Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [316]
Chapter Seventy-One
It was a strange feeling, retracing our path to Clunderry. All of us went, save Hyacinthe, who returned to the Stormkeep. It was only three days' ride, and the days passed swiftly. I remembered my first glimpse of the place so well; the Brithyll River widening to form a weedy lake, the castle, the village, the mill's sails turning lazily. An idyllic place, a happy place.
I had no memory of leaving it.
Or at least, I had only snatches of memory, fever-ravaged. Pain. A jolting cart, anxious faces. Voices, distant and echoing. The Bastard's bony head leaning over the cart that carried me, snorting through flared nostrils. Someone cursing him.
Elua.
None of us had been there since it happened; not me, not Urist, not even the Lady Breidaia. It hurt too much. And yet, Clunderry was as it had been. Life went on apace. The folk turned out to greet us, bowing low at the sight of our entourage led by the Cruarch himself. I recognized and remembered them. Trevedic the young reeve; old Cluna, the midwife. Kinada, Kinadius' mother; his sister, Kerys. They were all there, from Hoel, the lowly cook's apprentice who'd been crowned on the Day of Misrule, to Murghan, the one-armed steward who had been rumored to share Lady Breidaia's bed.
And there were others, too. The ollamh, Firdha, had come. Leodan of Briclaedh, my cattle-raiding neighbor. My southern neighbor Golven of Sionnachan, who had lent me his beekeeper, Milcis. Others I didn't recognize; others I did.
Eamonn was there.
Eamonn and his wife Brigitta, representing the Lady of the Dalriada. Her youngest was there, too; the boy Conor. Not a boy, not anymore. A young man with dark, watchful eyes, his harp slung in a case over his shoulder. The blood of the Maghuin Dhonn ran strong in his veins. I wondered how many people knew it.
The only person missing was Dorelei.
I missed her.
It had been a whole other life here in Clunderry, and it had been a good one. I'd been happy, and even if the happiness hadn't been entirely real, many parts of it had been. I was touched by the number of folk who welcomed me back with sincere gladness and pride.
Alais, of course, they welcomed with delight; there were a great many folk who had grown fond of her. But I was glad to see that they seemed genuinely honored that Queen Ysandre had sent her eldest daughter to attend, reckoning it a fitting tribute. In their eyes, Alais had become a daughter of Alba, and did not represent Terre d'Ange; but Sidonie did.
She did it well, with a quiet dignity beyond her years. The composure that had seemed unnatural—and betimes irritating—in a child suited her as a young woman.
We had arrived well before noon and the better part of the day was taken up in arrangements and preparation. It would be a simple ceremony, but there would be a great feast afterward.
I kept to myself that day, and after our initial arrival, folk left me alone. Even Eamonn was subdued, although he greeted me with a great, crushing embrace.
"I'm so sorry for what happened, Imri," he said hoarsely. "Dagda Mor! We were all sick at the news. Mother holds herself to blame for allowing you to accept Berlik's oath.”
I shook my head. " 'Twas no fault of hers. I made the choice myself. How are matters in Innisclan?”
"Well enough." Eamonn glanced over at Conor, talking quietly with Alais. "We were grateful to hear that you asked the Cruarch to have mercy on the innocent.”
"You went a-hunting the Old Ones, though," I said.
"I did." His face turned grim. "Found a few, too. Conor summoned the harpist. I didn't think he would come, but he did. Don't worry, I didn't kill anyone. But I let it be known that anyone sheltering Berlik would be put to death without any questions asked.”
"No one sheltered him," I said. "He fled.”
"A long way, I hear," Eamonn said.
I nodded. "A very long way.”
While the others met and mingled, I went for a walk around Clunderry's holdings. I would as soon have gone on my own, but Urist caught me slipping out of the castle and refused to allow it. I