Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [88]
Phèdre and Joscelin marveled at it. "It's grown," she murmured. "I hadn't expected it to have grown so much.”
"Oh, aye." The Cruithne commander Urist sauntered up to the railing and spat over the edge. "Lots of things have grown. You should see Lug's Town.”
"Bryn Gorrydum's grown since I left." Eamonn sounded wistful. I remembered him gaping at the tall buildings in the City of Elua. "I hope Innisclan hasn't changed.”
It felt strange to set foot on Alban soil for the first time. I was a D'Angeline Prince of the Blood, descended from two of the oldest Houses of the realm, Kushiel's scion and Elua's. I felt, suddenly and keenly, that I didn't belong here. It seemed as though the earth itself roiled underfoot in agreement, although I daresay it was only the effects of the sea voyage.
At least I hoped it was.
Compared to others I'd seen—Marsilikos, Ostia, the great harbor at Iskandria—Bryn Gorrydum's harbor was small and sleepy. But there were ships flying D'Angeline and Aragonian flags, a few round-bellied merchant-ships from the Flatlands, even a Skaldic dragon-ship that made Brigitta clap her hands with glee. Twenty years ago—mayhap even ten—few of them would have been here.
Prince Talorcan had sent a delegation to meet us. As we ascended through the city toward the fortress, I tried to gauge the mood of the populace. If they were hostile, it didn't show; but neither did they receive us with great joy. The dark-eyed Cruithne glanced sidelong at us, while other folk stared outright with impolite curiosity. Overall, the mood felt wary and watchful.
Of a surety, I didn't feel I was entirely welcome here.
In the City of Elua, I thought, there would have been cheers. Even if the commonfolk cared for naught but the spectacle and the nobility immediately turned to plotting ways to dispose of the foreign prince, there would have been cheers. Well, and so. Mayhap it would change. Mayhap there would be cheers when Dorelei and I wed in the Alban tradition. It didn't matter—I had no heart for cheers, anyway—but it served to remind me I was once more far from home.
At the fortress, Prince Talorcan received us graciously He was a serious young man, the Cruarch's heir; Drustan cast in a youthful mold, only without the quiet, intense air of command that made people fall silent and listen when he spoke.
Dorelei wept for gladness to see him and Talorcan smiled, folding her in a warm embrace. "Why weeping, my heart?" he asked in an older brother's tone of teasing affection. "Surely your marriage has not treated you so ill?”
"No." She smiled at him through her tears. "No, of course not.”
"That's good." Talorcan leveled a glance at me. "I know this is a marriage of state. But it is my hope that your husband will prove worthy of you, my sister. As I in turn will seek to be a worthy husband to Alais.”
I bowed. "I am trying, your highness.”
True and not true.
I hadn't been unkind, not since that first day of our journey. And I hadn't laid an ungentle hand on her since the night we talked, the night Mavros arranged for the Showing at Valerian House. Even in the throes of lovemaking, I'd been tender and considerate. I'd made her laugh playing the flute and singing silly songs, I'd listened to tales of her childhood. I'd even told her some of my own; innocuous tales of life at the Sanctuary of Elua.
I'd discovered that we liked one another, Dorelei and I. But I was fearful of giving free rein to my emotions. Fearful that all those emotions and longings I suppressed would spill forth, rendering me bitter and cruel.
Still, in my own way, I was trying.
And mayhap if I played at being the kind and gentle husband long enough, it would become true. Master Piero once told us that we might embody those qualities we desire to possess by embracing them, over and over, until the line between seeming and being is no more. I'd attempted that much on this venture.
Surely no one could