Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [68]
It made me laugh, and it very nearly made me cry. It was a good deal easier feeling empty inside. The song ended and I released Amarante. "Take care of her?" I whispered. "Please?”
She nodded. "I'll try.”
And then, because it would have been rude not to, I danced with Sidonie on my wedding night. There was no awkwardness as there had been on her birthday. We had gone too far beyond it. I bowed and extended my hand, and she took it without a word.
It didn't need words.
I remembered them all, all the words we'd spoken. The first time, that terrifying rush of intimacy upon entering her, crossing the forbidden threshold together. Her voice, wondering and bemused in the aftermath, legs clamped around my hips. Why do we fit so well together?
I hadn't known then and I didn't know now.
I knew only that we did.
We danced without speaking, without exchanging a glance. And when the musicians swung into a new tune, we stood for the merest space of time, no more than a heartbeat, heads bowed against one another. Then Sidonie pulled away from me and I escorted her back to the pavilion.
Maslin of Lombelon was there, waiting. He was playing the faithful guard and companion, but his body was taut and his nostrils flared like a dog's catching a strange scent. He took a step toward me, bristling.
I stood my ground. "Maslin, don't.”
Another time, any other time, I'd have welcomed it. I wasn't the fear-haunted boy he'd met in an orchard years ago, threatened at the point of a pruning hook. I'd stood before the onslaught of a Caerdicci mercenary army and I'd seen men die by my own hand. I had a whole new set of nightmares to haunt my sleep.
"Traitor's son!" Maslin spat under his breath. "Can you not leave her be on your own wedding night?”
"It was only a courtesy," I said wearily. It was a piece of irony that he, of all people, could throw that epithet at me. But then, his father had died a hero in the end. Beyond him, I could see Amarante murmuring somewhat with a questioning expression, and Sidonie shaking her head and turning away from the scene. "And I'm only a bridegroom. Let it be, Maslin.”
He looked uncertain. I didn't care. It was late. Drustan's men and the Cruithne honor guard had broken out the uisghe and were beginning to sing a complex harmony, urged on by the D'Angelines. Dorelei—my wife—appeared lonely and at a loss amidst the gathering. The Daughter of the Grove had long since retired. None of the women of her family were in attendance, having chosen to wait for the Alban rites.
Be kind to her, Phèdre had said.
I walked past Maslin, past everyone, to my wife's side. Dorelei looked at me with gratitude. "Shall we have a last dance?" I asked softly. "Or shall we retire?”
"I don't want to stay here any longer," she whispered back.
I took her hand. "Then we won't.”
A group of revelers followed us into the Palace, tossing the last of the flower petals, shouting out good wishes and more bawdy jests. I led Dorelei through the halls to my newly appointed chambers and closed the door in their faces, bolting it firmly.
We were alone.
Husband and wife.
Our rooms had been strewn about with flowers and all the lamps were lit. The Serenissiman vase stood on a sideboard, filled with roses. I remembered Sidonie and Amarante with their arms full of irises and swallowed hard. "Are you tired?" I asked Dorelei. "We needn't…”
"No." Her face was set and determined. "I want to do this.”
"All right." I smiled at her. "Come here, then." I led her into the bedchamber and sat on the edge of the bed, holding her hands. " 'Tis awkward, is it not?" I said gently. "The whirlwind of courtship, the two of us knowing so little of one another. Tell me what pleases you.”
Her cheeks flushed. "I don't… I don't know.”
It startled me. "You're a virgin?”
Dorelei nodded, her flush deepening. "It seemed wiser to wait. I couldn't risk getting with child, not with Alba's succession at stake and