Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [128]
For a moment, she didn't answer, and I thought mayhap she would pretend ignorance. Then her chin rose, and I saw her dark eyes were filled with pain and regret. "I don't know," she said. "Mayhap it's better if we don't."
"Is that Naamah's counsel?" I asked. "Or your own?"
She glanced involuntarily toward Amarante. "No. I don't know." She changed the subject. "Will you wed Dorelei? I know what my parents are plotting."
I bared my teeth in a smile. "I don't know. What's Maslin de Lombelon to you?"
"One of the only people at Court who never lies to me," she said honestly. "A safeguard, often. A friend, betimes. Nothing more, yet, and mayhap ever. I cannot say for sure. Why do you care? Why do you hate one another so?"
"I didn't want to." I tightened my grip on her hand; too tight. This time, though her eyes widened, she didn't protest. "Ah, Elua! Sidonie, I only ever wanted him to like me. And you…" The music ended and I let her go. "And you," I repeated softly, bowing to her. "Imriel…" she began. I waited.
Sidonie shook her head, impatient and despairing. "It's not that simple!"
"No," I said. "It's not. Mayhap if we obeyed naught but Blessed Elua's precept, it would be. Elua cared naught for thrones or mortal politics." I paused, remembering where I had heard those words before. "You know," I said, wondering, "Phèdre once told me that when she asked Melisande what Elua would make of her treason, my mother said that very thing in reply. The older I get, the closer I come to understanding her." I saw Sidonie's look of alarm and laughed softly. "Don't worry, your highness. I will keep my oath to you. On pain of death, I will keep it. You see," I said to her, "I always keep my promises."
On that ironic and self-righteous note, I strode away, ignoring the wrench of pain in my heart, the subtle tug that urged me to stay.
I thought about going home, and didn't. If Eamonn was there, I would have confided in him, but he wasn't. For a good hour, I wandered the City with only a worried Gilot to attend me. And then I made up my mind and turned to the only people I knew would understand my bitter, complicated mood.
The Shahrizai maintain a multitude of domiciles in and near the City. I went to Lord Sacriphant's townhouse, where I knew Mavros abided. Gilot was uneasy at accompanying me, though once we arrived, he relented, awed by the effortless grace of the household. Everything moved so smoothly there, the polite servants with their eyes downcast, in stark contrast to the free and informal nature of Montrève's household.
"Cousin!" Mavros greeted me effusively, kissing me on both cheeks. His blue eyes glinted, ambiguous as twilight. "Have you sewn up any good dogs lately?"
"Mavros." I returned his embrace. "You have always offered me the solace of family. May we speak?"
His expression sobered and sharpened at once. "Of course," he said, guiding me inward with a sweep of his arm. "Enter, and speak. What you say shall not pass these threshholds." He glared at a passing servant. "Shall it?"
The servant shook his head. "No, my lord," he murmured. "Never."
"So!" Mavros slung his arm around my neck, escorting me into the inner salon. It was gorgeously appointed with tapestries on the walls depicting scenes from the history of Kusheth and muted lamplight gleaming on gilded statuary. Mavros gestured to a couch and sent the servant to bring a cordial. "Speak, Cousin Imriel."
I told him everything, or almost.
I told him about the hunt and what had transpired between Sidonie and me, and the tension between us that followed it. I told him about Dorelei and the Queen's request. And I told him about what Barquiel L'Envers had done.
Mavros listened silently, moving only to refill my glass. Only when I told him about L'Envers did he seem surprised, hissing through his teeth.
"Sodding bastard!" he spat. "He should know better than to cross the Shahrizai!"
His lamplit face was suffused with demonic cunning. "Mavros, no," I pleaded. "Don't do anything rash. I made my choice to keep the peace and I'll abide by it."