Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [324]
I hadn't thought about that. "How difficult is this like to be?”
Sidonie's brows furrowed. "Well, my mother's dead set against us marrying.”
I picked up the comb and began working on her tangles. "Love, I don't need to marry you to be with you. Phèdre and Joscelin never wed. I'd be happy to spend the rest of my life as your consort.”
"I know. Last night…" She shook her head, disturbing my handiwork. "It would be enough if I weren't my mother's heir. But I am. It's complicated.”
"Politics," I said softly.
"Always." Sidonie sighed. "Let's not talk about it yet.”
I eased the comb through a golden snarl. "Your wish is my command.”
"Now that would be fun." Her voice was light, but there was a serious undertone. She turned her head to glance at me. "Would you do it? Give yourself over and submit to my will for a night, Imriel?”
"A whole night?" I asked.
"Just one," Sidonie said. "Every once in a while.”
I raised my brows. "What would you give me in turn?”
"Any other night you wished." Her gaze was steady, but her color rose.
Another wave of desire rolled over me. Fighting the urge to haul her onto my lap and kiss her all over, I shuddered and handed her the comb. "I think you'd better finish this yourself, and I think we'd better not talk about this, either, or we'll end up delaying the entire procession.”
Sidonie took the comb without comment, watching as I rose and crossed the pavilion.
"Yes," I said at length, looking back at her. "To you, yes.”
She smiled wickedly. "Good.”
By the time we emerged from the pavilion, the campsite was bustling with activity. Drustan's pavilion had already been taken down, as had many of the smaller tents. Ti-Philippe glanced up as we approached the makeshift dining table, his face splitting in a broad grin. I ignored him studiously, helping myself to a plate of cold pheasant and farmer's cheese. As it happened, I was ravenous.
In truth, I didn't mind the smiles, not really. Not from folk I loved and trusted. I would have expected Sidonie to respond to them with cool aplomb, but in fact, she seemed quietly amused by it. I wondered if, by the time we'd been together as long as Phèdre and Joscelin, I'd be able to predict her reactions.
I wasn't sure I would.
I wasn't sure I wanted to, either.
The only shadow cast over that morning came from Talorcan. He came from the picket-lines and passed by the table. Upon seeing Sidonie and me seated side by side, he paused, a muscle in his jaw working.
"Could you not have waited a few more days?" he asked me in a low voice. "The sod has barely settled above the bear-witch's grave. Did my sister deserve so little respect?”
It was unexpected. I glanced up at him, seeing the sorrow and grief and bitter failure in his dark eyes. "Talorcan, there was no—”
"Do you say Imriel should have refused me, cousin?" Sidonie inquired.
Dark blood suffused Talorcan's face. "Of course not.”
"Then it is I who owes you an apology," she said gravely. "Not Imriel. For I was the one to extend my hand to him. I assure you, in the name of Blessed Elua and his Companions, and all the gods and goddesses of Alba, there was no disrespect intended. If there was a semblance of it, I do apologize.”
The muscle in his jaw twitched. "No apology is needed," he said curtly.
"Tal, my prince." Urist, seated on the opposite side of the table, heaved himself to his feet, leaning on his walking-stick. He clapped the Cruarch's heir on the shoulder. "Take a walk with me, will you? I've a mind to tell you a tale.”
We watched them walk away.
"You know," Joscelin said wistfully, "betimes I miss the days when the worst of our problems could be solved at sword-point.”
I glanced at Sidonie and smiled. "I don't.”
After that, though, there was peace; at least of a sort. Whatever Urist said to Talorcan—and I daresay it had to do with the promise he'd made Dorelei—there was no more animosity between us. He made an effort to tamp down his hurt and his anger; and I didn't blame him for it, anyway. In his