Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [352]
"Imri!" Phèdre sounded shocked. "That's unkind."
"What?" I shrugged. "You know there's never been any love lost between us."
"You do her an injustice," she said softly. "She didn't take it lightly. No one did."
I met her gaze, feeling at once guilty and glad. "I know. It's just… no mind. What of House Trevalion? Bertran was courting Sidonie, wasn't he?"
"He was and is," Phèdre said. "Not with much success, I believe."
She met my eyes. "He's wintering at Court, though. And so is his mother."
"She's not in Azzalle?" I asked, surprised.
She shook her head. "Not since Ghislain was named Royal Commander."
I thought about it. "Well, good. That will make this simpler."
"Come on." Joscelin pushed his chair back and rose. "Enough idle speculation. The Queen is waiting. Let's get you to Court."
It struck me harder than I'd reckoned.
I'd never had any great love for the Palace, or at least I hadn't thought so. But when we disembarked from the carriage in the courtyard, a lump rose to my throat. It was a beautiful building, massive and proud, overlooking the Aviline River. Its white marble walls glistened, maintained with loving pride. I tilted my head and gazed at its high towers, silhouetted against the cold, grey sky. If I had died in Lucca, I would never have seen it again.
D'Angelines had built this.
I thought about Lucca, and how Gallus Tadius had been willing to die a second time in defense of the city he'd made his own. I wouldn't gladly lay down my life for the City of Elua, for this building. But I would do it for Phèdre or Joscelin; I would do it in a heartbeat.
And I would do it for Terre d'Ange itself.
A pretty folk, Eamonn called us, teasing. We were. And a vain folk, too. Proud; proud of our beauty, proud of our heritage, proud of our knowledge and skills. The world chided us for it, and rightly so. Some of it was folly, some of it was conceit.
Not all. Never all.
"Prince Imriel!" One of the Queen's Guard greeted me with a deep bow, snapping his fingers at a comrade. "Welcome home, your highness. Comtesse de Montrève, Messire Verreuil, welcome. Her majesty awaits you."
We were ushered into the Palace. It was busy; it was always busy. The marble halls rang with the sounds of merriment from other rooms. I turned my head as we passed the Hall of Games, remembering Gilot dicing there, swearing cheerfully as he lost his wages. D'Angeline gentry strolled the halls, heads turning as we passed, speculation rising in our wake.
Like the first time, only different.
Elua, how they had stared! And I'd cared, then. I'd cared so much, hating them. It all seemed a long time ago. I'd struggled to ignore them, keeping my chin up and my eyes fixed forward, rehearsing in my mind the words I meant to say. I'd snuck covert glances at Phèdre, drawing strength from her intent fixity of purpose. At Joscelin, taking heart from his careless glower.
It was easier now. There's not much to be said for the experience of standing one's ground before the onslaught of a charging army, but it put matters into perspective.
I'd thought we were bound for the throne room, but no. The reception took place in the Queen's private chambers. The room had tall windows that looked out onto a garden, sere and frostbitten. Ysandre paced before them, her hands clasped behind her back, pensive and anxious. Even as the guard announced us, she turned.
"Imriel!" she said with pleasure.
Phèdre was right, there was no pettiness in Ysandre de la Courcel. Her face was alight with gladness, and I was ashamed. I bowed deeply, muttering words of gratitude and apologies for yesterday's rudeness. Ysandre laughed and clasped my shoulders, raising me to give me the kiss of greeting, sweetly and nicely.
"Ah, no," she said, overriding my protestations. "I'm glad you're well, cousin. After your travail, there's naught I begrudge you. I should have known to wait. After all, I've had long dealings with House Montrève." The Queen of Terre d'Ange cast an affectionate glance in Phèdre's direction, then turned her head toward