Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [81]
Chapter Sixteen
Phèdre turned pale when I told her the idea.
"You don't think it's wise?" I asked.
"No, it's not that." She laughed, but there was sorrow in it. "The opposite, in fact. I think it's an excellent plan. I'm being selfish, that's all. I didn't expect to lose you again quite this soon.”
"I know," I said. "I hate it, too. But—”
"No, no." She shook her head. "You're right, it's for the best.”
Joscelin, who was sharpening one of Eugènie's kitchen cleavers as he listened, tested it on his thumb and swore mildly when it cut him. "Elua! These things hold an edge. What does she use them for, anyway?”
"Much the same thing you do, my love, only it results in dinner." Phèdre passed him a silk kerchief. "Here.”
He wrapped his bleeding thumb. "Why don't we go with them?”
"To Alba?" Her color began to return. "You and I?”
Joscelin gave his half-smile. "We were bound to go for the Alban rites, anyway. It's only a couple months early, and Ysandre might like the plan better with the Queen's Champion riding in attendance. Besides, you could pay your respects to the Lady Grainne.”
"And Hyacinthe?" Phèdre's eyes sparkled.
"Yes, and that damned Tsingano." Joscelin caught her about the waist and kissed her. "Exactly how respectful do you plan on being?”
She laughed and kissed him back without answering.
It made me smile. There is no one else in the world, I think, who would refer to the Master of the Straits as "that damned Tsingano." But Joscelin had the right, if anyone did. They had all known each other long ago, and Phèdre had loved Hyacinthe, too. I daresay in a part of her heart, she still did. To his credit, it didn't seem to bother Joscelin, not really. I hadn't understood before why her feelings for some of her former patrons and lovers bothered him, and others didn't. I understood it better now.
All in all, Eamonn's plan was well received. Dorelei had been delighted by it, so much so that it made me feel guilty to see the happiness that transformed her face and realize I'd never seen her truly happy before. All of us together begged a formal audience of the Queen and Cruarch and presented our proposal.
I could tell by the look of approval in Drustan's eyes that he liked the idea. Ysandre rested her chin in one hand and gazed at us for a long time, considering it. Her gaze rested the longest on Phèdre and Joscelin.
"You know," she mused. " 'Tis a strange day indeed when the two of you are to be entrusted as my sensible elder statesmen.”
Joscelin smiled. "You've taken far greater risks on us, your majesty.”
"True." Ysandre looked at Eamonn, Brigitta, Dorelei, and me. She shook her head in amazement. "Elua! When I think that the four of us were only a few years older than this lot when the Skal—" She caught herself, mindful of Brigitta's presence. "So be it. However, if it is to be done, let it be done properly. A suitable gift of tribute must be found, and my lord Drustan will need to speak with Ghislain nó Trevalion regarding an escort of Alban and D'Angeline guards. Tarry another week.”
Eamonn bowed. "Your majesty, we'd thought to leave in two days—”
Ysandre raised one hand. "Ah, no! You've made it clear I've been remiss, and I'll not be rushed in this. Why hurry? You may receive word from your father." She smiled. "Besides, Sidonie will be home by then. It would be nice to have all the members of House Courcel under one roof one last time ere you disperse.”
"I agree on all counts," Drustan said in a tone that brooked no argument. "Let it be done properly, or not at all.”
So it was decided.
In the days that followed, an armed escort of fifty men was assembled; thirty D'Angeline and twenty Cruithne. Although Drustan could spare no more than a score of his personal guard, it was agreed that the company would be placed under the command of Urist, one of the most seasoned veterans among the Albans. Supplies were commissioned, messengers sent to the coast of Azzalle to arrange for transport across the Straits.
The inventory lists from the Royal Treasury were procured, and Ysandre and Phèdre spent