Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [317]
We walked slowly together, Urist leaning on his stick. All the fields had been plowed with neat, straight lines. Tender shoots of grain were emerging from the furrows. We passed the threshing barn. I remembered taking part in that backbreaking labor, coming home to Dorelei with dust and chaff clinging to my sweating skin. We strolled through the orchard, which was just past its peak blossoming. A gentle rain of petals fell from the apple trees as we walked beneath them, and the skeps of coiled straw were buzzing with honeybees.
"That would have pleased her," Urist said.
I smiled. "It would.”
The distant pastures with their low stone fences were dotted with grazing cattle. We crossed the Brithyll on an arched wooden bridge, the heel of Urist's walking-stick echoing hollowly over the water, then circled around the reedy lake. Several families of ducks followed us curiously, trailing fuzzy ducklings.
I wasn't sure Elua's shrine would still be there, but it was, there beneath the arbor I'd helped build. Although nothing was blooming yet, the roses and lavender and columbine I'd transplanted myself had been tended with loving care. The effigy of Blessed Elua stood beneath the arbor, smiling toward the castle, his arms outstretched. I took off my boots to approach, then knelt and gazed at his face. I thought about what a priest of Elua had told me about love many years ago, the first time I kept his vigil on the Longest Night.
You will find it and lose it, again and again. And with each finding and each loss, you will become more than before. What you make of it is yours to choose.
It was true.
"I have chosen, my lord," I whispered. "Please, no more losses.”
Although there was no answer, the steady throb of my heart was answer enough. I knew where love lay, and I would do my best to hold fast to it. I rose and donned my boots. Urist waited patiently, leaning on his stick. In the west, the sun was beginning to sink, low and golden, shadows stretching long across Clunderry. Behind the mask of his warrior's markings, there was compassion and understanding.
"Come on, lad." Urist clapped my shoulder. "Let's give our lass her due.”
"I'm ready," I said.
Dusk was a time of day that Dorelei had loved. That wasn't why it had been chosen, of course; that had somewhat to do with twilight blurring the boundaries between the worlds of the living and the dead. She had, though. The world went soft around the edges; that's how she'd described it.
We walked in solemn procession, all of us. The ollamh Firdha led the way, with Drustan beside her. I followed, carrying Berlik's skull. The Lady Breidaia was on my right, Talorcan on my left. Behind us came Alais and the Lady Sibeal, and behind them, Sidonie, flanked by Phèdre and Joscelin, my foster-parents. Behind them came everyone else, and I could not begin to guess at the order. There were too many people.
It was the first time I'd visited the burial mound.
It wasn't large. There were only a few stone markers there. Dorelei's was the newest, the carvings on it still sharp-edged and clean. There was the Black Boar of the Cullach Gorrym; there, too, was the swan of House Courcel. There were runes written on it that only an ollamh could read. Still, it was old enough that the grass had grown over her grave, rendering it invisible. And there along the sloping incline, a deep hole had been dug, smelling of fresh-turned earth. A pile of loose soil lay beside it.
Firdha gave the invocation, calling upon the gods and goddesses of Alba to bear witness. Drustan stepped forward with a libation vessel, pouring uisghe on the green grass that grew above Dorelei's grave. He passed the vessel to his sister, and to his sister's son, and they made offerings, too.
"Let it be done." Firdha nodded at me.
I took a deep breath and stepped forward. I'd been given new clothing in Bryn Gorrydum, and I was attired in the old Cruithne style, as I had been at our Alban nuptials. A crimson cloak lay over my shoulders, and my chest was bare save for the golden