Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [196]
He read it in my face and smiled wryly. “I bear you no ill will, Prince Imriel. But I must confess myself terribly curious to meet Melisande’s infamous son.”
“Am I infamous?” I asked lightly.
Marmion’s gaze shifted back to Sidonie. “I thought so when I heard you’d seduced the Queen’s heir. Now it seems mayhap I was mistaken.” He shook his head. “Melisande’s son risking life and limb on behalf of Ysandre’s daughter. Who would have thought to see the day?”
“No one,” I said. “But mayhap the gods themselves have ways of redressing old wrongs.”
He turned a measuring look on me. “You look a lot like her, you know. You must hear it often.”
“Not so very often,” I said. “People seldom speak of my mother to me unless they’re telling me what horrors her actions visited on their families.”
Marmion laughed without mirth. “I suppose so. Is it true that you’ve seen her?”
I nodded. “On Cythera.”
“Melisande.” He was silent a moment. “Is it true that her sentence was commuted to exile in exchange for her aid?”
“Yes,” I said.
He shook his head again. “So after all she’s done, our sentences are the same.”
“I’m sorry, my lord,” I said quietly. “I understand that your sister’s death was an accident. It was a terrible tragedy.”
“Yes.” Marmion gathered himself. “Tell me, is she happy?”
“My mother?” I thought about it. “I think she has found a certain calm and acceptance. I wouldn’t call her happy.”
Whether or not the answer pleased him, I couldn’t say. Marmion studied me. “I see a good deal of House Courcel in you, too. It’s not as obvious, but it’s there. You’ve a look of Prince Rolande, Ysandre’s father. I remember him from when I was a boy. Too impetuous for his own good, but he had a streak of high nobility.” He touched my arm, light and unexpected. “I wish you well, of course. All of us pray you succeed. But it would please me to know you restored honor to House Shahrizai’s name. That’s all I desired.”
It touched me. “I’ll do my best.”
“Imriel!” Sidonie joined us, eyes sparkling. She greeted my exiled kinsman. “You must be Lord Marmion. Well met, my lord.”
He bowed. “Just Marmion, your highness.”
“Then I will be just Sidonie,” she said. “Since it is my hope that we will be near-kin one day.”
Marmion smiled. “I do believe that would please me, too. Blessed Elua hold and keep you, Sidonie. And when you see your mother . . . tell Ysandre that I think fondly of her.”
“I will,” Sidonie promised.
With that, he took his leave of us. I gazed thoughtfully after him. “Do you suppose he was ever your mother’s . . . ?”
“No.” Sidonie shook her head. “No, I actually asked her about that one of the few times we spoke about you without acrimony. I remembered hearing that he was one of her favorite courtiers before he was exiled. She was fond of Marmion. He made her laugh. But she never took him as a lover.” She gave me one of her quick, flickering smiles. “’Tis a pity. She might have been more sympathetic toward us if she had.”
I slid one arm around her waist, pulling her against me. “Do you suspect your mother of harboring perverse desires?”
Sidonie looped her arms around my neck. “Doesn’t everyone?”
All in all, Lady Nicola’s fête was a considerable success. We were all strung tighter than overtuned harps, and we needed the distraction. None of us forgot about Carthage’s army camped outside Amílcar’s walls. None of us forgot that come the first clear night, we would attempt a desperate venture. But for now, we were alive and free, and we celebrated that fact, Aragonian and D’Angeline alike.
If the food was scant and the great hall dim and a trifle cool for a scarcity of lamp-oil and hearth-wood, it didn’t matter. Keg after keg of wine was breached, and Ramiro Zornín de Aragon urged folk