Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [344]
It was a strange thought.
I'd be expected to when I wed Dorelei. Although I'd not let myself think on it, I knew it was true. It was the whole purpose behind the betrothal, securing the succession of Alba in a manner that was acceptable to Terre d'Ange. But that was different. It was politics, nothing but politics. And Dorelei mab Breidaia, poor girl, couldn't be expected to know.
House Mereliot was different.
They knew who I was, what I was. A traitor's get on both sides. And they didn't care. Or if they did, they cared more that I was Phèdre nó Delaunay's foster-son. Or mayhap just myself. Me. Imriel. Not the what, but the who.
It surprised me, pleasantly so.
Let the wound heal, Asclepius had told me. Bear the scar with pride.
I shook my head in wonderment. I was glad, more than glad, that I'd chosen to tarry a night in Marsilikos. A respite, and more. Whether she knew it or not, Jeanne had spoken truly. Eisheth's mercy brushed me; a feather-touch of grace, kinder by far than Kushiel's.
"Forgive my quibbling offspring," Roxanne de Mereliot said to me. "You must be impatient to be off."
I thought for a moment that she'd misread my gesture, then I saw in her fine dark eyes that she had not. They were filled with understanding and wisdom gained through long years; as a ruler, as a mother. As a woman of Eisheth's line, who carried healing in her blood. I smiled at her, and knew it was true. "Yes, my lady. I am."
"Well, then." The Lady of Marsilikos clapped her hands. "Let's be about it!"
Another day, another journey.
She had insisted on providing an escort of twenty men under Gerard's command, and for once I had the sense not to argue. I left Eamonn's letter for his father in her keeping. She and Quintilius Rousse were friends of long standing, and whenever he put to port, she would be the first person he called upon. She promised to see it delivered, and I had no doubt it would be.
Since I no longer had need of Lady Denise's guards, I dispensed the last contents of my purse among them, thanking them for their service. Three of them accepted it gladly, eager to depart for their own destinations and make the most of their time in Terre d'Ange before returning to Tiberium in the spring. Romuald scratched his head and regarded me dubiously.
"Think I'll stay in your service, if you don't mind," he said. "Until we reach the City."
"Of course not."
"Like to tell her ladyship I saw the job through." He watched Gerard's men loading Gilot's casket carefully into a cart. "And then there's him. It's a funny thing, your highness. I never knew him, but I came to think of him as a friend of sorts, on the road together so long." He gave an embarrassed chuckle. "You must think me a little mad."
"No." I laid a hand on his shoulder. "You would have liked him."
Another parting, another farewell.
Jeanne embraced me. I closed my eyes, remembering her black hair spread on the pillow, the sea-surge of love. "Come visit us," she said. "Anytime. You could come in the spring for the Moon-Tide Festival. Have you ever seen the taurières at sport or a Mendacant perform?"
"No," I said. "Not a real one."
"Think on it."
I promised I would, and then Roxanne de Mereliot gave me a kiss of parting; a mother's kiss, gentle on my brow. "A safe journey," she said, patting my cheek. "And my love to Phèdre and her lovely Cassiline." Her dark eyes crinkled. "He makes a terrible Mendacant."
I laughed. "I know."
And then we were off. Another journey, a last journey. At least for a while. Despite the chill, the sun was bright and Marsilikos was doing a bustling trade. The harbor might be quiet for the season, but the city wasn't. All manner of folk would winter here. We passed shops and taverns and markets, temples and brothels.