exact. "Well met, your highness.”
I put out my hand. "And you, my lord." Claude de Monluc hesitated only a heartbeat before clasping my hand. His grip was firm, and his expression gave away very little. "This is Urist mab Wrada," I said, introducing him. "Commander of the garrison of Clunderry. Urist, her highness Sidonie de la Courcel, Dauphine of Terre dAnge.”
Urist nodded, arms folded. His expression gave away absolutely nothing.
To my surprise, Sidonie crossed over to him and laid a hand on his arm. "I understand from Imriel's kinsman that you brought him here to honor his wife's last wish, my lord Urist," she said quietly. "Thank you. That must have been difficult.”
His face softened. "Ah, well.”
Sidonie turned to me. "We should talk.”
I was glad one of us, at least, had a sense of propriety. "In my quarters," I said. "Urist, I leave you in charge.”
Any other time, I would have given Sidonie my arm as a matter of simple courtesy. Even when we'd disliked one other, we'd observed Court protocol. Today I didn't. We walked side by side, not touching, conscious of the distance between us, conscious of the watching eyes of the men behind us; half of them still grieving Clunderry's loss, half of them weighing their loyalties and contemplating the Queen's displeasure.
It was a blessed relief to close the door to the master chamber behind us. Sidonie let out a long, shuddering sigh. I reached for her and she came into my arms. I enfolded her and she wrapped her arms around me, pressed her face to my chest. I rested my cheek against her hair, feeling the rain's dampness.
"What shall we talk about?" I murmured.
Her lips curved in a smile. "Anything. Nothing.”
We stood without moving for a long time. It felt so good to hold her, I could have stood forever. It was Sidonie who moved first, lifting her head, exploring my chest lightly with her fingertips and feeling the bandages Cailan had rewound last night beneath my shirt. "How bad is it?”
"Bad," I said. "Getting better.”
"May I see?" she asked. I nodded. Sidonie undid the wooden buttons on my shirt, one by one. She had a deft touch, quick and neat. She went slowly, though, unwinding the bandages. Tears rose to her eyes, rose and overflowed. When the last coil of the clean linen strip fell away, she gasped. "Name of Elua!”
"You should have seen it before," I said wryly.
"Don't jest." Sidonie shook her head. "The first news we heard, they weren't sure if you'd live or die, Imriel. I never thought one could die of sorrow, I truly didn't. But something broke inside me that day.”
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Will you tell me about it?" she asked softly. "Phèdre and Joscelin did try to explain before they left, but I'm not sure I understand what happened. Any of it.”
"Oh, gods." I winced. "That letter …I'm so sorry.”
"I know." Sidonie searched my face. "I just want to understand.”
I nodded. "I'll try.”
We sat on the bed. I held her hands and began to talk.