Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [50]
Joscelin grimaced as they entered the courtyard.
"Comtesse de Montrève!" Mavros saluted Phèdre from the saddle, then dismounted gracefully and accorded her a deep bow. The others followed suit. "Lady Phèdre," he said, rising, "we are grateful for your hospitality."
"Montrève welcomes the Shahrizai," Phèdre said, smiling.
"Lord Joscelin." Mavros turned to him, inclining his head in a gesture of respect. "To you, too, we give our thanks. And rest assured, our men-at-arms do but guarantee our safety in the passage. They will depart anon, and return for us in a month's time."
I think Joscelin very nearly rolled his eyes; and yet it was courteously done. He gave his Cassiline bow in return, fluid and precise. "Your men are welcome to pass the evening here, Lord Shahrizai. There is ample room in the guardhouse."
"My thanks, Messire Cassiline, but we will not strain your hospitality." Mavros turned toward me. "And you, cousin!" He strode forward, then paused to deliver an elaborate courtier's bow. "Your highness, I should say."
"Imriel," I said. "Just Imriel, here."
"Imriel, then." Mavros grinned as he straightened, his teeth flashing white in the muted daylight. Our eyes met on a level. I had grown since we had met in the Hall of Games. He reached out to clasp my forearm in a strong grip. "Mayhap I might aspire to Imri, one day?"
I returned his grip with more strength than he expected, enough to make him wince. "Mayhap, cousin."
Mavros laughed with unabashed delight. "Ah, well, I'm pleased to see you in excellent health! You remember Roshana and Baptiste?"
"Cousin Imriel." Roshana's voice was melodious. Though I seek to avoid memories of my mother, that is one thing I have never forgotten—her voice, as sweet as strong honey. When I was a child of eight, before I knew aught of who or what I was, I had loved her for it. Before I could flinch, Roshana stepped forward. "Well met, once more," she said, giving me the kiss of greeting as though we were both adults. Her lips, brushing mine, were soft and full.
Two kisses in as many weeks. I glanced toward Katherine, who was near the entrance to the manor. She was staring, wide-eyed. I sensed, without fully knowing why, that the nature of the game had shifted once more. Charles, standing beside her, glowered.
"Well met, indeed!" I laughed, extending my hand to the third member of the party. "Baptiste, is it?"
"Aye, cousin!" The youngest Shahrizai nodded exuberantly, braids flying. He clasped my hand with boyish goodwill, his face alight with eagerness. "So," he said cheerfully. "What do you do for fun here?"
Over the course of the days to follow, Baptiste's question was answered. For the most part, we roamed and hunted, spending hours afield. I had feared the Shahrizai would disdain the pleasures of the countryside. I had been wrong. Kusheth is a harsh land, and they understand vigorous pleasures. There was nothing soft about my Shahrizai kin.
They were skilled.
They were skilled, and they charmed the folk of Montrève with their skills. Not Phèdre, no, who beheld them with an amused tolerance—and of a surety, not Joscelin. But the others, yes. They charmed the manor-folk with unfailing courtesy, and Richeline conceived a particular fondness for high-spirited young Baptiste. Within days, they charmed most of the men-at-arms; even Ti-Philippe, who had been almost as dubious as Joscelin about their arrival. They charmed Katherine and Charles, who regarded them with reluctant fascination.
They charmed the old falconer Ronald Agout, and Artus Labbé, the kennel-master. The hounds of Montrève were a distinct breed; wolfhounds, they were called in Siovale, although they will hunt almost any game. Our dogs hail from Verreuil. Joscelin's brother Luc sent one to us my first summer here, a pregnant hound-bitch ready to whelp. Since then, her offspring have stood us in good stead, interbreeding with other