Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [27]
I watched him take his leave, then shouted for Benoit to open the gate. He came out grumbling and sleepy-eyed to admit me, then led the Bastard into the stables. I went inside the townhouse and found Phèdre still awake in her study.
"Hello, love." She set a paperweight on the scroll she was studying and lifted her chin when I leaned down to kiss her cheek. "You smell like the bottom of an ale-barrel. Did you learn aught tonight?”
"Mayhap." I sat cross-legged at her feet. "What's a diadh-anam?”
Phèdre's beautiful lips moved soundlessly, shaping the word. I gazed up at her face and watched her search her memory. She had studied Cruithne as a child, long before it was commonplace in Terre d'Ange. Anafiel Delaunay, who had been her lord and master, had taught her. As it transpired, he'd been a man much ahead of his time. "God-soul?" she hazarded at length. "I don't know, love; it's not a word I've heard before. Why?”
"Because whatever it is, the Maghuin Dhonn sacrificed theirs," I said. "Phèdre …I'm not so sure what I've gotten myself into with Alba.”
"Nor am I," she said softly. "But we will find out.”
I leaned my head on her knee, as I had done since I was a child. She stroked my hair with gentle fingers. It wasn't the same; it never would be. But it was enough, and I could endure it.
"I don't want to leave you," I whispered.
"I know." Her voice broke. "Imri—”
I bowed my head, resting my brow on one upbent knee. Unwanted desires racked me; my own, the echo of my mother's words. "You know I have to?”
"Yes.”
It was implicit; there was a compact between us. I could not stay in this place. I had debts of honor to fulfill and desires that would never be sated. The kind of love with which the gods had blessed Phèdre and Joscelin wasn't destined to be mine. But if I couldn't be happy, truly happy, I could at least try to be good. I sighed, straightened, and stood. "Tell me what you learn?”
"Always." Phèdre's dark eyes were grave. "And you?”
"Yes," I promised. "Always.”
Chapter Six
"Behold!" Mavros flung up his arms. "Bryony House." Even from the courtyard, it stood in marked contrast to Alyssum. It was a grand structure, three stories high, with steep gables. Every window was ablaze with light, and the mullions were adorned with ornate reliefs of bryony vine. When the door opened, laughter and music and the rattle of dice spilled out.
We were ushered into the receiving salon, which was modeled after the Hall of Games in the Palace. A throng of D'Angeline nobles played at games of chance and skill—dice, cards, rhythmomachy, and other, more obscure games. The atmosphere was sharp and charged.
"Lord Mavros!" A tall woman with black hair piled in a high coronet greeted us with a curtsy. Her black gown was cut low in the back, showing off her marque. Delicate tendrils of bryony climbed her spine, sprouting pale flowers above the spade-shaped leaves. "It's been too long." She straightened and appraised me with unabashedly calculating eyes. "Prince Imriel. Welcome to Bryony, your highness.”
"Imri, this is the Dowayne, Janelle nó Bryony," Mavros said. "Watch your purse.”
She tapped his arm with a folded fan. "Never wager what you can't afford to lose, for Naamah will take all you have and more. What are you after, you naughty child?”
Mavros smiled lazily. "Tokens.”
On the Longest Night, there are two fêtes of note in the City of Elua. One was at the Palace, and the other was held at Cereus House, first among the Thirteen. It is a night Naamah's Servants celebrate among themselves, and no one, not even a Prince of the Blood, may attend without a token.
"Is that so?" Her wide mouth curled. "And what do you offer for them?”
Mavros spread his arms. "What would you wager?”
"A challenge!" Janelle nó Bryony flung back her head. "Let's put it to the crowd, shall we?" She gestured toward the corner, and an attendant there struck a massive bronze gong. The sound reverberated and an expectant hush followed. "A challenge!" she repeated. "Lord Mavros Shahrizai and Prince Imriel de la Courcel come begging