Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [207]
"Yes," I said. "Crossing a bridge.”
She cocked her head. "If he bears north, he's bound for Skaldia.”
I shivered involuntarily. "I know.”
Sidonie spread her hand on the map. "So." For a moment, her shoulders slumped; then she straightened and regarded me. "When you've finished here, I'll be in the master chamber. Dinner will be served to Commander Urist, Lord Amaury, Captain de Monluc, and their men in the great hall.”
I watched her walk away, back straight, coiled hair shining.
Urist watched me. "We're finished.”
"We haven't—" I began.
"Strong-willed, that one." He jerked his chin in the direction Sidonie had gone. "Drustan's eldest. Go. There's nothing to be done here I can't handle.”
I went.
She's like a house without a door. That was what Dorelei had said of Sidonie; the only thing she'd ever said about her. I understood what she meant. It wasn't true, though. I leaned in the doorway of the master bedchamber, watching Sidonie peruse the contents of the flagellary cupboard. She could be closed and careful, but on her own terms, she was utterly uninhibited. The contrast never failed to give me a thrill of shock and delight.
"See anything you like?" I asked.
She shot me an unreadable glance over her shoulder. "Oh, yes. But not today." She closed the cupboard doors. "I didn't expect you so soon.”
"Urist dismissed me," I said.
"Urist." The master chamber had a generous hearth, with a pair of sumptuous chairs and a low table before it. A fire had been laid in the hearth, and there was a wine jug and a platter of cheese and dates on the table. Sidonie poured wine into the goblets provided. They were wrought of the same fine white porcelain, so thin the red wine showed through in a faint blush. "He must have cared very much for Dorelei to honor her wishes in this.”
"Yes." I took one of the goblets and sank into a chair. "More than I knew. But she was easy to love.”
Sidonie gazed at me. "Why did she do it?”
"She loved me," I said softly. "Very much. More than I deserved. She wanted me to be happy. And I think she feared that if aught happened to her, I'd let myself be consumed with vengeance.”
"Will you?" she asked in a low voice.
I turned the goblet in my hands, studying it. "No." I lifted my head and met her gaze. "No. Because along with my guilt and grief, I will carry with me a promise of hope. Of redemption. The memory of Elua's grace and mercy. The memory of you defying your mother and half of Terre d'Ange for my sake." I smiled a little. "Not to mention Barquiel L'Envers.”
"That was long overdue," Sidonie murmured.
"Yes." I set down my goblet. "But I will have vengeance. Dorelei's blood demands it. And …" I caught my breath and looked away. "And our son's.”
"Aniel," she whispered.
I nodded. I'd told her the name we'd chosen, Dorelei and I. "I would have loved him," I murmured, hearing my voice break. "No matter what. I don't believe the vision Morwen showed me. I can't. I won't. I wouldn't have let that happen, not while there was breath in my body. I would have found a way, some way…”
"You would," Sidonie said steadily.
I met her gaze again. "It doesn't frighten you?”
"No." Sidonie picked up her goblet and drained it. She'd walked out of this bedchamber without blushing to greet Lord Amaury, she'd set an entire roomful of peers on their ear without any sign of fear, and she hadn't twitched an eyelash when Mavros complimented her on my love-bite, but her color rose now, unexpected and girlish. "Imriel, will you please come home safely and marry me?”
"Yes," I said promptly.
She sighed. "Oh, good.”
We both laughed then, feeling self-conscious at the enormity of the decision. What else was there to do? I felt Elua's mercy gather us as though in a vast net, letting the grief abate. Time. It was a small space of time, but it was ours. I reached out and caught one of her hands, tugging gently until Sidonie came to sit on my lap. She smelled like rain and wood-smoke and herself, honey-sweet with a tinge of salt. I loosed her hair from its neat coils, sinking my fingers into it and kissing