Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [349]
And I owed a debt to Gilot, and to everyone in the household of Montrève who had known him, who had cared for me and protected me, and worried in anguish alongside Phèdre and Joscelin when they received my last letter, wondering if I lived or died.
So I told the rest of it. The D'Angeline embassy, the dams. Training with the Red Scourge, and Barbarus squadron. Eamonn's leadership, which sparked smiles and nods all around. There was no one in the household who didn't remember him fondly. I told them about Brigitta and his wedding, and how he had gone to Skaldia in search of her.
"What about the siege?" Benoit asked.
"And the dam?" Ti-Philippe added. "Was there a flood?"
"Yes." I glanced at Phèdre. I'd heard Eamonn tell it before; I'd told it myself to the princeps. This was different.
The flood—the flood was easy. I could still see it in my mind's eye; the vast, awesome force of it bursting the wall, churning through the streets. The bell-tower, Gallus Tadius and his death-mask. I faltered a little, there. I caught myself gazing at Phèdre, wondering if she would understand what I had felt atop the basilica. Kushiel's presence, beating in my skull.
Probably better than I did. His blood ran in my veins, but I was only his scion, and a reluctant one at that. My blood was purer than most—House Shahrizai saw to that—but there were thousands of us. He had parted the veils of the worlds to touch her in the womb, pricking her eye with his crimson sign. She was his Chosen.
And then the maelstrom and the pit, the waters receding, falling in an ebony cascade into the unknown depths of hell. I could hear the awe in my own voice. They listened and believed. House Montrève had known stranger things.
Lucius, and his courage.
The battle.
If I had been telling it to someone else—Charles Friote, mayhap-—I might have told it differently. I don't know. In the warm, loving confines of home, the terror and the stench and the screaming seemed farther away. And yet they weren't, not at all. Every time I glanced at Phèdre, I remembered. She had taught me to do so.
Remember this.
So I told it quickly, without belaboring my role. Without telling about holding the line with Barbarus squadron or my mad charge to rescue Eamonn, about Canis, about the Duke of Valpetra and his javelins. I would, later. It could wait. I told them only that Lucius rallied the Red Scourge, and the D'Angeline and Tiberian troops arrived on their heels. That Valpetra was killed, the condottiere Silvanus surrendered, and it was done.
"The rest," I said, my voice hoarse with talking, "you know."
It was Joscelin who dismissed everyone, dispatching them to their respective beds. Only the three of us were left. Phèdre sat curled in the corner of the couch, watching the fire. I couldn't read her face, not at all. It was inward-looking, lost in contemplation.
"There's somewhat else I have to tell you," I said to them. "Well, a number of things, including news of my mother, but this one's pressing." I took a deep breath. "I've thought about this, long and hard. And I'd like to handle it myself, quietly. You should know, though."
Phèdre stirred. "What is it?"
"Bernadette de Trevalion hired a man to kill me in Tiberium," I said simply.
For a moment, both of them merely stared at me. A flush of anger rose to Joscelin's cheeks; Phèdre closed her eyes. "Are you certain?" she whispered.
I nodded. "I've proof."
"No." Joscelin shook his head. "Oh, no! Not this time. Not after L'Envers. This time, it will be done in the open. Let the world know—"
"Joscelin." I spread my hands. "No. Ysandre brought me into the fold of House Courcel to break the chain of vengeance and retribution. This is a chance to do that very thing." I smiled wryly. "Through the gentler coercion of blackmail, at any rate."
"You can't—" he began.
"He can, Joscelin." Phèdre cut him off. "It's his choice." Her deep gaze rested on me, familiar and unnerving. I met it without flinching. The tension between us was there, it would always be there. But I could bear it. And there was so much more besides. "You're