Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [64]
"They're only texts, Imri." Phèdre leaned against the bookshelves, a delicate frown knitting her brows. "You're curious. It's good to learn."
"Did you?" I asked, clutching both volumes.
"I did," she said gravely. "For a long time. You need not put it into practice. I didn't, not for years. But all knowledge is worth having."
"My thanks," I whispered, and fled.
I read the books she had lent me, and I learned. Strangely, it broke the long tension between us. The Trois Milles Joies dealt wholly with erotic instruction, but The Journey of Naamah examined the divine aspects of carnal love. When I read about how Naamah gave herself to the King of Persis to win Blessed Elua's freedom, and how she lay down with strangers in the stews of Bhodistan to earn coin that Elua might eat, I began to grasp an inkling of the link between desire and divine compassion—and in so doing, I gained a deeper understanding of Phèdre. What she had done was not so different. Both of them gave of themselves, and somehow gained in the process. And there was no shame in it, only love.
As for the rest of it, I felt easier knowing that such desires as plagued me were simply part and parcel of the human condition. I spent many hours poring over those tomes, yet when I returned them to her, although they'd made me restless with yearning, I felt a bit easier in my skin.
"So," Phèdre murmured. "Do you have questions?"
I shook my head. "No," I said honestly. "Not yet." I thought of Mavros' words, and laughed. "I'm not ready."
"All right." She smiled at me. "You know you may always ask."
"I know," I said. "And I'm grateful, but to be truthful, I'm not sure you're the best person to give me answers."
A flicker of pain crossed her face. She drew a deep breath and released it. "That may be true. But I would always try."
I nodded. "I'll think on it."
When summer began to give way to autumn, we made ready to return to the City. It was the first time that I did not do so with a heavy heart. Montrève had grown smaller, and I had changed. When I thought about showing myself at Court, there was something in me that regarded the challenge with grim satisfaction. Let the peers mutter and wonder; I would meet their sidelong glances with a direct gaze.
I was tired of being afraid.
* * *
Chapter Fourteen
There was the usual fanfare upon our return to the City of Elua—a merry welcome at the gates, a joyous reception at the townhouse and an official one at Court. For once, I didn't dread the latter. Part of it, of course, was my newfound confidence, a good deal of which I own I owed to my Shahrizai kin. But there was a large part of it that was due to a different reason, one that had nothing to do with anything save Alais.
I was bringing the pup I had promised her, and I was eager to see her response.
At five months, she—the wolfhound bitch—was almost half-grown. I called her Celeste. She was a tall, lean shadow, grey and hairy, with intelligent brown eyes and long-toed paws that promised further growth.
"You're sure you want to do this?" Joscelin asked dubiously. "At Court?"
"She'll be good," I assured him. "And Alais will love it."
In the parlor of Phèdre's townhouse, Celeste sat with her narrow jaws parted, red tongue lolling. Her hairy, whiplike tail swept the marble floor in a steady beat, while the bust of Anafiel Delaunay sat on its plinth, regarding her with an austere smile. She had been well-behaved on the journey, and I was proud of her.
Phèdre laughed aloud. It was a musical sound, scintillating and filled with pure delight. "Why not?" she said to Joscelin, eyes dancing with whimsy. "He's right, you know."
So it was that we arrived at the Palace.
With Phèdre's help, I had ordered a collar commissioned before we departed for Montrève; a wide band of gilded leather set with seed pearls, such as ladies of the Court use to adorn their lapdogs, only much larger. It looked very fine on Celeste. I held tight to her leash of soft, braided leather, admiring her regal pace as we proceeded down the hallways of the Palace, ignoring