Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [123]
"All right," I said to Ysandre. "I'll stay."
Drustan came, along with a panoply of Cruithne. His sister's son Talorcan, Prince Talorcan, was among them. I watched them enter the City, my arms folded, thinking of Alais.
I found little with which to quarrel on first glance. He was a well-made young man, not tall, handsome in the manner of the Cruithne. Intricate woad tattoos covered his arms and the upper half of his face, indicating he was a skilled and tested warrior. He bowed respectfully to Alais when they met, showing no sign of presumption. When we were introduced, he clasped my forearm firmly and gave me a pleasant smile.
"Well met, Prince Imriel."
His D'Angeline was flawless. Drustan, I thought, had been grooming him for this for a long time. I stole a glance at the Cruarch out of the corner of my eye. His face, behind its tattoos, was unreadable.
Talorcan bowed in the Queen's direction, then turned and beckoned. "And may I present my sister, Dorelei."
The ranks of Cruithne guards parted, and she trotted forward astride a bay mare, her face at once shy and vivid with excitement. There was a murmur of surprise and a few good-natured cheers from the assembled crowd. Beneath it, I heard Phèdre's soft indrawn breath, and a cold finger of foreboding brushed my spine.
When my time came, I bowed over her hand. "Well met, Princess Dorelei."
She laughed; almost a giggle, catching in her throat. "Thank you!" Like her brother, she was pure Cruithne, slight and dark, with twin lines of blue dots etched high on her cheekbones. Something in her manner made me think of a woodland animal, curious, yet poised to startle. "Well met to you, too."
There was a formal reception following their arrival.
I attended it, going through the empty motions of courtesy. I wanted, urgently, to speak to Phèdre; but there was no time. She merely shook her head at me, cautioning patience. So I watched her, instead, reminding myself how the game of intrigue was played. In her own way, no one played it better.
"Comtesse de Montrève!" Amarante, Sidonie's lady-in-waiting, greeted her with a deep curtsy. "It is an honor to meet you."
Phèdre smiled and raised her up, giving her the kiss of greeting. "Amarante of Namarre. You have a look of your mother. How is she?"
"Very well." Amarante smiled in reply. She had a ripe mouth, her lips as plump as cushions. I hadn't noticed that while we were busy sewing up poor Celeste. "She sends her greetings," she added, sliding a sealed letter from her bodice and passing it to Phèdre. "And says that Naamah does not forget her Servants."
"No," Phèdre murmured. "She doesn't."
The letter vanished. I swallowed my impatience and forced myself to circulate, making polite conversation. If I found no chance to speak to Phèdre in private, I did catch a quiet word with Alais. If Talorcan was here to court her, he was in no hurry to do it; but then, Drustan would have advised him to be subtle.
"So?" I asked her. "What do you think thus far?"
She shrugged. "He's nice enough," she said noncommitally. Her face brightened. "I like Dorelei, though. I like her laugh. Do you remember, Imri, I dreamed it, once; that you and I were truly brother and sister. That would be nice, wouldn't it?"
I opened my mouth to reply, and caught sight of Sidonie across the room. As though I had called her name, she met my gaze. Her brows, the exact same shape as mine, creased into a helpless frown. I felt anew the strange flutter in my chest; the ache of something missing.
"I don't know, villain," I said slowly. "You dreamed I'd meet a man with two faces, too. And that hasn't happened yet."
"Stop calling me that!" Alais followed my gaze; her voice rose, incredulous. "Sidonie?"
"No." I shook myself. "Look, Alais… this sister, Dorelei. Did you know about this?"
"Of course not!" She scowled at me. "I'd have told you if I did. Do you trust me so little as that?"
"No."