Kushiel's Justice (42 page)

F
ORTY-ONE

I
N THE LATE MORNING
of the following day, Sidonie came.

After the first day, I’d steeled myself against expecting her. In the midst of a dramatic moment, her promise had sounded well and good, but in the cold light of reason, I thought it unlikely that Ysandre would permit it. The Queen was a stubborn woman.

But then, so was her daughter.

Urist’s sentries let them pass. I was in the armory, testing hunting bows, trying to gauge the measure of my slowly returning strength against the sort of draw required to slow down a charging bear. I didn’t believe it when Isembart came to fetch me.

“Forgive me, my lord,” he said politely. “I understood your orders were to admit the Dauphine. Mayhap I was mistaken.”

“No,” I said. “Elua, no!”

I hurried to the receiving salon, my heart racing. I felt unaccountably nervous. I hadn’t been yesterday. Whatever I’d felt, it had been too incomprehensible and vast to admit mere nerves. Today it was different. And I still wasn’t entirely sure it was true.

It was, though.

Sidonie was there, accompanied by a dozen guards. Palace Guards, clad in livery of Courcel blue, but there were vertical stripes of a paler blue on their doublets, too. Maslin de Lombelon, who was mercifully not present, had been wearing one yesterday. She was of age now. She had her own personal guard. Mavros had said they were loyal to her. They must be, I thought, to accompany her here.

An attendant was taking Sidonie’s cloak when I entered the room. It was rain-dappled, and there were drops of rain in her hair. She was wearing a gown of amber silk. And although she was looking away, she turned her head toward me when I entered, the way it had been between us for so long.

“You came,” I said stupidly.

Her brows rose. “I keep my promises.”

I wanted to laugh and cry all at once, to sweep her into my arms and cover her face with kisses. I couldn’t, though. Today was different. It would have felt like a grave impropriety. And so we stood there, unsure how to proceed, while her guards and Urist and his men eyed one another.

“This is Captain Claude de Monluc,” Sidonie said, breaking the silence. “My lord Claude, Prince Imriel de la Courcel.”

A tall man with blond hair and keen, light blue eyes stepped forward and bowed, correct and exact. “Well met, your highness.”

I put out my hand. “And you, my lord.” Claude de Monluc hesitated only a heartbeat before clasping my hand. His grip was firm, and his expression gave away very little. “This is Urist mab Wrada,” I said, introducing him. “Commander of the garrison of Clunderry. Urist, her highness Sidonie de la Courcel, Dauphine of Terre d’Ange.”

Urist nodded, arms folded. His expression gave away absolutely nothing.

To my surprise, Sidonie crossed over to him and laid a hand on his arm. “I understand from Imriel’s kinsman that you brought him here to honor his wife’s last wish, my lord Urist,” she said quietly. “Thank you. That must have been difficult.”

His face softened. “Ah, well.”

Sidonie turned to me. “We should talk.”

I was glad one of us, at least, had a sense of propriety. “In my quarters,” I said. “Urist, I leave you in charge.”

Any other time, I would have given Sidonie my arm as a matter of simple courtesy. Even when we’d disliked one other, we’d observed Court protocol. Today I didn’t. We walked side by side, not touching, conscious of the distance between us, conscious of the watching eyes of the men behind us; half of them still grieving Clunderry’s loss, half of them weighing their loyalties and contemplating the Queen’s displeasure.

It was a blessed relief to close the door to the master chamber behind us. Sidonie let out a long, shuddering sigh. I reached for her and she came into my arms. I enfolded her and she wrapped her arms around me, pressed her face to my chest. I rested my cheek against her hair, feeling the rain’s dampness.

“What shall we talk about?” I murmured.

Her lips curved in a smile. “Anything. Nothing.”

We stood without moving for a long time. It felt so good to hold her, I could have stood forever. It was Sidonie who moved first, lifting her head, exploring my chest lightly with her fingertips and feeling the bandages Cailan had rewound last night beneath my shirt. “How bad is it?”

“Bad,” I said. “Getting better.”

“May I see?” she asked. I nodded. Sidonie undid the wooden buttons on my shirt, one by one. She had a deft touch, quick and neat. She went slowly, though, unwinding the bandages. Tears rose to her eyes, rose and overflowed. When the last coil of the clean linen strip fell away, she gasped. “Name of Elua!”

“You should have seen it before,” I said wryly.

