Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [108]
I tightened my grip on her hand, feeling the small bones shift. "It does to me."
"Imriel." Something flared behind her mask; stubbornly, she held her ground, continuing to follow my lead with effortless grace. "You're hurting me."
I was, and I knew it, and ah! Elua help me, it felt good to draw a reaction from her. Even as the musicians ended their tune, I loosed my grip, turning her free. "Forgive me," I murmured, bowing. "It wasn't my intent, Dauphine."
Sidonie shook out her hand and eyed me with infuriating composure. "You're not exactly your own best advocate, are you, cousin?"
First it stung me, and then it made me laugh. "No," I admitted. "Not exactly."
She smiled a little. "I do want to like you, Imriel. You've been good to Alais, and I'm grateful for it. It's just…" She shrugged, looking very young and lonely. "I can't afford to make any mistakes."
I nodded. "I know."
"How could you?" she asked simply.
"I hear the whispers," I said. "I know what some of the peers say."
"Cruithne half-breed." Sidonie gave a bitter laugh. "And then they look at you and your pure D'Angeline blood, and they wonder."
"Sidonie." I steered her off the dancing floor. "I swear to you, I have no designs on the throne." On impulse, I dropped to one knee, taking her hand. "Sidonie de la Courcel, Dauphine of Terre d'Ange, in the name of Blessed Elua, I give you my oath of loyalty. For so long as I live, I will uphold your honor as my own and lay down my life in your defense."
She stared at me, lips parted in shock. "Are you mad?"
I grinned at her. "Mayhap. Do you accept my oath?"
"I… yes. All right." She steeled her spine. "I do."
"Good." I rose, then bowed and kissed her hand. "Now I'm going to go get drunk and usher in the Longest Night."
I succeeded in both goals.
At midnight, Night's Crier entered the ballroom, sounding his bronze tocsin. We all fell silent and watched as the vast hall was plunged into near-total darkness. Phèdre had spoken truly; it was an ancient ritual, unchanged since before the coming of Elua. It was all done by players' tricks, but in ancient Hellas the theatre was sacred. We do not forget. I gasped with the others when the false mountain crag in the musicians' grotto split to reveal the Winter Queen hobbling on her blackthorn staff. I cheered with the others when the ballroom doors were flung open to admit the Sun Prince in his chariot. He pointed his gilded spear at the Winter Queen and her rags fell away, revealing a beautiful maiden.
In a rush of oil-soaked wicks, the light returned.
"Oh, Imriel!" Eamonn sounded dazzled. "It's so beautiful!"
"Yes," I said softly. "It is."
I found Phèdre then, and asked her for the first dance of the reborn year. Like light after darkness, she was impossibly beautiful, luminous as a pearl. I held her as close as I dared, and mayhap it was the joie, but it seemed we floated together over the polished parquet, both of us clad in ivory white. People stopped their revelry to watch us, and my heart swelled with pride and love.
"Thank you," I whispered. "Always, for everything."
Phèdre shook her head, the brilliants in her hair scattering myriad points of light. "When darkness shattered our lives, you made them whole, Imri. There is no need for thanks, now or ever." She touched my silken mask with tenderness. "Only be happy. It is all I want for you."
"I am," I said honestly. "Tonight, I am."
And I was. I drank cup after cup of joie, until my mouth felt numb and I was untethered from my being. I danced with a great many women that night, their masked faces swimming in my sight. I do not even remember the last one, only that Mavros and Roshana introduced us, laughing. She must have been from Kusheth. She was an undine; a water-nymph. I remember her drawing me into the shadows of the colonnade. By that time, some of the lamps had been extinguished and the shadows were alive with the half-glimpsed couplings, the heady whispers and gasps of love. I remember