Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [322]
"It's a long way from dining on salt cod and sleeping in the bottom of a boat," Ti-Philippe had commented on our outward journey.
The mood was subdued that first night after Clunderry, a lingering sense of gravity persisting. We dined and talked quietly among ourselves. The sun slipped slowly beneath the treeline in the west, making the campfires burn brighter. Some distance away, one of Sidonie's guards began playing a lap-harp, tentatively picking out a few of the melodies Conor had played. The air was turning cooler, the world going soft around the edges once more. A few people were yawning, but no one moved.
"Shall we to bed?" Joscelin asked Phèdre.
"In a moment." She was listening to the harpist, her chin propped on one fist. "It's early yet.”
"Dawn comes early, too," he reminded her.
It was Sidonie, seated on a stool beside me, who rose. Our shoulders had been nearly brushing all evening. I felt the warmth of her presence leave when she stood. I glanced up to meet her dark gaze. The waiting silence between us deepened. She held out her hand to me, tilting her head imperceptibly in the direction of her pavilion.
I stood and took her hand.
There hadn't been much conversation at the table, but enough to feel the hush when it ceased. In the lull, we walked away. The grass was damp with dew, a little slippery beneath the soles of my boots. Sidonie's hand was warm in mine. There was a lamp lit in her pavilion, making the blue silk glow from within, unearthly in the lowering darkness.
Behind us, I could hear the low murmur of conversation resuming at the table.
"Good evening, your highnesses." Claude de Monluc, the captain of her guard, greeted us with a crisp bow.
"My lord captain." Sidonie inclined her head.
He drew back the a silk flap that served as the pavilion's door. "I'll see you're undisturbed.”
"Thank you." My voice sounded strange to my ears.
We entered the pavilion, and he secured the flap behind us. Inside, it was luxuriously appointed, with carpets spread over the grass, trunks containing Sidonie's garments and possessions, and a thick goosedown pallet adorned with pillows and a sumptuous coverlet. A fretted lamp hung from the center pole, casting lacy shadows on the silken walls, and a portable brazier warmed the air.
Sidonie and I were alone.
It felt like a gift, somewhat rare and precious. For a long moment, neither of us moved. At last Sidonie released my hand. She withdrew the knotted gold ring on its long chain from her bodice, unclasping the chain. Fine gold links slithered and fell unheeded to the carpet as she removed the ring.
"Thank you for keeping your pledge," she said softly, taking my hand once more and sliding the ring onto my finger.
"It kept me alive," I told her. "I would have given up without it.”
Her breath caught in her throat and she made a small, unexpected sound, as though my words had hurt her. The threat of tears made her eyes bright. Sidonie gave her head a familiar, impatient shake, then reached up to sink both hands into my hair, pulling my head down and kissing me with all the ferocity in her.
It was like a dam breaking. All the desire I'd suppressed—we had both suppressed—flooded over me, around me, through me. I held her hard, both arms around her waist, hands pressing her back, returning her kisses as though to devour her whole. I wanted her so badly, my knees felt weak.
I couldn't get enough of her, couldn't get close enough. We sank down onto the soft pallet together. Sidonie's mouth was on my throat, biting and sucking, her fingers working at the buttons on my shirt.
Lower, tracing my scars. I wriggled out of my shirt, pinned her, worked at her stays. Her back arched as I freed her breasts, suckling them, the grip of my fingers hard enough to leave bruises.
"Here…”
"No …ow! Yes.”
Fabric, too damned much of it between us. I almost couldn't wait. A fold of her gown, caught beneath me, tore when I tried to ease it over her head. My phallus was so hard it ached, thick and throbbing, straining the knots on my Alban breeches. Caught