Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [127]
No one at Court thought it overly strange. After all, L'Envers was rising sixty and had held the command for most of my lifetime. And Ghislain nó Trevalion had proven himself an able commander during the Skaldic War and a loyal Queen's man during his father's insurrection. I daresay some of L'Envers' enlisted men wondered at it, but they kept their mouths shut. As a leader, he was admired, but not greatly loved.
My lot improved… somewhat. The Queen's proclamation was accepted by some, and regarded with mild skepticism by others. In turn, I was not inclined to forgive my former friends their betrayal, and my relationship with Bertran remained awkward. An open admission from Barquiel L'Envers would have been infinitely more satisfying, and I wondered every day if I had made the right choice.
I asked Phèdre about it.
"I don't know, love," she said gently. "Some things are never given us to know, and some choices are not between right and wrong, merely different paths. You chose with a great deal of maturity, and that will have to suffice."
It was true, I know, but not terribly reassuring.
We tarried in the City that summer, delaying our departure for Montrève. My plans for Tiberium lay idle. Simmering with inward resentment, I kept my word to Ysandre, attending affairs at Court. I made an effort to be pleasant to Prince Talorcan's sister, Dorelei mab Breidaia.
It wasn't hard.
Somewhat to my annoyance, Drustan was right—I did like her. Although D'Angelines made her shy, she had a lively, curious mind, and I suspected in Alba she was far more forthcoming. When she laughed, there was somewhat infectious about the way her laughter broke to end in a whimsical giggle. I found it hard to brood around Dorelei. I found it hard to envision her as a bride, too. Although she was seventeen, she seemed younger. Somewhat about her put me in mind of Alais as she'd been as a child, fond and impulsive.
And then there was Sidonie.
On the surface, nothing had changed between us. After all, what had happened? Nothing. And yet everything was different. I found myself looking for her without thinking when I entered a room. When she looked for me, I felt her gaze like a touch.
I felt Maslin's, too; only it was more like a blow. He was there, too often, escorting her. They made a pretty pair, the Dauphine and her handsome lieutenant. Already there were murmurs beginning—that they were lovers, that she had promised to make him her Captain of the Guard and keep him on as her consort no matter who she wed. Such things had been done before in Terre d'Ange.
At a fete in honor of Roxanne de Mereliot, the Lady of Marsilikos, I was watching them together and thinking about those very rumors when a voice interrupted.
"It's not true, you know."
I glanced at Amarante of Namarre. "What's not?"
She smiled, the kind of smile one would expect from someone whose mother was a Priestess of Naamah. "What you're thinking."
I folded my arms. "And how would you know what I'm thinking?"
Her smile deepened. "Go ask her to dance, your highness."
I felt unaccountably nervous at it. For some idiotic reason, the words Eamonn had spoken the last time I asked Sidonie to dance rang in my head. Mind you don't get chilblains, he had said with a chuckle. At the time, I had laughed, too. Now I found myself constructing an argument with him in my thoughts, and it got in the way of my tongue.
"Do you… ?" I pointed at the dance floor, words failing me.
Sidonie looked bemused. "Are you all right, Imriel?"
I nodded. "Will you dance with me?"
She smiled. "Yes, all right."
It was so strange; like and unlike. Sidonie was scarce less formal than before, and yet. Her fingers quivered slightly in mine. The space between us was charged. I was acutely aware of my hand on the small of her back. My palm felt hot and I yearned to press her to me, feeling her young body firm against mine. My cousin, my near-sister. I didn't, but I wanted to. Instead, as I swept her across the floor, I broke the silence between us.
"Are we going to speak of this,