Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [212]
We both dressed in silence. I watched Sidonie brush her hair, turning a glorious tangle of locks into a smooth, shining fall. "Will you be all right at Court?" I asked her.
"I'll manage." She wound her hair into coils, pinning it artfully. "My mother's temper will cool, and you're not without sympathizers, Imriel. After all, you are emerging as a figure of great and terrible romance." The words were wry, but the shadow of sorrow was still there. "It will help when Phèdre and Joscelin return," she added, pausing. "What in Elua's name are they doing, anyway? 'Tis an odd time for them to be gone.”
I laughed. "Unless I'm mistaken, hiding the Book of Raziel.”
Her hands froze. "Does anyone else know this?”
I shook my head. "No.”
"That's a grave trust you've imparted to me," she said slowly.
"I know," I said.
Sidonie set down her hairpins with an inarticulate sound, came over and kissed me. I held her hard and kissed her back. "I hate this," she whispered against my mouth. "I hate it so much." She pulled away, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes for an instant. "You should go. This is only going to get harder. Where's your sword-belt?”
I pointed.
She fetched it, knelt, and buckled it around my waist. I drew another deep breath, testing the pressure and pain. It was bearable. She'd found the vambraces, too; rose and slid them into place, fastening the buckles. My eyes burned. "Dorelei did this for me," I said hoarsely. "The night…”
"Don't say it." Sidonie touched my lips with two fingers. "She loved you. I love you.”
"I have to go," I said.
She nodded. "Make it swift.”
Urist had everything in readiness. We were travelling light for speed. No carriages, no wagons. Only our mounts and four pack-horses. They had assembled in the narrow courtyard, ready and waiting. A stable boy was holding the Bastard's head. I slung my saddlebags over his haunches, lashing them in place. I wasn't carrying much, either. Salve, clean bandages. A change of clothing, borrowed from the closet of the master chamber. A woolen cloak. The satchel of coin Hugues had brought. His wooden flute. The polished croonie-stone. A golden torc around my throat, a golden ring knotted around one finger.
The dawning sky was grey, holding the promise of more rain. The Cruithne were mounted and waiting. Lord Amaury Trente was there. The Dauphine's Guard was there. I glanced at the Bastard. He blew hard through flared nostrils and tossed his speckled head, doubting whether or not I was ready to ride. I wondered, too. Urist watched me without comment. He didn't say what he was thinking, but I could guess. If I could ride a woman until my half-healed wounds burst their seams, I could ride a horse. No excuses.
I didn't offer any.
Time to go.
Lord Amaury said somewhat; I don't know what. It sounded as though he wished me well. I trusted it was so, nodded, and shook the hand he offered.
Sidonie.
Her guardsmen, headed by Captain de Monluc, stood behind her in tight, neat ranks. She looked small standing in front of them, the regal tilt of her chin belying the tears in her eyes. Neat and proper.
What a lie that was.
It felt like my heart would burst.
I didn't have any words left. There was too much to say, not enough time to say it. I enfolded her in my arms and held her close, held her hard enough to hurt, hard enough to defy all the forces of the world that sought to separate us. Sidonie clung to me, burying her face against my chest. I bowed my head over hers. I didn't want to let her go, not ever. Horses snorting, a shuffling of hooves.
"Go." Sidonie pushed me.
I went.
My eyes were blurred. I took the Bastard's reins, found the stirrup, and hoisted myself blindly astride.