Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [45]
"And you." My words came huskily.
Then she let me go, and looked me up and down. "Name of Elua!" she exclaimed. "You're thin as a lathe. What do you get up to in that City?"
I drew myself up. "Actually—"
With a friendly smile, Katherine thumped me on the shoulder. "It's good to see you, Imri," she said, then turned to give a nice curtsy to Phèdre and Joscelin. "Welcome, my lady, my lord," she said, and gazing past them, simpered. "Hello, Messire Gilot."
Gilot coughed and avoided my eye. "Demoiselle Friote."
And that was that.
During the days that followed, Phèdre gave me leave to run wild, sensing my need for freedom after the constraints of the City and court. As long as I remained within the generous boundaries of the area patrolled by Denis Friote and the guard, I was free to wander.
I spent most of my time with Charles. He and Katherine and I had become fast friends during my first summer at Montrève, being the closest in age. At thirteen, Katherine had been willing to spend hours in the mews, listening to Ronald Agout, the old falconer, or tussling with the puppies in the kennels. She still had a little white scar on one hand where a hound-bitch snapped at her.
But now she was sixteen, and a young woman. It was beneath her dignity to play children's games. This, Katherine made abundantly clear.
She regarded Charles with the amused condescension of an older sister. By virtue of my status, I warranted a measure of respect, but only a small one. It was not that I minded, exactly—one of the things I cherished about Montrève was that my status as a Prince of the Blood was held in light regard—but I wanted her to see me as more than an old playmate yet to grow up.
I wanted her to see me as… what?
Not a man, exactly; but not a boy, either. I wanted Katherine to look at me as someone worthy of regard in my own right. It didn't have to be the way she looked at Gilot, which was downright foolish, but… well, perhaps a little bit.
I told her the story of Joscelin's and my vigil on the Longest Night and my dramatic illness that followed it, but women have a pragmatic streak when it comes to such things. Katherine merely cast an acerbic eye over me and said, "Boys and their folly! I hope Lady Phèdre had his hide for it."
Charles, at least, was properly impressed.
We had measured ourselves against one another, standing back-to-back in the stables. I was the taller by a good two inches, though I daresay he outweighed me. I envied his solid frame, the breadth of his shoulders. Colts' Years, Joscelin had said, but Charles was as sturdy as a plowhorse.
"Ah, well." He shrugged when I complained of it. "It's hard work that does it. But you wouldn't know about that, would you, highness?"
I thought about the hours I spent drilling with Joscelin. "Oh, indeed? Would you care to spar a few rounds with the Queen's Champion, farm boy?"
"Swordplay and scholarship," Charles scoffed. "You want to speak of hard work, try clearing a pasture or chopping wood."
It made me think of Maslin in the orchard, attacking a pear tree with a warrior's skill. "All right," I said. "I will."
Charles eyed me as though I'd gone mad. "Why? You don't have to, Imri."
"So?" I said stubbornly. "I want to. Set me a chore, and I'll do it."
He eyed me for a minute longer, then grinned. "Swear it?"
I nodded. "I swear."
I had cause to regret it within a day. Charles' father, the seneschal, had set about a plan to expand the pasturage of Montrève in order to increase its flocks. By my oath, I was bound to help with the task.
It was backbreaking work. Most of it was done by smallholders; crofters willing to do the labor and pay a tithe from their proceeds to the lord or lady of the estate. But in Siovale, there is a long-standing tradition of the manor-folk and crofters working side by side to the betterment of all, carving out fresh portions of pasturage or arable land. Not all the peers, obviously;