“Don’t jest.” Sidonie shook her head. “The first news we heard, they weren’t sure if you’d live or die, Imriel. I never thought one could die of sorrow, I truly didn’t. But something broke inside me that day.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Will you tell me about it?” she asked softly. “Phèdre and Joscelin did try to explain before they left, but I’m not sure I understand what happened. Any of it.”

“Oh, gods.” I winced. “That letter . . . I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” Sidonie searched my face. “I just want to understand.”

I nodded. “I’ll try.”

We sat on the bed. I held her hands and began to talk. I told her all of it, without censoring any of the details. Things I hadn’t told anyone. How hard it was to leave her, how I’d tried to make my heart into a stone and bury it. The ways the Maghuin Dhonn had haunted me. The flute song, the laughter, the fouled spring. The night I’d let myself think of her for the first time, spilling my seed on
taisgaidh
soil. Morwen, the charm. The bindings I’d consented to. Dorelei, carrying our child. Berlik’s vow. How I hadn’t grasped the enormity of what I’d lost until the night of my Alban nuptials, the night I’d taken off the croonie-stone to read her letter, laughing and weeping like a madman.

Once I began, I couldn’t stop.

The words came and came. Clunderry, the cattle-raid, and Morwen again. The ever-changing future. The sight of my father’s spectre during the Feast of the Dead. Spring and hope, and Dorelei great with child, and then that night, that terrible night. The visions I’d seen in the stone circle. Alba at war. The burning groves, the toppling stones. My son, the monster.

The horns of Clunderry.

The screaming.

Berlik.

My voice faltered, there. I couldn’t speak of it, not yet. Of Dorelei lying on the table, her head turned too far, her eyes empty and open. Blood soaking into the cloak that covered her swollen belly. Not yet, mayhap not ever. It didn’t matter. I’d said enough. I was wrung out, damp with sweat. Sidonie pulled away and buried her face in her hands, shuddering.

“It
was
us,” she whispered. “That’s how they bound you.”

I didn’t lie to her. “Yes.”

“I wonder that you can bear the sight of me,” she murmured, lifting her head.

“Sidonie.” I gazed at her. All of the wondrous contradictions of her nature were written on her face. The dark Cruithne eyes, at odds with her fair coloring. The strong line of her brows, the same shape as my own, a legacy of House Courcel, countering the delicacy of her features. The sweet shape of her pink lips. I laughed with sorrow. “Ah, Elua! I didn’t think I could bear it either, not yet. I wouldn’t have come if Urist hadn’t insisted. If Dorelei hadn’t made him promise. And the truth is, she was right. Nothing’s changed it, not time or distance or horror. I love you. I could look at you forever. And I do believe that for whatever unfathomable reasons, Blessed Elua wills it.” I hesitated. “Unless you feel differently?”

“No.” She shook her head, then reached up and drew my head down to kiss me. “No. Never.” She kissed my lips, my throat, laying a trail of kisses toward my bare, ravaged torso. A shock of desire flared through me. “I love you.”

Ah, gods! It felt like a benediction.

“Sidonie.” My voice shook. “I swore an oath, I pledged myself to Dorelei and no other for a year and a day.”

“ ’Tis a vow meant to be kept to the living.” Her black eyes glittered with love and anguish. “How long will you stay here? A day? Two days? And how long will you be gone? Months? A year? I know you have to go. And Elua help me, I’ll wait for you. For as long as it takes, I’ll wait. I will.” She dashed impatiently at her tears. “But do you believe the gods are so cruel as to deny us this one morsel of joy?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

“I do. And I’ll not deny Blessed Elua’s precept a second time.” Sidonie looped her arms around my neck and began kissing me; a gentle rain of kisses, falling on my lips, my cheeks, my jawline, my eyelids, punctuating her kisses with murmured words. “Blessed Elua, hear your scion and grant us mercy, for we do but follow your precept. Gods of Alba, hear your scion and grant us forgiveness . . .”

That was as far as she got.

I was a man, mortal and in love. I took her face in my hands and kissed her, deep and devouring. And ah, Elua! It was so, so good.

I pulled her down on the bed, still kissing her. Sidonie clung to me, her body pressed against mine, making small noises deep in her throat. I unlaced her stays and got her out of her gown, kissing every inch of flesh I exposed. Her hands tugged impatiently at the laces on my breeches. I kicked off my boots, shimmied out of the breeches. My wounds burned, but I couldn’t have cared less. I rolled down her stockings, kissed the arches of her feet, then worked my way upward, spreading her thighs.

