Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [229]
I prayed for Dorelei mab Breidaia, whom I barely knew.
And for Eamonn, whom I loved dearly, and Master Piero in his wisdom, and my haunted friend Lucius. For him I made an offering of attar of rose and amber to Naamah, hoping he might find love. I hesitated, then prayed for Claudia, too. I made her offering to Kushiel, spikenard and mastic, praying his justice would be merciful on the both of us.
It was a long process.
I saved the last offering for Blessed Elua; mistletoe and myrrh. And to Elua, I said no prayer, but merely knelt and bowed my head before his grace. I stayed there for a long time.
"Prince Imriel?"
I rose, stiff-jointed, and bowed. Midday had passed and the shadows were lengthening. In the center of the garden, Denise Fleurais gave a soft, wondering laugh, gazing around her. From seven bowls on seven altars, dying trickles of fragrant smoke arose.
"'Tis a wondrous thing you've done, your highness," she said. "What does it mean?"
"My lady," I said softly. "I'm ready to go home."
We spoke long into the night, first over dinner and then over glasses of cordial. As it transpired, the ambassadress had canceled an engagement to put herself at my disposal. It felt peculiar. So often, this self seemed unreal; Imriel de la Courcel, Prince of the Blood, third in line for the throne of Terre d'Ange. I'd not grown up knowing it. I'd grown up a goatherd, not a prince and a traitor's get. It had been thrust upon me unwanted.
Inside, I was only me. Imriel; Imri to a few.
An orphan among orphans, a slave among slaves.
But it was real, and time enough I acknowledged it. And so I spoke of my thoughts and plans. I kept my word to Ruggero Caccini. I said nothing of the attempts against my life, and I said nothing of the letter I held implicating Bernadette de Trevalion in the matter. I would deal with her in my own time, and I hadn't yet decided the manner of it. But in everything else, I spoke candidly to Denise Fleurais. I saw the wash of relief that suffused her face. She was a diplomat. She knew what was at stake in Alba.
"May I tell her majesty?" she asked.
I shook my head. "I'd prefer to do it myself. You have couriers?"
"Yes." She rang a handbell. "I'll send for paper and ink."
I wrote two letters that evening. The first was to Ysandre, and it was formal and brief. I announced my plans to remain in Caerdicca Unitas for several more weeks to attend the wedding of a friend, and return to Terre d'Ange in autumn, before winter made the passage dangerous. I tendered my offer to wed Dorelei mab Breidaia in the spring, should all parties concerned still find it desirable.
The second letter was to Phèdre.
I lingered over it, but there was too much to put into words. In the end, I opted for brevity, with a promise to explain more upon my return. I smiled at the thought of the impatient happiness it would evoke in the household, and kissed the parchment before I sealed it.
"Will your courier see this is delivered first?" I asked, handing it to Denise Fleurais.
She raised her brows. "Before your missive to the Queen?"
"Yes," I said. "Please."
The ambassadress studied me. "Will you permit me to have my couturier attire you for this wedding you're determined to attend?"
I laughed. "I will."
Denise Fleurais inclined her head. "Then we have a bargain, your highness."
So the first step was taken, and I felt stronger for having made a decision and acted upon it. It was not the life I envisioned for myself, no. I wanted… what? I wanted what I had yearned after for a long time; to be a hero, like Joscelin. To love with the same desperate ferocity, to do impossible deeds. But such a destiny was vouchsafed to only a few, and it came at a terrible price. I knew; I'd seen him in Daršanga, and afterward.
It was not my lot, and I should be glad of it. I had a chance to do good in my own way. To pave the path of peace, to rise to the challenge of being tender and kind.