Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [32]
As it proved, the response revealed little.
My costume drew reactions aplenty; for its daring lack, not its accoutrements. I began to give up on my plan when Mavros nearly fell down laughing at the sight of me.
"Oh, Imri!" he gasped. "It's, it's…" He caught himself and gave his head a shake. "Well, it's quite fetching, in a unique way." His blue eyes gleamed behind his mask, an ornate affair of black leather with tall, spiraling horns. "Tell me, have you seen your sweet cousin?”
"Not yet," I said. "But I've heard.”
"Look yonder." He slid one arm around my waist and pointed with his free hand.
I looked.
By tradition, the Sun Prince awoke the Winter Queen to youthful rebirth in the Midwinter Masque we enact every year on the Longest Night. It is an old ritual, with roots going back to before the coming of Blessed Elua, and there is a distant connection between the Sun Prince and the ruler of the land. Mostly that is all forgotten and it's only pageantry, nowadays. But Baudoin de Trevalion resurrected it as a symbolic gesture when he was plotting to usurp Ysandre's inheritance. I remembered how Sidonie asked me last year, when I came attired as a Skaldic deity of light, if I thought to play the Sun Prince. In answer, I'd offered her my oath of loyalty.
She must have remembered, too. And she was using the costume to serve notice to the peers of the realm that she had no intention of being supplanted as the heir to Terre d'Ange.
Gold; cloth-of-gold. Her gown was gold, her shoes were gilded. The half-mask that hid her upper face was gold, and the sun's rays burst outward gloriously from it. Lest anyone should mistake the symbolism, she carried a gilded spear in her right hand.
Sidonie's head turned as though I'd called her name. I raised my lamp in salute. I could see her lips move in a smile beneath the half-mask, and her spear dipped briefly in reply.
"Well, well," Mavros murmured in my ear.
"Oh, hush." I shrugged him off me. "Is Roshana here?”
"No. There's a Kusheline fête. Most of the family in the City is there." He read my expression. "I was supposed to invite you, but trust me, Imri, you wouldn't have liked it. And anyway, we're going to the Night Court later, yes?”
I was still watching Sidonie. "Right.”
Mavros gave me a shove. "Go on, I'll find you.”
I hadn't gone more than a few steps in her general direction before I was waylaid by an older woman with a beaked mask and a towering headdress of feathers. "Prince Imriel!" She inclined her head, surveying me with a disapproving gaze. "What costume is this, pray?”
"Diogenes," I said. "My lady …?”
"Marguerite Lafons, Marquise de Lafoneuil." Her lips thinned. "My estate lies on the western border of the duchy of Barthelme. You are aware of your holdings, are you not?”
"Yes, of course." I'd visited it exactly once. "Well met, Lady Marguerite.”
"Are you aware that now that you've reached your majority, you're entitled to a hereditary seat in Parliament as the Duc de Barthelme?" She didn't wait for my answer. "No, I didn't think so. No one's claimed it since your father went off to La Serenissima. Young highness, I want a word with you." One hand clamped firmly on my elbow. "You'll do me the kindness of filling a plate for me while you listen, will you not?”
The habit of politeness was too deeply instilled in me to protest.
I escorted the Marquise de Lafoneuil to the Queen's table, where I procured a pair of seats and directed the serving staff to fill two plates, reckoning