Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [286]
Word from Alais and Barquiel L’Envers had been swift and joyous on the heels of our news. Still, it took time for them to arrive. It was a week before we heard that their entourage had been sighted.
That was a glad day.
They came under the white banner of peace, trebling the number of pennants Sidonie had dispatched. I stood beside Sidonie under the arch that spanned the gates to the City, watching them come. All those white pennants fluttering, as though a flock of white doves hovered above the earth. The walls were lined with watchers.
My throat felt tight.
Aside from the pennants, it wasn’t an impressive entourage. All the outriders wore mismatched livery, much of it threadbare. This was a fragment of the army we would have fought, cobbled together from commonfolk and the scions of the Lesser Houses. Still, their weapons were sturdy and sharp. It would have been a terrible thing.
“Sidonie.” Alais breathed her sister’s name, dismounting before the gates. Barquiel L’Envers followed suit. The man behind them remained in the saddle. I looked up with a shock and met Hyacinthe’s sea-shifting gaze.
The crowd murmured.
Slowly and deliberately, the Lord of the Straits dismounted. He moved as though to offer a bow.
“No, my lord.” Sidonie sank into a curtsy. I bowed low. All our guards dropped to one knee. After a moment, Sidonie rose. “Terre d’Ange gives thanks to her highness Alais de la Courcel and his grace Barquiel L’Envers for serving in her hour of need,” she said in a clear, strong voice. “Let it be noted!”
There were cheers then, for the first time, ragged but heartfelt. L’Envers clasped my hand as Sidonie embraced her sister.
“Imriel,” he said steadily. “Well done.”
I nodded. “And you.”
Hyacinthe.
He was slighter than I remembered; still, there was that mantle of power that hung over him, those dark, roiling eyes that had stared into the prospect of a dreadful forever. He clasped my hand, too.
“Thank you,” I said to him. “Thank you for coming.”
Hyacinthe smiled slightly. “Thank you for rendering my presence unnecessary.” He looked past me, searching.
“She’s not here,” I said, knowing he was looking for Phèdre. “There’s to be a ceremony in Elua’s Square.”
He inclined his head. “Ah.”
I hugged Alais. She felt less frail than she had in Turnone. “I’m so glad,” she whispered. “So very, very glad.”
“So am I, love,” I whispered back.
We mounted and rode to Elua’s Square. It had been left untouched, bereft of its paving stones, the wooden dais still on the dirt beneath the great oak tree. Drustan and Ysandre stood on it. Instead of guards, they were flanked by Priests and Priestesses of Elua, barefoot in blue robes.
There hadn’t been time to issue an announcement, but a sizable crowd had gathered nonetheless. They whispered among themselves as we approached, the rumor of Hyacinthe’s presence spreading.
At a word from Sidonie, our company drew rein and dismounted. Alais and L’Envers approached the dais.
“It is not truly my place to perform this office today,” Ysandre said in a quiet tone. She gazed at her youngest daughter, sorrow etched on her face. “But I think it fitting that you receive this from my hand and no other. It is I who owes you the greatest debt.” She held out a gold medallion strung on green ribbon. “Alais de la Courcel, for your service to the realm, I present you with the Medal of Valor.”
Alais bowed her head. Ysandre placed the medal around her neck, then kissed and embraced her daughter. Drustan put his arms around them both and said somewhat in a voice too low for anyone else to hear. Alais nodded, her face hidden. A soft sigh of approval ran through the crowd.
Terre d’Ange was