Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [18]
"In front of the Queen and the peers of the realm," Gilot related with relish. "She dropped it at your mother's feet and said, 'That is yours, my lady. I am not.' After so long, can you believe she kept it?"
"Yes," I said shortly. "I can."
I could, because Phèdre kept things for remembrance, too—painful things. There is a small carved dog of jade that was the Mahrkagir's gift to her. I was the one who brought it out of Daršanga, but she kept it, along with an ivory hairpin.
It is important to remember.
Phèdre told me as much the night of the slaughter there, in the small hours, before the Tiberian chirurgeon Drucilla died. Remember this, she said. Remember them all.
I thought about that in the days after the diamond was delivered, and wondered what it was that my mother remembered, and if she had learned anything by it.
The news of her disappearance was released quietly. There was no great outcry of shock and condemnation, for which I was grateful. She had been gone for a long time, and most people's memories are shortlived. Still, wherever I went in the City, there were whispers of renewed speculation.
On the fourth day, the Shahrizai arrived, and we were summoned back to court.
It was the first time I had encountered my mothers kin.
The meeting was held in the Queen's formal chambers. Duc Faragon had brought an impressive retinue, and there must have been a score of the Shahrizai among them. The stamp of my mother's House was unmistakeable.
Duc Faragon was venerable, his skin wrinkled like parchment, his hair a rippling silver. Still, he was solid and doughty, and his eyes were undimmed. The kindred who ranged behind him were younger. The women wore their black hair loose, while the men wore theirs in a myriad of small braids, falling like linked chains to frame their faces. All of them were clad in black velvet adorned with gold brocade, the colors of the House.
They looked beautiful, proud, and dangerous.
One of the young men glanced over at me and smiled as we entered the chambers. It was a friendly smile, and a clever one, too. He winked at me. His eyes were a deep, starry blue.
I took a step closer to Phèdre.
If she was perturbed by the Shahrizai, she gave no indication of it. We made our greetings to the Queen and Cruarch, and took our places standing beside their thrones. Joscelin, as the Queen's Champion, provided a note of quiet menace, vambraces glinting, his daggers at his belt and the hilt of his broadsword over his shoulder.
"My lord Duc." The Queen inclined her head. "I trust you know why I have summoned you here?"
"Your majesty, I do." Duc Faragon's voice was melodious and resonant. With a grace that belied his years, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head before Ysandre. As one, the other members of his kindred followed suit, the men kneeling, the women sinking into deep curtsies. "In the name of Blessed Elua and merciful Kushiel, House Shahrizai proclaims its absolute loyalty to the throne."
On the far side of the Queen, Barquiel L'Envers stirred. Several of the other peers assembled murmured. Ysandre glanced once at Drustan, then rested her chin in her hand and contemplated Duc Faragon and his entourage.
None of the Shahrizai moved.
"Very well," Ysandre said at length. The Duc rose, the others following. He met the Queen's gaze without fear. "Have you had any communication from your kinswoman, Melisande Shahrizai de la Courcel?"
"Yes," he said calmly. "Several times, over the years." He beckoned, and a woman came forward with a small packet of letters. "That is everything," Duc Faragon said. "There is no sedition in them."
"And the rest of you?" Ysandre raised her brows. "Are there any among you who possess any knowledge of your kinswoman's latest deeds?"
There was a faint rustling sound as they shook their heads in denial.
"We are at your service, majesty," Duc Faragon said. "We place ourselves before you, trusting to the wisdom of your justice."
Ysandre sighed. "What does the Cruarch say?" she asked Drustan.
"Alba's justice