Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [36]
Mavros threw a fête in her honor, staging it to accord with our return.
He had long maintained an obsession with Amarante, which I knew. I do believe he genuinely liked her. I also knew that he had sought her out once her term of Naamah’s Service had begun. What had passed between them, no one knew for certain. I knew what Amarante had predicted, because Sidonie had told me.
It won’t be what he wants, Amarante had said. But it will leave him wanting more.
More than that, Sidonie hadn’t cared to know.
It was the first time I found myself jealous; and to my surprise, there was a certain smoldering pleasure in it. I’d known about Amarante for a long time. In some ways, her claim superseded mine; she had been recruited to instruct Sidonie in Naamah’s arts. And she had done a damnably good job of it. Still, it stung to see Sidonie’s eyes sparkle for someone else, even if that someone had shining hair the color of apricots, apple-green eyes, and plump lips for kissing.
“I’ve missed you,” Sidonie murmured.
“Oh?” There was a teasing undertone to Amarante’s reply, although it was uttered with her usual unearthly calm, which had only deepened during her absence. “I’d hardly thought you’d have time.”
Sidonie laughed, and said somewhat too low for anyone else to hear.
Amarante glanced at me, lips curving. “If it’s what you want, of course.”
Mavros punched me hard in the shoulder. “I hate you,” he said cordially. “Only know that, cousin. I hate you with the blistering heat of a thousand fiery suns.”
The three of us passed the night together; and it was a night impossible to describe, except to say that it was surpassingly beautiful, and when it was over, there was no jealousy left in me. Priests and Priestesses of Naamah are trained in the same arts of pleasure as adepts of the Night Court, but the year of Service they undertake differs. Afterward, they are free to choose patrons or lovers at will. When Naamah stayed beside Blessed Elua during his wanderings, she gave herself to strangers that he might eat, to the King of Persis that he might be freed. During their year of wandering, Naamah’s acolytes are forbidden to refuse anyone who seeks them out of true longing, that they might better comprehend the sacrifice of the goddess who lay with mortals.
And in turn, Naamah graced them with desire.
I could feel her presence lingering over Amarante like a touch, a claim, and a blessing at once. A mantle of grace lay over us that night: love, desire, and selflessness all intertwined. There were no violent pleasures, only tender ones, but I learned somewhat of myself. I learned I was capable of sharing and being shared, of holding fast and letting go all at once. And I realized I was surpassingly grateful that Amarante had returned, albeit altered. She had long been Sidonie’s closest confidante, her safe harbor. I was glad she would be here while I was gone.
In the morning, Sidonie was thoughtful. “I knew it was time to send you to Naamah,” she said to Amarante. “I didn’t know she would keep so much of you for herself.”
Their eyes met in a manner born of long familiarity, and Amarante smiled. “I held a little back. I’ll always be there when you need me.”
“Soon, I hope,” I said.
She didn’t mistake my meaning. “There’s no word of your mother yet?”
I shook my head. “We’re waiting on word from La Serenissima.”
“I hope it comes soon,” Amarante said quietly.
It did, although it didn’t come from La Serenissima.
It came only a few days later, in the midst of sufficient uproar at Court that it easily passed unnoticed. If tensions in Terre d’Ange were internal and simmering, they were external and rising to a boil elsewhere in the world. Alba’s future remained unsettled. Queen Ysandre had been unable to broker any lasting peace between Aragonia and the Euskerri, and now fighting had broken out between them in the mountains south of Siovale. Delegates