Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [69]
By the time Gilot and I left, I was unsteady on my feet. I tried three times to put my foot in the stirrup, missing twice. The Bastard rolled his white-rimmed eyes at me. "Hup!" someone said, giving my buttocks a boost, and there I was, astride.
"Home," I said firmly, peering at Gilot. "Do you want to race?"
"Name of Elua!" Gilot looked pale. "I'm an idiot. Her ladyship will have my hide."
"All right, then." I was weaving in the saddle. "We'll race."
I put my heels to the Bastard's flanks, and he sprang forward like an arrow shot from a bow. I crouched low over his neck, laughing. His mane stung my cheeks. In the gloaming twilight, we raced through the streets. I could hear Gilot thundering behind me, trying in vain to catch us, his voice raised in a fading shout.
"Imri! Imri, stop!"
I didn't, not until I came within a hairsbreadth of running down a party of young nobles on the outskirts of Night's Doorstep. One of the women cried out in fear. The Bastard shied hard, flinging me onto his neck, then reared, hooves flailing the air. I managed to keep my seat and fought to regain his head.
"Fool boy!" A young lord in russet velvet scowled and drew his sword. "I've half a mind to lesson you with the flat of my blade!"
I felt chilled and very sober. "My lord, forgive me. I was careless."
He pointed at the paving-stones with the tip of his sword. "Apologize on your knees, whelp."
I heard an echo of the Mahrkagir's commands in his voice, and felt the shadow of Daršanga fall over me. I sat very still in the saddle, and the Bastard stood motionless beneath me, ears pricked and attentive. "No," I said softly. "I apologize, my lord, most sincerely. But I will not kneel."
"Oh, you will—" he began.
"Imriel!" Gilot burst upon us in a rattling clamor. Without an instant's hesitation, he drew his sword, pointing it at the angry lord. "Messire, drop your sword! Now!"
After a pause, the lord obeyed. His blade fell with a clatter. "Your highness," he said stiffly. "I pray your pardon. I did not know you in this light."
"It's all right," I said, embarrassed. "The fault was mine, truly."
"It certainly was," Gilot muttered.
Even so, they bowed to me as protocol dictated. We took our leave, riding at a sedate pace. I felt a thorough idiot. I stole a chastened glance at Gilot.
"I'm sorry," I said. "That was foolish."
"No," he said, "I was foolish. It was an ill-advised excursion, and I hold myself to blame." In the dim light, the corner of his mouth twitched. "Though I will say, you've got a wild streak in you, my prince. You and your spotted horse both."
"He's something, isn't he?" I patted the Bastard's neck. "Gilot… I'll keep this quiet if you will. If I go back through the garrison door, they don't have to know how long we were gone."
He looked sidelong at me. "Are you trying to save me trouble?"
"Yes," I said honestly.
"You shouldn't." Gilot's jaw set in a hard line. "I deserve it. I deserve to be dismissed."
"I'd rather you weren't," I said. "And I don't want to have to explain it to Katherine."
At that, he sighed. "Katherine!"
I put out my hand. "It's agreed, then?"
Gilot looked at my hand for a long moment. "All right," he said, clasping it. "Agreed."
At the townhouse, we found Benoit in a state of guilt-ridden agitation. It took no coaxing to enlist his aid in keeping quiet about our absence. Once the horses were stabled, we slipped into the garrison quarters where Gilot and Ti-Philippe and the others were lodged. I often spent time there visiting with them, and no one would think anything strange in it.
Still, I entered the townhouse warily, moving in silence.
I needn't have worried. Although the Lady Nicola had left, Phèdre and Joscelin were still in the salon, enjoying a rare moment of privacy. I heard their voices, low and murmuring, and stole toward the doorway.
"Do you think you will see her?" Joscelin asked. He was reclining on one of the couches, unusually relaxed, idly stroking Phèdre's hair as she leaned against him.
I stood in the shadows and watched.
"I