Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [255]
"Yes," I said in D'Angeline. "Oh, yes." I nodded and pointed at him. "And you?”
Kebek's eyes lit up and he nodded vigorously. He shaped her in the air with his hands; plump and rounded, standing only so high. He mimed her ample buttocks with particular fervor. It made me laugh. He grinned and pointed back at me, raising his brows.
I thought about Sidonie and smiled, trying to shape her. Taller than Alais, not as tall as her mother. There was no single attribute that stood out, or at least not one I could depict with my hands. Just everything in perfect proportion, precise and exact.
Kebek looked unimpressed.
"It's the way it all fits together," I assured him. "Trust me.”
He didn't look convinced. He said somewhat else, miming. Stirring a pot; eating. Smacking his lips, rubbing his belly. Pointing in inquiry.
"A good cook?" I laughed and shook my head. "Elua, I doubt it!”
He mimed sewing, and I shook my head. Many noblewomen embroidered as a pastime, but I didn't ever recall seeing Sidonie doing it. Kebek mimed hunting, drawing a bow. I shook my head at that, too. Dorelei had been good with a bow; better than I was. Sidonie? She rode to the hunt, of course, but I'd never seen her shoot. I wasn't sure she enjoyed it any more than she enjoyed climbing trees. And it was quite possible that she'd never even seen the inside of a kitchen.
Kebek clicked his tongue dismissively, then shrugged and turned both palms upward, raising his brows to ask what in the world I saw in this useless woman of dubious attractiveness who couldn't cook or sew or hunt.
If I could have spoken to him, what would I have said? That the woman I loved was the heir to a powerful nation? That she had spent her life at her mother's knee, learning about diplomacy and negotiation and making difficult decisions that would affect the lives of thousands of people? That she might, might be willing to throw it all away for love of me? That she had a sly sense of humor and a wicked knack for mimicry? A stubborn streak and the capacity for fierce loyalty? The courage to stand down Barquiel L'Envers and defy the entire Court to adhere to Blessed Elua's precept?
All of it was true.
And none of it really mattered. In the end, I didn't know why I loved her to the point of distraction. I knew only that I did.
I drew a circle around my heart with one finger. "I don't know, Kebek. I just do.”
He nodded with all the sagacity of his sixteen or seventeen years. We sat in silence a moment, thinking about our women. Kebek brightened and nudged me. He gave me another inquiring look and made a lewd gesture recognized the world over.
"That?" I sighed and lay back on my pallet, folding my arms beneath my head. "Oh, my friend, you have no idea.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
If I had known how long I'd be stuck in a stone cell in Tarkov it with Kebek the Tatar, I might have kept track of the days. But expecting to be freed at a moment's notice, I didn't. As a result, a great many days passed.
How many, I couldn't say.
There was no word from Micah ben Ximon in Petrovik. When I asked the captain, he shrugged apologetically and promised soon, soon.
In the meantime, a feast-day arrived.
It had, I gathered, somewhat to do with the initial victory of Tadeuz Vral over his brother's forces. The Feast of One Hundred Martyrs, the guards called it. Apparently, it was celebrated all over Vralia since the battle; or at least those parts of Vralia that lay under the control of Tadeuz Vral. The mayor of Tarkov sent a cask of starka to his guards.
They got drunk.
I'd never met the mayor of Tarkov, on whose orders I was detained. Whoever he was, I reckoned he was a weak or disinterested fellow, trusting his captain of the guard to handle the matter. I never knew the captain's name, either. He wouldn't give it to me, reckoning I might be a spy. But one thing I did learn: Vralians loved their starka.
They began with toasts to each and every one of the One Hundred Martyrs, naming ten at a