Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [72]
"Ah." Phèdre raised her eyebrows. "But I am Naamah's Servant, still, and guessing and wondering is part of our stock-in-trade. If I am ever called, I will draw upon years of speculation for my asking price. Does it trouble you so much?"
"Not as much as the Lady Nicola," I said truthfully.
She laughed. "You would like her, you know, if you gave her half a chance."
"I'll try," I muttered.
"Ah, love." Phèdre cupped my face in her hands. "I don't mean to make your life harder. I'm sorry if I have handled this poorly. I should have spoken to you before."
"I wouldn't have listened." I turned my head, resting my cheek against one cool palm. Something in my heart ached, sensing that one day, this, too, would be lost to me. "And I will try harder, I promise."
After that, I did.
In a rare moment of whimsy—one that was prompted by the Lady Nicola—Queen Ysandre decreed a Celebration of the Harvest in the royal apple orchard that year. It is a small orchard of no more than twenty trees, contained within the Palace walls, but the trees were lovingly tended and bore an abundance of fruit.
I will own, it was a pleasant affair. After a cold spell threatened to blight the last apples of the season with frost, the weather relented, and autumn flung out one last, glorious gasp of warmth. Everyone was clad in rustic attire; rustic, by Court standards. I wore a simple white shirt and laced breeches; but the shirt was sewn of the finest white cambric and the breeches were fawnskin, soft as a glove. They had been made to measure by Favrielle nó Eglantine's chief apprentice.
Phèdre fussed over me before we went, making sure my collar lay just so.
"Oh, Imriel!" She laid one hand over the soft deerhide laces that crisscrossed my breast. There were unexpected tears in her eyes. "Wearing that, you remind me of—" She caught herself, shaking her head. "Do you have to grow up so fast?"
I smiled down at her. "I'm going as slowly as I can."
We arrived in the early afternoon to find the fete in full resplendence. Tables set with sumptuous linens were set here and there, laden with savories. Rich carpets had been spread beneath the trees that the D'Angeline nobles might picnic upon them. Musicians strolled along the tree-lined aisles, pausing to serenade various parties. At the center of the orchard stood a great cider press, gleaming with gold inlay. It must have taken eight men to carry it there. It made me laugh aloud to see it, and I found myself wondering what Maslin of Lombelon would make of this courtly idea of a working orchard.
"Imri!" Alais' high voice greeted us. She ran into me, hard, wrapping both arms around my waist. "You came," she said, muffled.
"Of course." I hugged her back, bemused. The wolfhound pup Celeste circled us, frisking. "Why wouldn't I?"
"I don't know," Alais said. "I'm always afraid one day you won't."
"Are you afraid I'm going to run away with the man with two faces?" I teased her. "The one from your dream?"
"You might," she said gravely.
I ruffled her hair. "Not likely, villain!"
As befitted our status, we were seated on the Queen's carpet along with the other royal kindred. Fortunately for me, Duc Barquiel L'Envers was not in attendance. I kept my word and greeted the Lady Nicola and her son Raul with unforced courtesy. If no one else found the situation awkward, I had no intention of rendering it so.
Shortly after our arrival, Ysandre proclaimed a contest. She was in fine fettle that day, smiling and at ease, clad in a simple velvet gown the color of ripe chestnuts with a wreath of chrysanthemums and anemones adorning her fair hair. It made me realize how seldom I had seen my cousin the Queen happy.
"My lords and ladies!" she called. "I summon you to the harvest! In a quarter hour's time, let each of you gather as many apples as you may, and the victor may claim a forfeit of any of the losers!"
There were cheers and mock groans; the latter, mostly from the women, who were disadvantaged by their skirts. The lower limbs of the apple trees had been picked bare, and only the upper