Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [111]
"Saving the realm, you mean?" I teased her.
She flushed. "I never meant to. Well, I didn't set out to. I was only trying to do what was right. And somehow, there always seemed to be one more thing to be done. It added up to more than I reckoned." A delicate furrow formed between her brows. "They were terrible times, Imriel, a lot of them."
"I know." I sighed. "But now it seems like there's nothing left to be done."
"No room left for heroes, you mean?"
Even in Phèdre's gentle tone, it sounded foolish said aloud; and yet she had cut to the quick of it. I looked away. "I just feel… trivial, sometimes."
"So it's not enough to be good?" she asked.
The question caught me out, and I glanced sharply at her. "It should be, shouldn't it?"
Her eyes were dark and sympathetic. "It is, love; but the truth is, it doesn't always feel that way. Don't worry, your time will come."
I took a deep breath. "I feel like I ought to do… I don't know, somewhat. I could find my mother," I said slowly. "Find her and bring her to justice. That would be a worthy gesture." I imagined Sidonie's expression. "It would silence a lot of doubt."
"Mayhap," Phèdre said. "You'd have to start by reading her letters."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because the first step in dealing with Melisande is understanding her," she said. "It's true for anyone and doubly true for your mother."
I shook my head. "I don't want to understand her."
"Then you're not ready. Someday, mayhap, but not today." Rising, Phèdre stooped to kiss my brow. "Imri, it's all right to yearn for things you can't even name."
"Other people don't," I said.
"Oh, they do." She smiled at me. "They just don't know it."
In some oblique way, it made me feel better. I couldn't even say why. It was true, Phèdre had a gift for understanding people. It reminded me of what Mavros had said two summers ago. Whatever the mirror of otherness reflected, bright or dark, she was willing to look into it without fear. Even in Daršanga, it had been true; and what she had seen reflected of herself in the Mahrkagir's mad gaze, I shuddered to think. Death's Whore, we called her.
Yet she had given hope to us all, she and Joscelin. And saved us.
That summer, I renewed my resolve to be worthy of them. I stopped brooding and sought to be somber and conscientious, grateful for what I had and mindful that, in Phèdre's words, it was all right to yearn for things I could not name.
When sorrow struck Montrève, it stood me in good stead.
It happened to Katherine. Although she and Gilot had yet to wed, they had settled contentedly into a life together. She had lit a candle to Eisheth in his name and gotten with child. By the time we arrived, her belly was already beginning to swell. She sported her little bulge with pride, carrying on with her chores, stroking it smugly. For his part, Gilot went about beaming.
She lost the child.
It happens, I am told. Still, it was a terrible thing. I remember servants hurrying from the bedchamber, their arms laden with bloody linens, and Gilot's pallid face, his fearful eyes stretched wide to show the whites. The Eisandine chirurgeon Phèdre had summoned could do nothing. She emerged, shaking her head in regret.
"Your lady will recover," she said softly. "But I fear this babe is lost."
Gilot shook and wept.
I went with him into the bedchamber, where Katherine reclined, pale and drawn. Phèdre had drawn up a chair beside her; without comment, she laved her seneschal's daughter's temples with a cool, damp cloth. Our eyes met, filled with mutual sympathy.
"Oh, my love!" Choking, Gilot knelt at the bedside. "I'm so sorry!"
"It's not your fault," Katherine murmured, turning her face away.
Such is the nature of love; wondrous and terrible. It cannot always withstand life's cruel vicissitudes. So I beheld that summer, although it wasn't evident that night. After a decent amount of time, I drew Gilot away, murmuring well-meaning sentiments. With Joscelin's tacit nod of approval, I ordered a keg of brandy breached,