Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [10]
"Queen's Courier?" she asked, frowning slightly. Joscelin adjusted his stance, angling his sword to protect her. "What news is so urgent?"
The rider dropped his reins. His mount lowered its head, blowing hard, its nostrils flaring. "My lady Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève?"
"Yes." She regarded him calmly.
He raised his hands, showing them to be empty. "I bear an urgent dispatch from the Queen," he said. Reaching slowly into a pouch slung over the crupper of his saddle, he drew forth a sealed missive. "Here."
Joscelin took it from his grasp, examined it, then handed it to Phèdre. It was a slim envelope, sealed with the swan insignia of House Courcel. She cracked the wax seal and read the single sheet of parchment within. I watched the frown lines reemerge beween her graceful brows. "The Queen requires our presence in the City of Elua," she said. "There is a situation."
"What is it?" Joscelin asked brusquely.
Phèdre handed him the missive, but it was on me that her gaze settled, pitying and grave. "It is Melisande," she said gently. "It seems she has vanished."
* * *
Chapter Two
We made the return ride to the estate in silent haste, all thoughts of the fair forgotten. One new thought preyed on my mind, over and over. I gnawed on it like dog with a bone, until I could stand it no longer. I brought my mount alongside Phèdre's.
"Her letters," I said. "The ones she wrote to me."
Phèdre nodded. "Do you think there may be somewhat in them?"
"I don't know," I said miserably. "Do you?"
She was quiet for a moment, gazing at the road ahead. "I don't know," she said finally. "I think not. But one may never be certain, with Melisande." She turned her head to look at me. "Do you want to read them?"
I shuddered. "No." I waited, hoping she would offer, until it was clear she wouldn't. "Will you?" I asked. "Please?"
For a long moment, Phèdre studied me. "If you're sure it's what you want, love."
I sighed with relief. "Yes. I'm sure."
"All right, then." She shifted in the saddle, squaring her shoulders. "I will."
I felt guilty then, thinking on it. I didn't like to be a burden to anyone, and least of all to Phèdre, who had borne so many. I'd asked out of selfishness, little thinking how it might be painful to Phèdre to read words my blood-mother had written to me. When all was said and done, Melisande could claim what Phèdre could not—she was my mother, whether I liked it or no. And yet I could not bear to read them myself. My stomach churned at the thought. "You don't need to," I said. "We could give them to Queen Ysandre."
"No. "Phèdre's reply was swift and certain. "Not unless we must."
I looked away. "Why do you always protect her?"
"Imriel." She waited until I looked back at her. "I made a promise," she said. "I am keeping it in the only way I know."
It was that simple for her. I wished, sometimes, that she had never made a promise to my mother, never extracted one in return. She had, though. My mother had promised not to raise her hand against Queen Ysandre and her daughters. In turn, Phèdre had promised to adopt me into her household, to deliver such letters as Melisande might send, and never to seek to turn me against my mother. To allow me to make my own choices. How she could bear it, I do not know. I didn't know, for a long time, the whole of what my mother had done to her—how she had betrayed her, twice. It was a long time before I grasped the whole of my mother's infamy.
And yet they understood one another.
My mother had been one of Phèdre's patrons, once. The very marque inked on Phèdre's back, the vast and intricate briar rose that signified she had paid her bond-debt as a Servant of Naamah, was completed thanks to Melisande's patronage.
What that entailed, I never wished to know.
Upon our return to Montrève, Phèdre retreated into her study to read my mother's letters. Elsewhere, the household was a flurry of activity as our staff and retainers began to prepare for the unexpected journey, packing trunks and loading