Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [113]
I was trembling, filled with righteous fury. I expected… I don't know. I expected the Lady Nicola to apologize, to retreat in humility. Instead, she looked at me with profound compassion and spoke three words in a low tone.
"Duzhmata, duzhûshta, duzhvarshta."
It struck me like a fist to the gut, hearing them spoken here. I doubled over, gasping, hearing her voice at a distance. Vaguely aware, I suffered myself to be led to a low couch. There I collapsed, pale and sweating.
"I'm sorry." Nicola's face swam in my gaze, concerned. "Imriel, forgive me."
"You know," I whispered.
Her warm hands chafed my cold ones. "Yes."
"How?" I asked helplessly.
There was a world of sorrow in her gaze; an ocean of sorrow. "Because I could bear to hear it. Oh, Imriel! In a thousand years, I could never come between Phèdre and Joscelin, nor would I try to. What they are to one another…" Kneeling before me, Nicola shrugged. "The gods alone have decreed. And yet this thing, this one thing, I can hear and understand, in a way that he cannot. Altogether, they are stronger for it." She paused. "Have you never felt the need to tell anyone what befell you in that terrible place? Someone you trusted without reservation?"
Thinking of Eamonn, I nodded.
"Then you know," she said softly.
"But you hurt her," I whispered. "You hurt her!"
The Lady Nicola L'Envers y Aragon smiled. "No," she said. "There is a point where pleasure and pain commingle. Believe me, I would violate neither Elua's precept or Phèdre's trust." She touched my cheek, the garnet seal bearing the mark of Kushiel's Dart dangling from her wrist, brushing my skin. "And there are points, too, where being a friend and a lover intermesh. Is it hurtful to explore these?"
"Don't!" I shrank from her touch. "Please, don't."
She sat back on her heels, violet eyes grave, her gold-embroidered skirts pooling around her. "As you wish," Nicola said. "Only know…" She opened her hand, regarding her empty palm, contemplating the lines etched upon it. "Only know."
"Know what?" I cried.
"Know yourself." Nicola touched the center of my brow with the tip of her forefinger. "It's a good place to start, Prince Imriel."
I tried.
I tried so hard to be good that winter. All the while, all I yearned for was freedom; freedom from my past, freedom from my present, hedged all around with safeguards. I let go my antipathy toward the Lady Nicola, gaining a new sympathy and understanding. At Court, I tried hard to be pleasant and lighthearted. Making an effort, I tried, very hard, to be a good brother to Alais and Sidonie.
Half the time, I even felt like it.
At thirteen, Alais was as prickly as a thornbush. With her, I pretended nothing had changed. Betimes she would relent and speak openly to me; about her fears regarding the unsettled succession in Alba, about the long-standing quarrel between her parents. At other times, she was bristly and removed.
Sidonie was another matter.
Elua help me! I came to respect her in that year. No; that is a lie. I came to admire her. I watched and I saw. Attending an increasing number of Court events, she shouldered her burden as the Dauphine of Terre d'Ange squarely, aware of all it entailed. There was a constant undercurrent of intrigue and speculation, which she ignored with remarkable thoroughness. If it made her seem a touch cool and removed, so be it. It was a heavy burden.
I thought about my oath.
Impossible as it seemed, it remained a secret between us. No one except Sidonie had heard me swear it on that Longest Night. I had told no one; not even Phèdre. Nor, it seemed, had Sidonie.
We had a secret.
It felt strange, though not in a bad way. We never spoke of it. But betimes, in a crowded room, I would catch her eye and see a faint smile