Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [73]
"My thanks," I said awkwardly, accepting the wine. He flashed a quick smile.
"Name of Elua!" Mavros said tartly. "Relax, will you?”
"I'm trying.”
And much to my surprise, I did. Mavros clapped his hands, bidding the Showing to commence. The adepts in the staging area began a performance that was no less genuine for being rehearsed. We sipped our fortified wine and watched; watched as the Mandrake adept swung his flogger in an intricate rhythm, the brass tips kissing the Valerian woman's skin as she stood with her hands braced against the wall, head lowered and legs wide. Watched the male Valerian adept bend over a padded barrel, strong hands clasping his own calves. His buttocks reddened as the Mandrake dominatrice wielded the tawse, every hard slap of leather against skin making him groan. And then the adepts of Mandrake House exchanged masked glances and traded places, and it all began anew.
It was like a dance, dark and elegant, filled with gasps and sighs and soft commands. It made my throat tight with desire, my rigid phallus strain against my breeches. I glanced over at Mavros. He was smiling at the stage, heavy-lidded. One hand was idly stroking his attendant's hair. Her head bobbed above his groin, her cheeks working.
"My lord?" my attendant whispered. "If it please you?”
"All right," I said recklessly. "Why not?”
"Thank you, my lord!" he breathed.
I closed my eyes, feeling his deft fingers unbutton my breeches. I heard him sigh with pleasure, felt his mouth descend to engulf me, skilled and eager. I listened to the crack of the flogger, the slap of the tawse, the moans and murmurs, the occasional low chuckle. I pushed away thoughts of Daršanga and thought of sunlight.
Sunlight, and tangled hair the color of honey.
And horrible, wonderful things done in the name of love.
Afterward, I felt purged and calm; calmer than I'd felt for days. Mavros had been right, and I was glad he'd done what he'd done, arranging the Showing instead of letting me indulge my worst desires. I told him so as the carriage-driver drew rein in the Palace courtyard, my head lolling on the seat.
"Yes, I know." Mavros patted my cheek. "As I told that damnable priestess' daughter, I do know what I'm doing, cousin. At least when it comes to family." He regarded me with worried fondness. "Elua, you look a mess! Give your lady wife my apologies. And talk to her, will you?”
"I will," I promised drunkenly.
"Good," he said.
Entering the Palace, I waved off the footman's insistence on summoning a guard to escort me to my quarters. It was late enough to be quiet, for which I was grateful. I walked slowly through the marble halls, willing my head to stop spinning. The unusual hush helped. By the time I reached my quarters, I was reasonably steady on my feet.
Inside, it was dark. I fumbled with my flint striker, trying to kindle a lamp, and failed to raise aught but a clatter and a shower of sparks. I gave up and took a taper into the hallway to light it from one of the wall sconces. The D'Angeline guard on duty looked amused. I went back inside and used the chamberpot in the privy closet, scoured my face in the washbasin. The cool water felt good.
Carrying my lighted taper, I made my way to the bedchamber. At first I thought Dorelei was asleep. I knelt beside the clothes press that held my things, easing the little book of love letters from my shirt and tucking it away in the bottom drawer beneath an old pair of breeches I wore for hunting. When I rose to unbutton my shirt, I saw her watching me.
She was sitting with arms wrapped around her knees, clad in a thin shift with her shining black hair loose over her shoulders.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to wake you.”
"I wasn't asleep.”
"Mavros sends his apologies." I raked a hand through my tangled hair. "I didn't know it was so late.”
"Where did you go?" Dorelei asked quietly.
"To the Night Court." I sat on the edge of the bed and hauled my boots off. The lone