When I tasted her, Sidonie cried aloud, her hips bucking. She buried both hands in my hair, tugging. “Please!” she gasped. “Inside me, all of you. Please!”

I crawled up the length of her body. Slippery. Somewhere, my gouges were cracked and bleeding. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but sliding my rigid, aching phallus inside her tight, wet warmth, hard and deep, filling her to the hilt.

Why do we fit so well together?

Guilt and desire and yearning merged into one aching need.

Her heels, locked behind my buttocks. I growled, shoving her thighs wider. Fitting myself deeper. Her hips rocked upward to meet my thrust, nails digging into my back. Over and over, I drove into her, riding desire like a wave. Everything I’d wanted, everything I’d been denied. Our bodies were slippery with my blood. She bit my shoulder to stifle her cries, biting and sucking at my flesh.

I wanted more and more and more, and all that I wanted, Sidonie gave. She was the bright mirror and the dark all at once, reflecting all of me, good and bad. We reflected one another. We fit.

It drove away the horror. It kept the memories at bay.

It was a promise of absolution.

I felt her climax, the helpless shudder and surge of her body. I rode it hard, pushing her, pushing myself, until I could ride it no longer. I flung my head back, my back arching, and spent myself in her in a long spasm of white-hot pleasure.

And then collapsed on her, panting.

Sidonie freed one hand to stroke my face. I gazed into her black eyes, soft and satiated now. Her golden hair was spread over the pillow in tangles. The bright and the dark. She moved her head and kissed my lips with infinite tenderness. “You’re bleeding. I don’t think that’s good.”

“Probably not,” I murmured.

She pushed gently at me. “Roll onto your back.”

I obeyed, and watched her rise. She went to the washstand to fetch a bowl, a ewer of water, and a clean cloth. From behind, her naked body looked bright as a flame in the dim chamber. She came back to kneel beside me on the bed. There was blood smeared on her breasts and belly, sticky and drying. Sidonie ignored it, washing my wounds with care.

“You’re a good chirurgeon,” I said softly.

She rinsed the cloth in a bowl of clean water and dabbed at my ribcage. “I’d like to lock you up for a month or so, and nurse you back to health.”

I winced as the cloth caught the edge of a scab. “I’d have to punish you for being careless.”

“Oh?” Sidonie smiled. “I can be
very
careless.”

“You?” I smiled back at her. “Never.”

“Only the once.” She dropped the cloth in the bowl, then leaned down to kiss me before sitting back on her heels. “A very fateful once. Sit up. I need to put your bandages back on. I don’t think it’s bad, but you’re still bleeding.”

I let her rewind my bandages, and then I poured clean water in the bowl and made her kneel while I washed my drying blood from her, watching the pink-tinged water run over her creamy skin. “I was surprised that you came here,” I said. “I was afraid to hope.”

“Believe me, it wasn’t easy.” She smiled ruefully. “Mother threatened to have me confined to my quarters. And I threatened in turn to withdraw from the Palace altogether and take up residence on one of the estates that are a rightful part of my inheritance if she attempted to curtail my freedom. It makes a difference, having one’s majority.”

“I know,” I said. “I ran all the way to Tiberium.”

“And I ran to you.” Sidonie gazed at me. “To snatch a morsel of joy.”

My chest tightened. “I’d stay if I could,” I said. “But I can’t.” The spectre of Dorelei’s death rose between us. “I can’t forgo Kushiel’s justice. Not even for you, Sun Princess.”

Her brows quirked. “Did I ask you to?”

“No,” I said quietly. “You didn’t.”

“When will you—”

A knock at the door interrupted her. “My lord?” It was Urist’s voice, muffled through the dense wood. “There’s a D’Angeline lord demands to see you and the girl. Amaury Trente. Says he’s the Queen’s emissary. Small escort, four men. I don’t think they’ve come to fight. Should I admit him?”

Sidonie and I glanced at one another. She sighed. “Go. I’ll follow in a moment.”

“Yes, show him to the salon,” I called to Urist, who answered in the affirmative. I dragged on my breeches and boots, shrugged into the linen shirt and left it unbuttoned. There was fresh blood seeping through my bandages. I helped Sidonie find her scattered clothing, then kissed her and left her to comb out her thoroughly tangled hair while I went to see what Lord Amaury wanted.