Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [354]
Ysandre carried them all.
She was a strong ruler, and a good one. After Lucca, I had a better idea what that meant. I might not agree with her choices—despite my own decision regarding Bernadette de Trevalion, it still galled me that Barquiel L'Envers had gotten away without any acknowledgment of his attempt to smear me with treason's brush—but I understood why she made them.
As I had made mine.
There among my family, the family of my heart and the family of my blood, I felt myself settle into a kind of peace with it. When all was said and done, it was good to be home… and that meant the Palace, too.
Later in the day, we strolled through the halls together in a deliberate show of unity, attended by the Queen's Guard and seen by the Court. We visited the Salon of Eisheth's Harp, where Gerard de Mere-Hot was playing a lap-harp and singing ballads for an appreciative audience. He caught my eye and winked without losing a note.
"Imriel!" A familiar figure leapt to his feet. Mavros wove through the crowd with lithe elegance. He sketched a quick, courtly bow to the Queen, then grabbed me in an exuberant hug. "Name of Elua! It's good to see you."
"And you." I grinned at him. Mavros… Mavros looked the same. His braids were caught back in a silver clasp, leaving his face bare. He, too, was family. The dark mirror of House Shahrizai, dangerous and beautiful. "And you."
His twilight-blue eyes narrowed. "What have you been up to, cousin?" he mused, holding my shoulders and studying me. His fingers flexed, digging lightly into my muscles. "Quite a bit, by the look of you."
"Enough," I said. "I'll tell you later."
"Oh, indeed," he agreed. "I'm all ears until you do."
There were others there; other members of the Shahrizai, and other friends I had known, or people I'd called friends, once.
One of them was Bertran de Trevalion. He greeted me with wary courtesy, uncertain of his reception; and well he should be, I thought. I clasped his arm in ostensible friendship, pleasant and amicable.
"Tell me," I said. "Is your mother here?"
"My mother?" He looked confused. "Somewhere, yes. Well, I think she's visiting a friend in the City today. Why?"
He had an open, earnest face. He always had. Even in the passionate throes of mistrust, Bertran had been honest about it. Now that I saw him once more, I couldn't imagine him dissembling well. If I were recruiting for the Unseen Guild, I'd never choose him. And if I were his mother, I'd hide my intrigues from him. Mayhap that was one of the reasons she'd waited until I was well away from D'Angeline soil to make a bid for vengeance. Or mayhap she simply thought no one would find out, so far from home.
In that, she was sorely mistaken.
"Oh, I've a lengthy message for her from an old friend in Tiberium," I said lightly. "It's a private matter. I'll call on her later to deliver it in person. Ruggero Caccini is his name." I clapped his shoulder. "Be sure to tell her that, will you? Ruggero Caccini."
"Ruggero Caccini." Bertran nodded solemnly. "I'll tell her."
I smiled at him. "My thanks, Bertran."
As for the rest of those I'd once called friends, although they greeted me warmly, I hadn't forgotten the cold shoulders they had turned in my direction when I was suspected of conspiring to treason. And I'd learned a great deal about what it meant to be a friend.
But I could forgive, or try to.
It seemed petty not to try.
And it was good, truly. Somewhere along my journey, I'd managed to lay down bits and pieces of the hurt and anger and fear I carried. Even, mayhap, a little of the guilt. Not all of it, no. I doubted I ever would. But I could carry it with better grace.
We left late in the day, with promises to return on the morrow. Eugenie had supper waiting for us. She served me