Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [3]
She knew now. I didn’t know if my quarters still existed. I didn’t even know if I’d be welcome at the Palace. Still, there was no way to find out but to try.
“You’re sure?” Phèdre asked, searching my face. “You could stay with us and send word to Ysandre seeking audience. It might be easier.”
I shook my head. “I’m too old to hide behind your skirts, Phèdre. Or your sword,” I added to Joscelin.
He snorted. “When did you ever?”
It made me smile a little. “Well, the cloak of your heroism, then. I need to face this myself. Anyway, I’ve broken no law, committed no crime.”
Phèdre sighed. “As you will, love. I’ll send word to Ysandre myself. Mayhap she’s ready to hear reason.”
They had been away as long as I had, Phèdre and Joscelin; bound first on a mysterious errand, then setting out in pursuit of me after learning I’d nearly been killed in Alba and was hunting the man, the magician, who had done it, who had slain my wife and our unborn son. If anyone could make the Queen hear reason, I thought, it would be Phèdre. She had been the one to expose my mother’s treachery in abetting the Skaldi invasion, and she had been the one who gave the testimony that condemned my mother to death.
But when I thought about those folk on the street, their thumbs pointing downward in a stark reminder that Melisande Shahrizai had evaded justice, I wasn’t so sure.
“Mayhap,” I said. “We’ll see.”
She hugged me in farewell. “Come to dinner on the morrow and we’ll talk. Everyone will want to see you.”
“I will,” I promised.
I turned in the saddle to glance after them as they rode toward the townhouse. If Phèdre and Joscelin could weather everything that fate had thrown at them, I reckoned Sidonie and I had a chance. Sidonie caught my eye when I turned back and read my thoughts.
“It’s just politics,” she said. “Not hordes of Skaldi, shapeshifting magicians, or deadly madmen bent on destroying the world.”
“True,” I said. “There is that.”
As it transpired, I needn’t have worried over our reception, which was cordial and proper. After all, Sidonie was returning from a state mission, representing her mother in Alba—and it was true, I’d done naught wrong. I was a Prince of the Blood in my own right, returning from avenging my wife, the Queen’s own niece by marriage.
“Welcome home, your highness.” The royal chamberlain greeted Sidonie with a deep bow. “Your mother awaits you in her quarters as soon as you have had a chance to refresh yourself.”
Sidonie inclined her head. “My thanks, Lord Robert.”
The chamberlain accorded me a bow only slightly less formal, as was fitting. “Welcome, Prince Imriel. Your quarters are in readiness. Her majesty will send for you at a later time to express her gratitude in person for your brave deeds.”
“My thanks,” I echoed.
Well and so. Sidonie and I glanced at one another. She tilted her head, smiling slightly. “Go on. I’ll send word to you.”
“All right.”
I watched her walk away, surrounded by her guard in their blue livery with the pale stripes. We’d scarce left one another’s side since being reunited in Alba—truly reunited. We had years of lost time to make up. But we had agreed that once we reached the Palace, diplomacy and tact would serve us better than flagrant public displays of passion. So I watched her go, took a deep breath, and made my way to my quarters.
That was something, anyway. If Ysandre had maintained my quarters within the Palace, she didn’t mean to accuse me of sedition.
They were pleasant quarters, nicely appointed, with a fresco of Eisheth gathering herbs on the ceiling, and a balcony overlooking one of the gardens. I sent a chambermaid to order a bath drawn, then wandered the rooms, waiting for the bath to be filled and servants to bring the trunk with my clothing and possessions that had been in our train.