Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [250]
There was a discreet knock at the door. Ghislain nó Trevalion went to answer it. He returned, inclining his head. “Your majesties,” he said. “The Comtesse Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève and her consort Joscelin Verreuil wish to see their foster-son. They have received word of his return.”
My heart raced.
“Admit them,” Ysandre said.
Seventy-Four
The door opened.
I hadn’t had time to brace myself. Not against this. The sight of them was like a spear to the gut.
“Imriel.” Phèdre breathed my name and my arms opened. She walked into them and I embraced her, willing myself to forget the vile things I’d said in my madness, wanting to believe for a few heartbeats that everything was well.
“Did he harm you?” Joscelin demanded. “Did he harm you? Because I swear to Elua, I will butcher him if he did!”
He meant L’Envers. “No.” I released Phèdre. “No, no one harmed me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t think straight.”
“Still?” Phèdre whispered.
I glanced at Sidonie and nodded. “Still.”
“When I heard you’d returned, I hoped . . .” Phèdre gathered herself and turned to Drustan and Ysandre. “Forgive us, your majesties,” she said in a formal tone. “I apologize for the impropriety.”
“Oh, stop,” Ysandre said irritably. “You know damnably well you don’t need to stand on protocol. These are dire times and Sidonie brings dire tidings. Astegal of Carthage is dead and his army has suffered a great defeat.”
“Name of Elua!” Phèdre gasped. “Oh, you poor child,” she said to Sidonie. “I’m so terribly sorry.”
Sidonie looked near tears again. “Thank you, my lady,” she murmured. “I’m sorry to bring such awful news.”
“You were in Carthage?” Joscelin asked me in bewilderment. I nodded. His right hand closed on my elbow, hard enough to hurt. He shook me roughly. “Why? Why did you flee? How could you do that to us? Do you have any idea how worried we were?”
I closed my eyes. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
“Take him home,” Drustan said brusquely. “We’ll hold a conference on the morrow.”
My eyes flew open. “No! I need to be near Sidonie.” I wasn’t playing a role; I was terrified that her bindings would break or fail. I didn’t know what I’d do if they did, but I knew I had to be there.
“The hell you do,” Ysandre muttered.
“It’s all right,” Sidonie said quietly. “It soothes his mind to know I’m close at hand. Imriel, go with your foster-parents, at least for the night. You can return in the morning.” She touched the croonie-stone at her throat, her eyes eloquent. “Kratos will stay with me to make sure I’m safe.”
I hesitated, misliking it.
“Imriel!” Phèdre gazed at me with reproach. “After all that we’ve done for you, after all that you’ve put us through, how could you possibly begrudge us a single night?”
It was true, of course; but in all the years I’d known them, they’d never once thrown it in my face. It wasn’t like Phèdre to do it now, believing me to be in the grip of madness as she did. As unkindness went, it was surpassing mild; still, it made me heartsick.
“Of course,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
And so I went with them, willing myself to be calm and docile. The truth was, there wasn’t anything I could do if Sidonie’s bindings failed and there was a chance that she’d turn on me if they did whether I was present or not. I felt frustrated and helpless. Mayhap she was right and I should have stayed out of the City, but it would have killed me to send her here alone with only Kratos to aid her. Quick-witted and loyal as he was, he barely spoke D’Angeline.
Above everything, there hovered the pervasive sense that she needed me, that I needed to be here. It was the same sense Sidonie had felt on the ship. Blessed Elua had joined us for a purpose. If there was aught we could do, it would require us both.
Once I’d willed myself to docility and we’d entered Montrève’s carriage, Phèdre and Joscelin seemed more themselves. Almost.
“So how was Carthage, love?” Phèdre asked gently, as though I were ten years old and I’d gone on a pleasure-jaunt.
“Fine.” I forced a smile. “They were very kind to me there.”
“Did you . . .” She hesitated.