Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [289]
"He did try. And there wasn't anything you could have done," I said gently. "It wouldn't have changed anything.”
She shuddered and lowered her hands. "You can't know that. Not for a surety.”
"It doesn't matter," I said. "It's over.”
We lodged that night in the manor of the mayor of Tarkov, who had gladly accepted the honor of turning his home over to the heroic warlord Micah ben Ximon. I never did meet the mayor, who had already taken lodgings at an inn where he might boast of his illustrious guests. Hugues and Ti-Philippe elected to go in search of Maslin together and await us wherever he'd made camp. I suspect they were being discreet, allowing us time alone together as a family. It made me smile, picturing the shock on Maslin's face when they found him. Out of the same tact, Micah ben Ximon retired early.
We didn't.
I wanted to hear their story first. Mine was too big. They didn't press. It was the sort of thing they understood. I daresay they didn't care, as long as I was alive to tell it. It was Joscelin who told theirs; Phèdre couldn't bear to. Ti-Philippe had set out after them as soon as the news from Alba had come. Acting without thinking, he'd gone immediately, while my life still hung in the balance. He'd found them in Kriti, completing their mysterious mission. Whatever it was, they concluded it in haste and departed immediately. For the entire duration of the long journey back to Terre d'Ange, they hadn't known whether I was alive or dead.
"I'm so sorry," I said. I'd been saying this a lot lately.
"Well, we found out as soon as we made harbor in Marsilikos." Joscelin smiled slightly. "Alive, and overturning the Court.”
"Is Ysandre still furious?" I asked.
"Mm-hmm." He glanced at Phèdre. "We didn't stay long enough to attempt to reason with her. Not after weeks of not knowing, then hearing you'd set out on your own with Urist to some unknown land.”
Their sea passage home from Kriti had been infuriatingly slow, plagued by bad winds. By the time they travelled to Maarten's Crossing, it was well into autumn. There had been no word yet of the fate of Talorcan's party, but Adelmar of the Frisii was growing anxious about his decision to allow them passage, fearful that his greed in accepting Ysandre and Drustan's bribes would cost him Tadeuz Vral's goodwill. He knew perfectly well who Phèdre and Joscelin were, and he adamantly refused to grant passage to them, and moreover, had sent orders to Norstock not to allow any D'Angeline or Alban passengers until further notice. Phèdre's solution was ingenious.
"We made our own pilgrim caps," Joscelin said. "Let Adelmar think we were leaving, then doubled back through the wood and caught the pilgrims' route further north.”
I laughed. "You sewed for me?”
"No." Phèdre flushed. "Ti-Philippe did." I laughed harder. Her eyes sparkled. I think she was beginning to believe I actually was alive and well, sitting and talking with her. "I tried, I did. But I've never been handy with a needle.”
Miraculously enough, it had actually worked. There were still stories told in Skaldia about the D'Angeline pair who had outwitted Waldemar Selig and ultimately caused his downfall; but no Skaldi in his or her right mind would imagine that they'd travel boldface the length of the land, passing themselves off as pilgrims under false names.
It was a long, long journey, rendered worse by encountering Talorcan and his men early at the outset. They'd arrived at the Vralian border to find the pilgrims' passage heavily guarded, alerted by the handful of Urist's veterans who'd made the attempt earlier. Largely outnumbered and unable to convince or bribe the Vralian border guard to grant them passage, Talorcan's company had been forced to turn back and they'd had trouble with the Skaldi on their return route. They were still seething from their defeat and had not the slightest idea what had become of Urist and me.
"So that's what happened to them," I murmured. "Talorcan