Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [204]
"Traitor-spawn!" L'Envers hissed, grabbing at the loose collar of my shirt and yanking. His violet eyes bulged, the whites shot through with red. "Seducing whore's son! Get your blade. I'm calling you out, now!”
"Barquiel!" Lord Amaury's voice, sharp. "Look at the lad, man! He's in no shape for this.”
L'Envers didn't care. He shook me. Lacking the strength to break free of his grip, I didn't bother trying. Instead, I spat in his face.
He roared. There was a lot of roaring, a lot of shouting and shoving. Urist, interposing himself between us, holding a knife pointed at L'Envers' belly. Barquiel L'Envers letting go of me and cursing him for a tattooed Pictish savage. I backed away. Claude de Monluc, Sidonie's Captain of the Guard, was giving crisp orders, ushering her out of the salon. Others, arriving. Soldiers in the livery of the Royal Army. A scent of apples. Ghislain nó Trevalion.
Hugues, wide-eyed, clutching a satchel.
Mavros Shahrizai, my cousin, looking overwhelmed.
Maslin de Lombelon, his face pinched and tight, trying unexpectedly to reason with Barquiel L'Envers.
Too many people, too much mayhem. It spilled over into the great hall. It made my ears ring, reminding me of another night, filled with blood and madness. Ghislain's soldiers were confronting L'Envers' men; Ghislain was confronting Barquiel L'Envers himself. Urist and the men of Clunderry trying to ward me. Amaury Trente was pleading in vain for calm. Servants were scrambling to get out of the way. Everyone else was lost in the swirl. I didn't know how they'd all got there, what they wanted. I shook my head, filled with helpless rage.
A shattering sound.
A ewer of fine porcelain burst against the flagstones.
"Enough!" Sidonie's voice cut through the chaos like a knife, high and clear and utterly controlled. There were bright spots of color on her cheeks. I'd never seen her angry. She looked like her mother, only younger and more vibrant. Her guardsmen surrounded her warily. She whipped her head around. "Lord Amaury, has my mother disinherited me since this morning?”
Everyone grew very still.
"No, your highness," Amaury Trente said quietly.
"Then I believe I hold rank here." Sidonie surveyed the room. "My lords, I am not insensible of my duty. I am well aware of the ramifications of what I have done, and I am prepared to discuss them with my mother and anyone she deems necessary, as soon as she is willing to acknowledge that I am not a recalcitrant child bent on rebellion. Now is not the time, and here is not the place.”
I wanted to cheer. I saw Urist give a fierce grin, his eyes glinting.
"Oh, duty, is it, child?" Barquiel L'Envers began contemptuously. "You don't begin to understand—”
"Yes, I do." Sidonie raised her voice. "My duty, Uncle, is not to you. It is not to secure the hold of House Courcel on the throne of Terre d'Ange, and it is not to advance the interests of my blood kin or those to whom they are indebted. It is to Terre d'Ange itself." She drew a deep breath, trembling a little. "It is to ensure the peace and prosperity that my mother has won for our nation continues. It is to honor our existing alliances, and seek out new allies. It is to safeguard our borders against all enemies. It is to ensure that the least among us may lead joyous and tranquil lives, secure in the knowledge that Blessed Elua's precept prevails here." Her chest rose and fell sharply. "That, my lords, is the vision of rulership my mother imparted to me. Would that she trusted me to honor it.”
Eighteen years old, and save for a pair of chambermaids doing their best to make themselves invisible, the only woman in the hall; and she put the peers of the realm to shame. If I'd had any lingering doubts that I loved her, they