Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [213]
Tears shone on her cheeks. "Just come home.”
Urist blew his hunting horn; a clear, clarion call, piercing the leaden dawn. Unexpectedly, Amaury Trente saluted, pressing a closed fist to his heart. His brown eyes looked over-bright. After a second's hesitation, Claude de Monluc followed suit, and so did all his men; Sidonie's guards. Another time, it might almost have made me laugh. Now it made me want to weep. Urist glanced at me.
"Ride." I cleared my throat and repeated it more strongly. "Clunderry, ride!”
We rode.
We rode fast and hard, thundering down the entryway and turning onto the road. Deordivus took the lead, heading unerringly north. My wounds burned and ached. I concentrated on keeping my seat. The Bastard ran smoothly beneath me, stretching his legs. I gritted my teeth and settled into the pain, welcoming it. It was a fair price to pay for the pleasure I'd taken.
Behind us, the manor house dwindled.
I don't know how long or how far we rode in that first burst. Deordivus led, but Urist set the pace. Too fast for common sense, really, but he knew what he was about. He'd watched me, he gauged me. Trees and fields passed in a green blur. Urist didn't give the order to slow for a long time. Not until the wind of our passage had blown away the sharpest of the lingering remnants of yearning and desire that clung to me, until I was able to fix my mind on the distant horizon.
"Walk!" Urist called.
We slowed to a walk.
It must have been a long time; the other horses were blown, and the Bastard was sweating, reins damp with lather. I patted his neck, then felt at my torso. If I was bleeding, it wasn't bad.
Urist ranged alongside me. "All right, lad?”
I nodded.
"Doesn't come often, does it?" There was sympathy in his voice. "Passion like that.”
I gazed at the grey sky. "Gods above, I hope not.”
He laughed, reached over and patted my arm. "Remember who you owe it to. Hold hard, ride hard. Do it for her!' Urist's voice hardened. "Our lass, our sweet lass, the one who loved you enough to free you.”
"She was my wife, Urist." I held his gaze. "She would have been the mother of my son. Do you truly imagine I could ever forget what I owe her?”
"No," he said after a moment. "No, I don't.”
After that, he left me to ride in silence, and the others did, too. I was grateful for it. It had been a hard parting, harder than anything I could have imagined. The first time, I'd felt numb and half-dead inside. Sidonie and I had been young and uncertain. It was all different now. There was no uncertainty and all my emotions were honed to a keen edge, aching and tender. For the first time in my life, I knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, exactly what I wanted. I knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, that I was wanted in turn. And I was riding in the opposite direction.
I didn't try to hide the pain from myself. I settled into it, letting the pain in my heart echo the soreness of my wounds. In time, both would diminish and grow more bearable. I knew that now. After Dorelei's death, I hadn't thought the enormity of that grief would ever grow less raw and overwhelming, that I'd ever wake to face a new day without feeling my heart scourged anew with a tide of anguish and helpless fury.
But bit by bit, I was learning to live with it. We live, we heal, we endure. We mourn the dead and treasure the living. We bear our scars.
Some of us more than others.
There was guilt, of course. There would always be guilt. If Sidonie and I had been more brave, if we'd had the courage to trust in our love, in Blessed Elua's precept, Dorelei wouldn't have died. The shadow of that knowledge would always lie over us. That, too, I would learn to bear. So long as there was brightness, I could accept the darkness.
As we rode, I became aware that we hadn't managed to outrace gossip. It had been two days since Sidonie walked up to me in full view of the watching Palace and kissed me; one day since she'd managed to silence Barquiel L'Envers in front