Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [5]
The young nobles play the Game of Courtship, testing out dalliances and angling for marital alliances. I'd never played it; nor would I, now. I was betrothed to a woman I barely knew; Dorelei mab Breidaia, a princess of Alba.
House Trevalion's quarters were on the third floor of the Palace. I'd visited them often when Bernadette's son Bertran and I were friends. That had all changed the night he believed he'd caught me out at a treasonous intrigue, and I hadn't been back since. The footman knocked for admission, exchanging low words with the attendant who answered. In short order, I was ushered into a private audience with the Lady Bernadette in her salon.
"My lady." I accorded her the bow due an equal. She sat upright and rigid in a tall chair. Her mother had been my father's sister; Lyonette de Trevalion. The Lioness of Azzalle, they used to call her. She was dead, convicted of treason, along with her son Baudoin. They had conspired to usurp the throne. He had fallen on his sword; she had taken poison. My mother had betrayed them both, and it was her testimony that had convicted them. "You asked to see me?”
Bernadette's sea-grey eyes narrowed. "Do me the courtesy of playing no games with me, Imriel de la Courcel. My son Bertran said you had a message for me. What is it?”
"As you wish." I handed her the copy of Ruggero's letter. "I hold the original.”
She scanned it, then nodded once, crisply. "So. What will you?”
I sighed. "My lady, what would you have me say? I am sorry for the death of your mother and brother. I am sorry for your time spent in exile. But I am not willing to die for it.”
Her hands trembled, making the parchment quiver. "And with this, you could destroy me. Destroy House Trevalion, or what is left of it." Her voice hardened. "So I ask again, what will you?”
I sat, uninvited, on a couch. "Forswear vengeance.”
Her eyes widened. "That's all?”
"More or less," I said, studying her. Looking for lies, looking for the fault-lines of bitterness and anger and pride that lay within her. "Tell me, did Bertran know? Or your husband, Ghislain?”
"No." Bernadette de Trevalion closed her eyes. "Only me. It would kill them.”
"Then why did you do it?" I asked her. "Why?”
Her eyes opened; her lips twisted. "You have to ask? Because I hurt, Imriel. I miss my brother. I miss my mother. I grieve for my father's disgrace, my husband's disgrace. You?" She shrugged. "I was willing to abide. When my son befriended you, it galled me. Still, I tolerated it. But when Bertan caught you in the midst of conspiring treason, it brought it all back." Her cheeks flushed. "All the old hurt, all the hatred.”
"And so you thought to kill me for it," I said softly. "Despite the fact that the Queen herself declared me innocent.”
"I wanted you to suffer like Baudoin did!" Her voice rose. "And I wanted your mother, your cursed mother, to know what it felt like. To feel her actions rebounding on her and know her role in them. To hurt like I do.”
My old scars itched. "You have no idea," I said. "None.”
Bernadette de Trevalion looked steadily at me. "What will you?”
At least she had courage. She made no effort to lie, no plea for undeserved mercy. I returned her regard for a long moment. "First, understand this. What Bertran overheard that night was a lie." She opened her mouth to speak and I cut her off. "Duc Barquiel L'Envers was behind it, Bernadette," I said wearily. "There's proof. That's how he was pressured to relinquish the Royal Command your husband now enjoys.”
Her mouth worked. "Why would he—”
"Elua only knows." I spread my hands. "L'Envers has wanted me dead since I was born. And you very nearly obliged him.”
She turned pale. "I didn't know.”
"Now you do." I stood. "My lady, I'm no traitor. I never have been. You,