Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [228]
"So I thought." I touched my purse, feeling the broken pieces of the clay medallion mingling with my coins. The incense-maker's eyes brightened. I thought for a moment. "Master Ambrosius, I'd like to make offerings to Blessed Elua and his Companions. Mayhap you might help me choose?"
He was more than eager. Together, we debated gravely over a dozen different incenses. He told me the components of each one and asked me which I thought suitable for each deity in turn, nodding at my comments. I made my selections, and he measured careful scoops into burlap pouches. Remembering Master Piero's lesson, I understood better why the incense-maker had shown little regard for the University's students in general, and me in particular. This was the first coin I'd spent in his shop.
In the end, I left with my arms laden. "Master Ambrosius, will you do me a kindness?" I asked him. "If Canis should return at any time, will you send word to me? Only don't let him know."
He nodded sagely. "Owes you money, does he?"
I hesitated. "Somewhat like, yes."
"I'll do it."
Obeying my whim, I departed the insula and headed for the D'Angeline embassy. The day's heat was rising and shops were beginning to close their doors, but I was able to purchase a cheap leather satchel in the Great Forum. It was poorly cured and stank a bit. I smiled, thinking about how we had cured gazelle hides to make waterskins by burying them in hot shale in Jebe-Barkal. It had worked better than whatever method had been used here. Still, the satchel served to contain my myriad pouches of incense, and I made my way to Lady Fleurais' palazzo trailing a most peculiar aroma behind me.
At the embassy gates, the guard on duty stared at me. "My lord?"
I stood before him in a miasma of ill-cured leather and incense. "Her ladyship said she would leave a standing order to admit me," I said. "But if she is available, I would speak with her." He continued to stare, his gaze travelling from my face to my feet. I realized, then, the figure I cut. I was wearing dusty student's togs, rumpled with sleep, and the crude rope sandals I'd bought after the rioting. Until today, my ankle had been too sore to consider replacing my boots. "I know," I said. "But it's important."
The guard gave himself a little shake, then opened the gate to admit me. "Name of Elua!" He grinned at me. "The Comtesse de Montrève would die of shame to see you thus, your highness."
I laughed. "Like as not."
He escorted me to the temple garden and went to send word to the ambassadress. In the height of the midday heat, the garden was empty. Not even the priest was about. I took off my sandals and knelt in the green grass, removing the pouches of incense and arranging them in order. And then, one by one, I made my offerings at each of the altars, filling the bowl before each effigy and kindling the incense with the fire-striking kit that had been our guide Bizan's farewell gift to me.
Another memory of Jebe-Barkal. It seemed fitting. As hard as the journey was, I had been happy there. It was there that Phèdre and Joscelin had found healing together. It was there that I had begun to know myself loved.
I said prayers as I lit each bowl; prayers for all those lost in the zenana, all who had not survived the uprising. Remember this. I said prayers for the survivors, and most of all for Kaneka, tall Kaneka, who had been a pillar of strength. I said prayers for everyone we had met in our travels who had done us a kindness, and a few who had not. I prayed for my kin… the family of my blood, Mavros and Roshana and Baptiste, Ysandre and Sidonie and Alais. And for the family of my heart.
Phèdre.
Joscelin.
And the others, too—all of Montrève's household, and most of all for Gilot. For him, I offered an incense of chamomile, hyssop, and cedar gum to Eisheth, praying she would send him healing. I prayed, surprising myself, for Maslin of Lombelon, a traitor's child who bore a dark shadow like my own on his soul. I remembered the