Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [97]
Eamonn released my hand and made a fist, pressing it to his breast. "What you have told me, I will keep close to my heart," he said soberly. "Your secrets are mine, Imriel. Only know that I honor them, as I honor your courage."
"My thanks." I knuckled away a fresh onslaught of tears, sniffled, and laughed. "I did precious little to deserve it, other than survive. Ah, Elua! Well, if I am betimes brooding, now you know the reason why."
"I do," he said simply. "And it is enough that you survived. It is more than enough."
"There are other stories, other times," I cautioned him. "Some of them… are worse."
Eamonn squared his shoulders and nodded. "Do you wish to speak of them?"
"No. One was enough." It was true. And yet, strangely, I felt lighter and happier. Having shared the burden of my memories, it had grown easier to bear. The adepts of Balm House were right; there was healing to be found in trusting others. I got to my feet. "Come on," I said. "Richeline will be waiting supper on us."
That night, my sleep was dreamless and peaceful.
I wished it might always be so.
* * *
Chapter Twenty
Summer in Montrève passed quickly.
It was a time of high-spirited adventure and youthful daring. My confession to Eamonn had released a streak of wildness in me, and together we rode roughshod over the countryside. There was no harm in it, only an excess of exuberance. Together, we dared one another to find higher trees to scale, higher crags from which to leap, larger prey to hunt. Within the confines of Montrève, we sought ways to outwit the border guard; outside it, we sought ways to give the slip to our own men-at-arms.
We found girls, too.
Many of them were eager and willing in the Siovalese countryside. I learned to carry the baggage of my past more lightly and, like Eamonn, engage them with a smile. I put the lessons Emmeline of Balm House had taught me to good use, and I learned a few more in the bargain. Although it was never quite the same.
As much as I hungered for it, I never felt the same hovering presence of blessing. This was carnal pleasure, pure and simple; young human animals coupling for the sheer joy of it. Betimes I lost myself in it, and yet it never seemed I went far enough. Not as far as I wanted, so far that I escaped from my very self.
Afterward, it left me melancholy.
I never showed it to the girls I bedded, although some of them sensed it. With them, I was ever courteous and respectful. If they wanted for naught, I made them pretty gifts. If they had need of aught—for some of the crofters' families were impoverished—I made discreet inquiries and tried to see to what was needed. Still, it did naught to assuage the black mood that sometimes befell me after love-making.
Eamonn always knew.
We spoke seldom of it, but I could tell. Betimes, he would seek to lift my spirits through his own ebullience; at others, he merely left me to brood in peace. And at other times, he would goad me into sparring with him. Being evenly matched, we honed our skills against one another.
It was good to have a friend.
He still yearned for a bout with Joscelin; a real bout, steel on steel. Throughout the summer, Eamonn begged and wheedled, until at last, Joscelin assented. They fought in the inner courtyard, with all of Montrève turned out to watch. When Joscelin appeared wearing only his daggers, Eamonn was sore disappointed.
"You promised me a real bout!" he said, aggrieved. "Where is your sword?"
Joscelin caught my eye and gave his half-smile. "I was trained as a Cassiline Brother, Prince Eamonn. We draw our swords only to kill. I will not draw mine against you, even in sport." He set himself, drawing both daggers and bowing, vambraces crossed. "Try me."
It went fast; impossibly fast.
Eamonn charged with a shout. It was the same attack he had used against me in our first bout, buckler high and sword low; but Joscelin was prepared for it. However ill-suited the Cassiline style might be to a formal battlefield, Joscelin had learned to adapt it to a thousand