Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [129]
"Very noble." He eyed me wryly. "For Sidonie's sake?"
I shrugged. I hadn't told him about my oath. "For the sake of House Courcel."
"House Courcel!" he scoffed. "They don't do a very good job of protecting their own, do they? If it were us…" He shook his head, a myriad of braids shifting.
"Well, it's not." I cradled my half-empty glass in my hands.
"Mores the pity." Mavros poured cordial into the glass. "Fine, I'll behave. So do you fancy yourself in love with the young Dauphine?"
"Love? No," I said. "I don't know. Betimes, I don't even like her. But I think about her. A lot. Too much. And I…" I raised my glass and took a gulp of cordial, shuddering. "I want her."
"She's a cold one," Mavros observed.
I remembered the way the blood had risen beneath her skin as I lay atop her in the Queen's Wood, her pulse quickening in the hollow of her throat. "Oh, I don't believe it. But, Mavros! Name of Elua, she's only sixteen, and nearly my sister."
He looked amused. "Oh, please! She's playing the Game of Courtship, isn't she? And she's—what? Your father's great-niece. By Shahrizai standards, that's barely related."
"We have the same eyebrows," I informed him.
"So?" he said. "All the better to recognize one another. What about the little Pictish princess?"
I drained my cordial in a second gulp. "Lorelei?" I frowned, realizing I was a little drunk. "Dorelei. She's a sweet girl. A child."
"You don't want to marry her, then."
"No." I set down my empty glass. "I don't want to marry anyone. I want… I don't know what I want."
"Oh, you do." Tilting his head, Mavros regarded me through his lashes. "Barquiel L'Envers' head on a stake, and Sidonie de la Courcel whimpering in your bed."
I opened my mouth to deny it, but a rush of heat flooded me at his words, and I closed my eyes instead. Anger and desire were all bound up together in a knot inside me, urgent and pulsing, making my tongue thick and my limbs heavy. I bit my lip, willing it to subside.
"Come on." Mavros got to his feet. "It's early yet. We're going out."
I opened my eyes, gazing at his extended hand. "Where?"
He smiled. "Out."
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Seven
In some part of me, I knew.
But I would sooner lie to myself and claim ignorance; and Mavros gave me the pretext to do so, refusing to tell me where we were bound and making a mysterious game of it. We travelled by carriage to another of the Shahrizai domiciles, where Roshana's mother Fanchone kept a household. There were several of the young Shahrizai gentry in residence, Roshana among them.
"Imri!" She greeted me with a lingering kiss, sinking both hands into my hair. "You have such beautiful hair," she whispered. "Will you let me braid it tonight?"
"All right," I agreed. "Why not?"
Mavros waved a magnanimous hand. "There's time."
So while other members of the household primped and made ready, I sat cross-legged in the Lady Fanchone's salon while Roshana hummed, brushing my hair and dividing it into an infinity of small locks, braiding each one deftly and tying off the ends with waxed thread. It took nearly an hour. Gilot, who had followed on horseback, looked on with marked disapproval.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Imri?" he asked me.
I shrugged, careful not to disturb Roshana's work. "Do what? Allow my hair to be braided? Gilot, do me a favor. Go back to the townhouse and let Phèdre know I'm here. I don't want her to worry."
He raised his brows. "Young Lord Shahrizai has already sent a messenger," he said, nodding toward Mavros. "I'm staying with you."
"As you like." I shrugged again.
Roshana moved around to my front, blocking my view of Gilot. I kept my gaze on her face and my head still, breathing slowly, admiring her concentration and the speed of her dexterous fingers. She gave me a quick smile.
"You've good discipline," she said. "Have you done this before?"
I smiled back at her, thinking of the vigils I had endured in the Temple of Elua, kneeling on the frozen ground. "Something like it. This is easier."
"And more fun, I'll warrant." She planted a kiss on my brow. "There,