Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [299]
I thought of the vision Morwen had shown me.
Homes torched, people dragged from them. The Maghuin Dhonn hunted like animals, eyes stretched wide with terror, their magics failing. The oak groves ablaze, teams of oxen dragging down the stone circles. Stone, ancient stone, crashing and falling. D'Angeline architects swarming. A world broken and remade in a new image.
My son's face.
There were no sureties in this world.
There in the temple, I stooped and touched the floor, spreading my fingers against the cool marble. Somewhere far beneath it, there was soil and living earth. "Blessed Elua hold me in your hand," I murmured. "May your wisdom ever guide me.”
I felt it, then. A surge of assurance, beating like wings in my heart. Not Kushiel, but Elua; Blessed Elua. I was his scion, too. His mantle descended on me as I straightened. I felt so many things; regret, sorrow, hope. There was such beauty in the world, but there was such cruelty, too. Such folly and madness. I did not understand the whole of what had passed between Berlik and me, and I did not pretend to understand all of what passed here today. But for the sake of Vralia and its people, I prayed that love and compassion would temper ambition and the urge for glory.
The feeling stayed with me throughout the interminable ceremony. A pull at my heart, a steady tug, beckoning me homeward. Blessed Elua's assurance, a promise of love. I had failed to honor his precept; failed to trust in the truth of my own heart. I would not do so again. It was enough. I had to believe.
The last pilgrim gave her oath. She was an elderly woman with bad knees made worse by the long journey, and she struggled to rise after kissing the tip of Tadeuz Vral's blade. He sheathed his sword and extended his hand to her, helping her to her feet. I couldn't see her face, but the look on Vral's was almost tender. The crowd murmured with approval. A soldier escorted her to kneel once more among the ranks of pilgrims, assisting her with care.
"Today, you are born anew into the true faith," Rebbe Avraham said, his voice sounding tired at last. "From this day forth, you are Yeshuites and loyal citizens of Vralia. Cast off the garments of your penitence.”
A thousand supplicants struggled to remove the sackcloth they wore over their clothing, kneeling and clutching the rough garments.
"Rise," the Rebbe said. "Go forth and rejoice in the mercy of Yeshua ben Yosef and Tadeuz Vral.”
With varying degrees of difficulty, they rose.
Some looked relieved; many merely looked exhausted. Here and there, I saw flickers of brooding defiance. The patient cantors lifted their voices in song, the sound of it filling the temple. I glanced at Phèdre. Her head was cocked slightly and she wore a look I knew; distant and troubled, like a soldier hearing the strains of a faraway battle. But when I caught her eye, she merely shook her head, and her expression turned smooth.
It was done.
The new-made Yeshuites shuffled forth from the temple, directed by Vral's soldiers. We watched and waited. I thought Vral might speak to us, but he didn't. When the last pilgrim had departed, he gave a brusque nod to the rest of us, D'Angelines and Vralian nobility alike. We filed out of the temple. The sun, which had been high when we entered, sat low on the horizon, bathing the snowy city of Vralgrad in soft amber light.
In the middle of the street, Ti-Philippe yawned, his jaw cracking. "Well, that's that, then," he said. "On to Alba?”
The steady tug at my heart gave me a twinge of sorrow. I was only mortal. There was a part of me that wanted to give Berlik's skull into Urist's keeping and go home. Home to Terre d'Ange, where the soil was blessed by Elua's blood