Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [130]
I shook my head experimentally, feeling the braids fly. My head felt strange and heavy, the way it had on the Longest Night when I had worn the costume of Baldur. And yet there were no masks here. I was only me, but different.
"Thank you," I said to Roshana.
A mischievous smile flirted across her lips. "You look beautiful."
Mavros clapped his hands. "Come!" he said decisively. "Let's go."
We went, piling into two carriages. Mavros and Roshana I knew; there were others, Aprilios and Thiela and Sonoril, all young Shahrizai gentry, none of them much over twenty. Their own outriders accompanied them, and Gilot came, too, following slowly and leading the Bastard by the reins.
It was not hard to guess where we were bound.
They laughed and gossiped and kept themselves from telling me, and I kept myself from knowing it. And yet, as our carriages ascended the slope of Mont Nuit, in my heart, I knew. When the drivers drew rein before the gates of Valerian House, I was not surprised. I wanted to be, but I wasn't. Anything else would be a lie.
"Mavros." I stirred against the padded seats of the carriage. "I don't want to go here."
"Yes, you do, Imri." In the shadows, his face was unexpectedly sympathetic. "You needn't do anything you don't want. But you need to see. It's time." He paused. "Or are you afraid?"
"Yes," I said honestly.
He clapped his hand on my shoulder. "All the more reason."
So I went to Valerian House.
The entrance is a long one, warded by trees on either side. In the courtyard, we were met by a pair of adepts, male and female. They ushered us into the receiving room with downcast eyes, and there the Dowayne met us. He wore tight-fitting leather breeches and a loose shirt of sheer linen, and he bowed low before the Shahrizai.
"My lords and ladies," he murmured. "Your quarters await you as always. Shall I send a selection of adepts?"
Mavros drew him aside, whispering.
"Very good, my lord." The Dowayne bowed again, then beckoned to Gilot. "Come, messire. We will make you comfortable while their lords and ladyships take their pleasure."
Gilot hesitated, glancing at me. "Imri? Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," I said, though I wasn't. "Go."
He departed, led by a pair of adepts.
Didier Vascon, the Dowayne of Valerian House, bowed low. "This way."
We followed him down a hallway, then a narrow, winding stair. The Shahrizai chattered among themselves, clearly at ease. It was only at the bottom of the stair that they fell silent, kneeling one by one.
I saw why.
There was an altar to Kushiel there; a niche with a raised dais and a bronze sculpture contained within, an offering bowl on the dais at his feet. Once the others had departed, I stood alone, gazing at Kushiel. His face was stern and calm, filled with implacable mercy. His hands were crossed on his breast, one holding a rod, the other a flail.
Mighty Kushiel, of rod and weal…
I knelt, shivering.
"Come." A sympathetic voice sounded in my ear. Kind hands encircled my upper arms, lifting me. I turned to face Didier Vascon. "You have known his touch, have you not?" asked the Dowayne of Valerian House. "In all its cruelty?"
"Yes," I said softly. "I have."
"Go." He gave me a gentle nudge. "Know his mercy."
I went, stumbling a little, following my Shahrizai kin. In the dimly lit hallway, Mavros paused, waiting for me. "Come on, Imriel!" he said. "This will be fun."
I hadn't reckoned on it; any of it. I should have. But it was more than I had imagined. Here at Valerian House, the Shahrizai maintained their own quarters—a private dungeon appointed for their usage. There was a fireplace with a roaring fire on the hearth, rendering the room stiflingly warm. Lush carpets covered the stone floors, woven in the black-and-gold interlocking key device of the Shahrizai.
On the barren walls, there were… other devices. Manacles and chains, a whipping cross. A wooden wheel with clamps.
"Behold!" Roshana said happily, opening the doors of a tall cabinet. "The toy chest."
It was a well-stocked flagellary, filled with whips and tawses and paddles, all