Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [39]
It was interesting, but I had no time to muse on it. There were too many, far too many specific laws we were to memorize, and none of them might be written down. Firdha crammed our heads with law upon law, refusing to dismiss us until we could recite a score of them letter-perfect. I was glad that Phèdre had trained me to use my memory well. Poor Alais looked ready to weep when she garbled an answer.
"Daughter of the Grove," I said wearily when she released us. "Would it not make more sense to set these in a book of law which all could consult?”
Firdha gave me a stern look. "Were it so, then it would be the book, and not the law, that men respected. Were it so, then men and women would no longer need to be wise to be just.”
"I see," I said, though I didn't.
The corners of her eyes crinkled. "Perhaps you will, one day.”
Pondering the matter, I left the study and found Amarante of Namarre awaiting me. Every law I'd just memorized went straight out of my head and my chest felt hollow. "Well met, my lady.”
"Your highness." Amarante inclined her head. "May I speak with you?”
"Of course.”
I followed her through the royal chambers. A few guards grinned, and well they might. The priestess' daughter had hair the color of apricots, green eyes, and plump lips, and I understood why she drove Mavros mad. Still, it wasn't her that I wanted, and when she led me to her little bedchamber, I was hoping against hope. It wasn't until I saw the Dauphine of Terre d'Ange curled in a chair beneath the narrow window that I let myself believe.
"Sidonie," I said.
She looked young. Elua, she was young, not yet seventeen. But her dark gaze was unwavering. "Thank you," she said to Amarante, who nodded.
"I'll be in your quarters," she said softly, opening the adjoining door.
I watched her go, leaving Sidonie and me alone.
"Imriel." Sidonie knit her brows. They were the same shape as mine, and I wanted to kiss them. "Will you sit?" she asked, nodding at the bed. "We need to talk." I sat cross-legged on the bed. She took a deep breath. "What are we doing?”
"Talking," I said gravely.
"Oh, don't!" Her eyes flashed. "Don't be glib. If there are two people anywhere in the whole of Terre d'Ange who cannot, cannot have a casual dalliance, it's us. And you damnably well know it, cousin!”
"Why?" I asked, curious. "Truly, Sidonie? Do you think the sky will crack and fall? And why do you assume there's aught casual about it?”
She looked away. "Why are you doing this? You don't even like me.”
“That’s not true.
"It is." She looked back at me. "You've never liked me.”
"Me!" I laughed, stung. "You've looked at me like I was dung on your shoe since you were eight years old. Why are you doing this?”
Her voice broke. "I don't know.”
We sat for a moment, neither of us speaking. "I do like you," I said at length. "You're right, I didn't, not for a long time. You were cold and mistrustful, and you always said things to goad me. I never understood why.”
Sidonie bowed her head, fidgeting with the hem of her gown where it was tucked around her ankles. "You never heard the arguments," she murmured. "Imriel… I grew up hearing them. Alais didn't, she's too young." She lifted her chin. "I don't think you have any idea what kind of opposition my mother faced for her decision to see you rescued. I do. I remember. And the first thing you did was throw it in her face.”
"Is that why you hated me?" I asked.
"In part," she said.
"Do you have any idea what I'd been through?" My voice rose. "Any idea?”
"No," she said simply. "Imriel, I don't. Or I didn't. I was eight years old, and I couldn't begin to fathom it. I'm sorry.”
It eased a hurt