Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [196]
"Blessed Elua," I whispered. "Guide me."
There was no answer, but a tiny sensation of peace blossomed in me, tentative and delicate. I rested my brow against the pedestal. I could have stayed there all night just to keep the sense alive in my heart. I understood for the first time—truly understood—why Joscelin maintained Elua's vigil on the Longest Night. I would have liked to do the same.
But the ambassadress was waiting, and I was no Cassiline. No god's servant, no god's chosen. Only Imriel, alone and confused and far from home. With a sigh, I kissed Blessed Elua's feet and forced myself to rise.
"Thank you," I said to Denise Fleurais.
"Oh, you're quite welcome." Her kind, intelligent gaze searched my face. "It's difficult to be an exile, isn't it? Even if the exile is of one's own choosing."
"Yes," I said. "It is."
We dined in one of the palazzo's smaller salons, at a table set with white linens. After weeks of Caerdicci fare, it was a pleasure to dine on D'Angeline cuisine and drink good Namarrese wine. All the household staff was D'Angeline. They went about their business with quiet, efficient pride. It's a strange thing, how even the way a platter is placed on a table can remind one of home.
I'd missed it; missed it all.
Lady Denise Fleurais was an excellent companion. She inquired after my studies, listening with lively interest while I told her about Master Piero, laughing at the tale of his chasing pigeons in the Forum. In turn, I asked after news from home. Although it felt like I'd been gone for ages, in truth, it was little over two months and there was only one piece of news of any significance.
"The Queen has announced Princess Alais' betrothal to Prince Talorcan, the Cruarch's nephew," Denise told me.
I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth, then finished my bite, chewed and swallowed. Alais' tearstained face swam in my memory, her voice pleading, Don't leave me, please! "She's so young."
Denise nodded. "Fourteen," she said. "Of course, the wedding won't take place for a couple of years. You're fond of her, your highness?"
"Very." I pushed away the memory of her tears. "What of Sidonie?"
"Oh, I daresay she has her share of suitors," she said, smiling. "But no, the Queen's letter said naught of her."
"And what did it say of me?" I asked.
Denise Fleurais beckoned to her wine steward, then dismissed him with a gracious word of thanks after he refilled our cups. She sipped her wine, considering me. "Her majesty is concerned," she said frankly. "It wasn't until after your departure that she learned you had left with a single attendant and were travelling in disguise as a commoner."
"Not exactly," I said. "And I'm travelling under my own name."
"Half of it, yes." She frowned. "Your highness, I will be honest. Yes, although her first concern is that I assertain your well-being, her majesty asks me to urge you to return to Terre d'Ange. Failing that, she asks that I use the embassy's resources to ensure that you are esconced here in Tiberium with due honor and the privileges and protection according to your rank."
"Imriel," I said. "Call me Imriel."
She blinked at me. "I beg your pardon?"
I pushed my plate away. "No mind. My lady, I appreciate Ysandre's concern. Please tell her so, and that I am well. But I am doing what I believe is needful for my own sake. At the moment, that means living as Imriel nó Montrève and not a Prince of the Blood."
"May I ask why?" Lady Denise inquired gently.
It was the gentleness that nearly undid me. I looked away for a moment. It would have been easy, so easy, to tell her everything—Claudia, the Unseen Guild, all of it. She was an intelligent woman and a skilled diplomat; even Phèdre had said as much. It would be a blessed relief to lay the problem in her lap and shroud myself in the embassy's sanctuary.
But the seeds of doubt were there.
For all I knew,