Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [351]
"Phèdre—" I began.
"Takes up a lot of space," Joscelin agreed. "And the rest is yours."
My eyes stung. "Joscelin…"
"Oh, hush." He embraced me, then loosed me, tousling my hair as he used to do when I was younger. "Go to bed, will you? I'll see to the fire. I don't want to be blamed if you're exhausted on the morrow."
"I'm going, I'm going." I reached for railing and began mounting the stairs. "See?"
"Imri?" Yes?
Joscelin looked up at me. His summer-blue eyes were wide and clear. Whatever shadows lay behind them—and I knew, now, that they were there—he'd learned to live with them. "When you tell Phèdre whatever else there is to tell…" He shook his head. "Don't tell her about rescuing Eamonn. It was a foolhardy thing you did."
"All right," I promised. "I won't."
"Oh, she'll know." He smiled at me. "Or she'll guess. But you don't need to tell hen. Not the details of it. She worries enough as it is." "And you don't?" I asked. "Always," he said simply. "But I'm used to it."
* * *
Chapter Seventy-One
In the morning, I presented myself at the Palace. I'd learned, rather to my relief, that the news from Lucca had been kept fairly quiet. It had leaked out, of course, but it was only rumors. Ysandre didn't want the fact that her wayward young kinsman was trapped in a besieged Caerdicci city to become common knowledge.
"Who knows?" I asked at the breakfast table.
"Officially?" Phèdre counted on her fingers. "The Queen's Guard, and Sidonie and Alais. And House Shahrizai."
"She told them?" It surprised me.
"You sent a message for Mavros," she reminded me.
"Elua!" I set down the piece of jam-smeared bread I'd been holding. "That letter… I'm so sorry."
"Don't be." Phèdre reached across the table and took my hand. "Imri, if you hadn't come back…" She shook her head, unable to finish the thought. "Don't be sorry."
I squeezed her hand. "You told Mavros, then?"
"Mmm." She nodded. "And Roxanne de Mereliot."
"The Tsingani?"
She smiled. "Only Emile. After all, they've found you before. You saw the boys at the gate?" I nodded, and Phèdre laughed. "He promised them I'd give a gold ducat to the first to bring word you'd been sighted. Only he didn't bother to tell me."
"Did you?" I asked.
Her smile deepened. "Of course."
"So what might I expect today?" I smiled back at her. "Will Ysandre be angry with me, do you think?"
"Over yesterday?" Phèdre let go of my hand, propping her chin on her fist. "No, I don't think so, Imri. I know you have your quarrels with her, but Ysandre's not petty."
"She was with you," I said.
"Ah, well." She raised her brows. "That wasn't pettiness. I gave her cause."
It was true, so I didn't argue. "What about Barquiel L'Envers?" I asked, pronouncing his name with distaste. "Will he be there?"
"No, I doubt it." Phèdre looked thoughtful. "He's not been much in evidence this autumn. What that means, I can't say, but he's not likely to be there."
"Well, he got what he wanted, didn't he? By this time next year, I'll be out of his way in Alba, exactly where he wanted me." I picked up my bread and put it back down. "Has my… betrothal… been announced?" The word sounded strange to my ears.
"Not officially, no. She was awaiting your return." Her voice was quiet. We hadn't spoken of it yet.
"Unofficially?" I asked.
"Well, you know Alais was delighted." She hesitated. "She took the other news, the news of the siege, hard."
"There was a scene," Joscelin added wryly.
"Poor little thing." I pushed my plate away, no longer hungry. The gossip of the Court could be cruel. "No wonder there are rumors. What…" I cleared my throat and schooled my voice to casualness. "What about Sidonie? I nearly