Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [35]
"Will you stay with me a while?" Alais asked hopefully, her hand tightening on mine.
"Of course," I promised. "As long as you like.”
It was a promise I had cause to regret. In Lucca, surrounded by soldiers, I'd yearned for the company of women. After ten minutes amid a horde of adolescent girls, I'd have traded their giggles and shrieks for the grunts and bellows of the training ground in a heartbeat.
Still, I'd promised.
At Alais' pleading, I told a story about the siege. They got round-eyed, oohing and ahhing, and begged to see my scars until I relented and pushed up the rags draped around my right arm to let them see the shiny pink mark where a deep gouge had healed. The squeals were deafening, and all of them insisted on touching it. Some were more insistent than others.
"You're so strong" one of them breathed.
"Greetings, cousin.”
I glanced up to meet Sidonie's amused gaze. Her gold dress had a low décolletage, and a sun-shaped pendant nestled above the swell of her breasts. Her skin was fair and smooth as new cream. I stammered a greeting and attempted to pry Alais' young attendant off my arm.
"I'd thought we might have a dance." It was hard to tell behind the half-mask, but I thought Sidonie was trying not to laugh. "Later, mayhap? If it doesn't inconvenience your plans with Lord Mavros.”
"Of course." I inclined my head.
"Later, then." Her voice softened to a tender note. "Are you enjoying yourself, my heart?" she asked Alais.
"Oh, yes!" Alais' violet eyes shone. "Now I am.”
"I'm glad." Sidonie smiled at her sister and turned away. She tapped her favorite attendant, the priestess' daughter, with the tip of her gilded spear. They exchanged a glance of unspoken complicity and strolled back into the throng, masked guardsmen hovering discreetly. I sighed, the sound lost in the general uproar.
"Prince Imriel?" There was a small hand on my thigh, resting just below another long-healed gash I'd taken in the battle of Lucca. I glanced down at the very young lady-in-waiting to whom it belonged. She batted her lashes at me. "Do you not have another battle-scar you might show us?”
"No," I said shortly. Alais giggled. "And it's not funny.”
She wrinkled her nose at me. "Yes it is.”
It seemed like ages before I was saved by Night's Crier, entering the hall and sounding his bronze tocsin. The stern sound and the pall of darkness that fell over the ballroom made me shiver, stirring echoes in my memory; the sound of bronze wings clashing inside my skull, and Gallus Tadius standing over a dark abyss, the broken mask in his hands. The ritual played out as it had done a thousand times before, year after year. The cunningly built mountain crag behind the musicians' grotto split apart to the sound of a crashing drumroll and the Winter Queen hobbled forth as an aged crone; an answering drumroll sounded as the doors were flung open to admit the Sun Prince's chariot.
There was one difference this year. After he'd pointed his spear at the Winter Queen, after she'd let fall her tattered robes to reveal herself in her youth and beauty. After the wicks were relit and light returned in a glorious rush, and the Winter Queen ascended the chariot. The chariot made its slow turn, and they both bowed to Queen Ysandre. This time, the Sun Prince saluted Sidonie, too; one glittering figure to another.
It was a small gesture, only a symbol. Mostly people cheered, but a few murmured. I hated them for it. As the musicians struck up once more, I decided I wanted very much to claim the first dance of the reborn year of Sidonie.
"Will you be all right on your own?" I asked Alais. "I promised your sister a dance.”
She nodded. "Do you think they have anything like this in Alba?”
"I don't know, villain." I kissed the top of her head. "We'll find out.”
"Don't call me that.”
Now the revelry began in earnest. I caught sight of Mavros looking impatient and made a forestalling gesture. Servants were circulated with freshly laden trays of joie. I snatched a glass in passing and drank