Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [291]
"Prince Imriel."
For a wild instant, I was flung back into the past. A cold, crisp night outside the Cockerel, and a figure speaking my name. Bertran's fury and Gilot's faithful response. A chase, a cap. My reputation in tatters.
I yanked my sword from its scabbard, the Bastard startled into skittering life beneath me.
"Who asks?" I demanded.
Somewhere in the darkness behind us, there was a faint scuffling sound. With a curse, Eamonn rounded his horse and drew his blade, riding to investigate.
The figure lifted its head.
It was a woman's face within the hood; young, scared, and adamant, leached of color by the moonlight. I put up my blade. I knew her.
Helena.
"Please," she breathed. "I only want to speak to you."
Eamonn returned at a lope, indicating his failure with a shrug. When he saw Helena, he let out a sigh and sheathed his sword. "My lady," he said, bowing in the saddle. "You should not be here. Let us escort you home."
Her gaze never left my face. "Please?"
Having wrestled the Bastard under control, I spread my arms. "What is it you want of me, my lady? I'm cold and tired, and very, very mortal. Whatever it is you think I am, I assure you, I'm not."
"I know." She bowed her head and opened one clenched hand. Three small objects fell rattling onto the cobblestones. Beads, glass beads. In the daylight, I guessed, they would have been blue. Little things, Lucius had said; offerings at the crossroads. Helena nudged them into a crevice with one slippered toe, then lifted her head. "I've been foolish, but I'm not stupid." She was trembling with cold, but the set of her delicate jaw was no less adamant. Her wide eyes searched my face for meaning, for a sign, for somewhat that wasn't there. "I know what you're not," she whispered. "I don't know what you are."
"Just Imriel," I said tiredly. "A stunted tree reaching for sunlight."
She blinked at me and shivered.
Eamonn raised his brows at me.
What could I do? I was D'Angeline and taught by Phèdre nó Delaunay. Swallowing my own cruelty, I dismounted and bowed to Helena, holding it for an extra heartbeat. "Forgive me," I said to her.
"I am weary and sharp-tongued. And Eamonn is right, this is no place for you. We will escort you home."
I cupped my hands to cradle her slippered foot, hoisting her astride the Bastard. Ah, Elua! She weighed little more than Alais. I took the reins and began trudging in the direction of the Correggio palazzo, trying not to think about what she had endured.
"Will you not ride with me?" Her teeth chattered. "Can he not carry two?"
The Bastard snorted.
So I mounted, settling myself behind her while she perched on the pommel, and took up the reins. Eamonn and I exchanged a long, silent look that spoke volumes.
"Fine," I said shortly. "I'll see you at the villa."
He saluted me and cantered away. I took Helena home. She held herself taut, and I did nothing to discourage it. Still, I could feel her growing warmer between my arms and in time her shivering stopped.
The Correggio palazzo was untended in the moonlight, the gate unguarded. Small wonder that she had been able to slip away unnoticed. I supposed their retainers had been impressed into Gallus Tadius' army, too. The Bastard paced into the courtyard as though he owned it. I dismounted and lifted her down from the saddle, my hands around her waist.
"Will you be all right?" I asked her.
"Will I?" She looked up at me with that soft, aching gaze. "I don't know. You… you were taken, too, weren't you? Father explained it to me. I understand about your mother, a little bit. But that part of the story is true, isn't it? You were lost and taken."
"Yes," I said.
"When does it stop hurting?" she asked.
I was silent for a moment, and it