Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [346]
My heart was thudding in my chest.
We got almost as far as Elua's Square when the sound of pounding hoofbeats shattered the air. I recognized Ti-Philippe by his seat, riding hell-for-leather, with Hugues on his heels. A grin split my face, and I gave the Bastard his head.
"Imri!"
It's a wonder no one was killed. We collided in Elua's Square in a churning tangle of horseflesh, limbs, and leather. Hugues embraced me so hard, I thought he meant to lift me clean out of the saddle, and then the Bastard reared and nearly unseated me, spooking Ti-Philippe's mount in turn. Somehow, laughing and talking all at once, we managed to get ourselves untangled and righted.
"Where—" I began.
"Imri, love."
Phèdre's voice.
I'd not even heard them arrive in the confusion. They had already dismounted. Standing in the square, Joscelin a half-step behind her. I stared at them. My mouth had gone dry and the blood was pounding in my ears until I felt dizzy with it. Phèdre's eyes shone. She was wearing a dark green gown. It hurt to look at her. At them.
No one spoke.
I dismounted in silence, dropping the Bastard's reins. My legs were trembling. I made myself move them. I walked into her arms, and his arms came around the both of us.
Home.
How long we stayed that way, I couldn't have said. A long time, I suppose. It didn't feel like it. But at length, I became aware of the murmur of voices, other voices, low and somber. Taking a deep breath, I pulled away.
Joscelin looked at the cart. "Gilot?"
I nodded. I didn't trust myself to speak, not yet.
"Ah, love!" There was sorrow in Phèdre's voice; an ocean of sorrow. Tears gleamed on her beautiful face. "I'm so sorry."
"I know," I whispered. "So am I."
Thus was my homecoming, filled with shared gladness and grief. We didn't go home straightaway, but took Gilot's casket to the cemetery. All was in readiness. Phèdre had written to his family when she received the news of his death. It would have been his wish, his mother had written in reply, to be buried as a member of Montrève's household. His service to House Montrève was his greatest pride.
Gerard and his men accompanied us; and Romuald, too. An elderly priest of Elua met us at the cemetery gate, emerging from the humble gatehouse there. It was a duty many of them took upon themselves in the last years of their lives.
"Comtesse." The priest inclined his head. His hair was white, as white as snow. Even his lashes were snowy, barely visible against his wrinkled eyelids. "Come with me."
The men of Montrève bore the casket; Joscelin and I in the front, Ti-Philippe and Hugues at the rear, the poles resting on our shoulders.
It was heavy.
We followed Phèdre and the priest through the city of the dead, along aisles of grass turned brown and sere. The priest's bare feet were gnarled beneath the hem of his blue robe. Only the members of the Great Houses of Terre d'Ange were buried here. Some of the mausoleums we passed were ornate, adorned with elaborate statuary, surrounded by dozens of grave markers. Others were simple.
Montrève's was simple. There is a graveyard on the estate where most of the members of House Montrève lie. Only two lay within the mausoleum in the City: Anafiel Delaunay de Montrève and Alcuin nó Delaunay. It was built on Ysandre's orders, following their murders.
And there, beside it, a new grave had been dug. The freshly turned soil lay in a neat pile on the far side, a pair of shovels crossed atop it. It had been made ready as soon as the courier from Marsilikos had arrived. We lowered the casket on the near side of the grave and slid the poles from the brass rings.
"Has he been blessed and annointed?" the priest asked Phèdre.
She glanced at me, and I shook my head. "No," I said.
I undid