Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [105]
"You look… imposing," I said.
"I feel a right dolt." He raised his mask. "Are we ready?"
"Nearly, I think."
Downstairs, Ti-Philippe joined us. He wore a doublet and breeches of ivory velvet, glittering with a tracery of silver embroidery. Like us, he had a silken half-mask, but his bore an expression of clever malice. Whether or not any of us looked like the Skaldic ideal of their deities, I doubt; I daresay we didn't. But we didn't look like ourselves, either.
And then Phèdre descended.
"Dagda Mor!" Eamonn whispered fervently.
She scintillated from every angle. Her gown was made of ivory satin, and it clung to her waist and torso as though it had grown there, leaving her shoulders and arms bare. It was adorned with ornate bead-work, refracting light. Below the waist, it flared and frothed, breaking like the crest of a wave upon the stairs. Her dark hair was loose, but a hundred small brilliants were fastened in it, looking like a net of stars. An intricate necklace of silver links and pale gems circled her throat. Unlike the three of us, she wore a small mask; a simple white domino that lent mystery to her eyes and hid none of her beauty.
"Well?" Phèdre smiled.
Eamonn knelt, offering up his silver hammer. "Lady, I lay myself at your feet!"
"You look like a goddess," I said honestly.
Ti-Philippe merely gave a low whistle, glancing at Joscelin, who was following his consort down the stairs, clad in plain woolen attire. "Sure you don't want to change your mind, Cassiline?"
He laughed. "I don't think your costume would fit me, chevalier." Joscelin turned to Phèdre, touching her hair. His steel vambraces glinted dully. "I'll see you after sunrise."
"Joie," she whispered to him.
"And to you, love." He kissed her, then. "Joie to all of you on the Longest Night!"
I thought about him on the journey to the Palace. Already, the City was ablaze with mirth. We made slow progress through the revelers. At every intersection, someone darted up to the carriage, proffering a flask or wineskin. We declined, laughing, and tossed them silver centimes for luck. Somewhere, I thought, amid all this gaiety, Joscelin was making his steady way toward the Temple of Elua. While we would pass the night in revelry, he would spend it kneeling on the frozen ground, immersed in silent prayer. "This, too, is sacred."
The words startled me. I stared at Phèdre, the blood warming my cheeks, remembering how Emmeline of Balm House had spoken them. "What?"
"This celebration." She gestured at the revelers outside the carriage window. "We celebrate the passing of darkness and the return of the light. It's a sacred ritual, as old as Earth herself."
"I know," I said. "I was just thinking about Joscelin." She smiled below her mask. "In his heart, he will always be Cassiel's servant. The Longest Night means a great deal to him. Only know, this path is no less worthy."
"And a lot more fun!" Ti-Philippe added. I nodded. "I will be mindful of it."
By the time we arrived, I had already ceased to fret. The stories I had heard failed to do justice to the pageantry of the Midwinter Masque. Every inch of the Palace was ablaze with light. Although we were not late, the ballroom was already filled with a throng of masked celebrants. Favrielle had guessed rightly; it was a riot of color; jewel tones, deep and rich. We made a stark white splash as we entered, the herald bawling our names. Eamonn stared about him, his eyes wide behind his mask's thunderous scowl, his mouth agape. I nudged him. "Act like a god." He raised his hammer and roared aloud.
It was a bit more than I had intended, but what could one do? I thought about Erich the Skaldi