Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [98]
"Ah… thank you," I said uncertainly.
He cocked his head at me. "Do your people practice the art of algolagnia?"
"Algo …" I gave up. "I'm sorry. It's not a word I know."
"It's from the Hellene," Balthasar said. "Algos, meaning pain, and lagnia, meaning lust." His expression was candid and pleasant. "The art and practice of finding pleasure in pain."
I blinked. "Are you quite serious?"
"Quite." Although his expression didn't change, something predatory surfaced behind his eyes. I could feel his gift coiling around him. It had very sharp edges. "Don't dismiss it until you've tried it, my lady."
"I'll think on it," I said.
Thierry sighed. "Balthasar, go away."
At that moment, one of the beaters flushed a hare. Three of the handlers slipped their hounds from their braces. The hare dashed frantically across the meadow as the dogs gave chase, vying with one another to drive the hare toward their master. A footservant handed Thierry a loaded crossbow, an elegant weapon with decorative pearl inlay.
I unslung my bow from my shoulder and nocked an arrow, but when the hare raced past us, I didn't have the heart to shoot. I could sense its panic.
Thierry's shot went wide and someone else made the kill. "Ah, well." He handed his crossbow back to the servant to be reloaded, then looked at me and laughed. "What in Elua's name is that?"
"What?" I lowered my bow.
He nodded at it. "It's very… rustic. Forgive me, I wasn't thinking. I'll see you're given a proper lady's bow."
"Why?" My fingers tightened on the resilient yew-wood. "This is a perfectly good bow. My uncle Mabon made it for me."
"Ah." Thierry sobered. "I see. Were you very close to him?"
"No," I said slowly. "Not exactly." How could I explain how it was among the Maghuin Dhonn? I'd met Mabon only twice—but he was kin. I remembered hunting with him in the park in Bryn Gorrydum where he'd summoned the twilight in rolling waves, making it dance like the tunes he played on his silver pipe. He'd told me not to let the D'Angelines mock me for not knowing their ways. "It reminds me of home."
"Then you must keep it." Thierry leaned over and touched my arm. "I think it's charming. And I promise, I'll not tease you for not knowing how to hunt."
I eyed him. "I know how to hunt."
He smiled indulgently. "Not in the D'Angeline manner."
I bit my tongue on my irritation. It was true. And I didn't much care for the D'Angeline manner of hunting. No one was here because they needed to fill their supper-pot. It was sport, pure and simple. They wagered on the dogs, wagered on one another's prowess. Footmen loaded crossbows for the lords and hunted for spent bolts. The ladies wielded pretty, gilded short bows, mostly conscious of the fact that they made a delightful picture when they drew and took aim in the saddle.
To be sure, Jehanne did.
But the more frantic and terrified the hare, the more difficult the chase, the better the sport was reckoned.
By the time Prince Thierry made his kill on the fourth hare flushed, the sun was high overhead. "I'm blooded!" he called in a good-natured voice. "Shall we pause and enjoy a repast?"
From across the meadow came a chorus of agreement.
The silk pavilions beckoned. As we converged at a brisk trot, I rode beside Thierry and did my best not to moon over the fact that Raphael was saying something even more amusing to Jehanne, his head bent toward hers. Her laughter rose in a bright spiral. Even without seeing it,
I could picture the graceful line of her white throat, his engaging smile. Things I had recently kissed.
And then Thierry's horse stepped into a hole and stumbled hard. Thrown from the saddle, he pitched over its head with a shout.
"Elua!"
The bay shied. Beneath me, Blossom shied, too. In a sick flash of memory, I saw Cillian dead on the litter and his dented skull. But there was something else, too. Something other than Thierry's