Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [59]
Alais looked away, and I saw her throat move as she swallowed. Although I'd spoken gently, they were harsher words than I'd ever said to her. "Are you…do you mean to ask Father about the Maghuin Dhonn and why the ollamh wouldn't talk about them?”
"Yes, of course." I relaxed. It wasn't what she'd meant to ask and we both knew it. "Do you, too?”
She shook her head. "I'd rather you did it. He still thinks of me as a child.”
"I will," I promised. "And I'll tell you about it.”
"That's good." Alais looked back at me, her violet gaze steady and hurt. "I don't like secrets, Imri.”
"Nor do I, love," I murmured. "Not this kind.”
Days passed in a flurry, each one bringing a new report of the Cruarch's progress as his ship made landfall and his retinue rode toward the City of Elua, carrying my bride-to-be closer and closer. Ysandre fretted over whether or not it was possible to move our wedding to an earlier date, deciding at last that it was impractical. The announcements had been sent long ago, and a multitude of arrangements were in place. The date would stand, some three weeks after their arrival. She bestowed a massive suite of rooms at the Palace on me, laughing with pleasure at my surprise.
"Where were you planning to bring her?" Ysandre asked. "Surely not your tiny bedchamber in Phèdre's household!”
"I'd not thought on it." I gazed around the salon. The high ceiling was recessed and trimmed in gilt, containing a fresco depicting Eisheth gathering herbs. The rooms were hung about with costly tapestries and appointed with heavy, ornate furniture. There was even a small balcony overlooking the gardens.
"I know." Ysandre regarded me with amusement. "Young men can be thoughtless. But Imriel, you are a prince of Terre d'Ange and a member of House Courcel, and the young lady is sister to the Cruarch's heir. At some point, you're expected to live as such.”
"My thanks." I bowed. "You're very generous.”
She waved a dismissive hand. " 'Tis naught, truly.”
It was a bitter piece of irony. I daresay Ysandre would have given me aught I'd asked for in those days, glad as she was to have the matter settled. She was in high spirits, anticipating Drustan's arrival and the forthcoming wedding. And I was in misery, because the only thing in the world I wanted was the one thing she would never give me: her daughter.
We had almost no time together. My own birthday arrived, and the Cruarch's party was gauged to be two days away from the City. Between that and the coming wedding, there would be no natal festivities for me this year. No chance to hatch another mad scheme, no gift of a second night spent together.
The best we could manage was a few stolen moments. That afternoon, Sidonie and Amarante contrived to pay a visit to view my new quarters while I was there, bringing armloads of blue and yellow irises from the garden. They made a pretty picture, both of them fresh-faced as flowers. The guard attending them lingered outside my door, near enough we didn't dare throw the bolt for fear of raising suspicion. Amarante found a tall vase of Serenissiman glass in one of the ornate cabinets—more of the Queen's largesse—and began arranging the irises.
"Mind you tell one of the servants to refill the ewer on the bath stand," she called to me. "I'm using all your water!" Tilting her head toward the bedchamber, she added in a low voice. "For Elua's sake, please be quiet in there.”
We managed, barely.
It was a hushed, hurried encounter. In the zenana, there were women addicted to opium, the only pleasure the Mahrkagir ever afforded us. Betimes he took it away to see them suffer. I never saw such profound, aching relief and gratitude as on the days when the opium was restored, even the merest crumbs of it. One would have thought the release it provided was life itself. It scared me, for I never understood it.
I understood it better now.
Sidonie and I kissed and grappled with frantic haste, tearing at each other's clothes with urgent whispers. I sank into her with a gasped prayer of thanksgiving and she bit my