Authors: Jacqueline Carey

Tags: #High Fantasy

Kushiel's Scion (82 page)

BOOK: Kushiel's Scion

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I nodded. "I do."

A flicker of distress crossed Gilot's features. He glanced at his splinted right hand. "Oh, Imri! What about Anna and Belinda? What if—"

"Listen." I squeezed his good hand. "Gilot, if you want to stay here for their sake, no one will begrudge you, least of all me. I'll speak to Denise Fleurais. I've no doubt the ambassadress can find a use for a man of your talents. And if you wish to return to Terre d'Ange and bring Anna and her daughter with you…" I shook my head. "Name of Elua, Gilot! I've two holdings I've no use for. I'd as soon appoint you my liaison to deal with them. You've a knack for it, you learned enough at Montrève."

He looked steadily at me, his eyes as faithful as a hound's. "What of you?"

I made myself smile. "It doesn't matter."

"Why?" he asked. "What of you, Imri? What will you do?"

"I'll marry Dorelei." It felt odd to say the words aloud. I hadn't even known I'd decided until I spoke them. I freed my hand from his gently. "Gilot, I will take example from your loyalty. I'm doing no good here, not even for myself. After Lucius is wed, I'll take my leave of Tiberium. I'll do what the Queen wants, plight my troth to Dorelei mab Breidaia and go to Alba. I'll be a good D'Angeline Prince of the Blood and do my best to foster peace and harmony betwixt our nations." I laughed softly. "The stunted tree will seek sunlight."

Gilot sighed. "You promise? Because I'm mortally weary of worrying over you."

"I do," I said solemnly. "Only let me see Lucius wed first. It's only a few weeks hence, and you're not fit to travel. I have been a poor friend to him, and he deserves better."

"And then we go home?" he asked in a hopeful voice. "Because I think… I think if Anna is willing, I would like that. I would like it very much."

I nodded. "And then we go home. I promise."

Chapter Forty-Six

Upon returning to the insula, I discovered Canis was gone. Not absent; gone. The only trace of his presence that remained was a faint circle on the dusty street where his barrel had stood. I stared at it for a moment, then went to speak to Master Ambrosius.

The incense-maker was in good spirits. He had been more kindly disposed toward me since learning that I had kept his shop from being burned. "Smell this, young sir!" he greeted me, waving a bowl beneath my nose. "What think you?"

I sniffed. "Interesting."

" 'Tis camphor and crushed cardamom seeds from Bhodistan." He beamed. "Do you reckon D'Angelines would find it pleasing?"

"I do, yes." I smelled it again. The mixture was pungent and spicy, but not displeasing. "It's a proud scent, I think. I would offer it to Azza. Master Ambrosius, have you seen Canis?"

"The beggar?" He shook his head. "No, he was gone when I opened the shop this morning, and his filthy barrel with him. And good riddance. Begging your pardon," he added. "You seemed fond of him."

"So I thought." I touched my purse, feeling the broken pieces of the clay medallion mingling with my coins. The incense-maker's eyes brightened. I thought for a moment. "Master Ambrosius, I'd like to make offerings to Blessed Elua and his Companions. Mayhap you might help me choose?"

He was more than eager. Together, we debated gravely over a dozen different incenses. He told me the components of each one and asked me which I thought suitable for each deity in turn, nodding at my comments. I made my selections, and he measured careful scoops into burlap pouches. Remembering Master Piero's lesson, I understood better why the incense-maker had shown little regard for the University's students in general, and me in particular. This was the first coin I'd spent in his shop.

In the end, I left with my arms laden. "Master Ambrosius, will you do me a kindness?" I asked him. "If Canis should return at any time, will you send word to me? Only don't let him know."

He nodded sagely. "Owes you money, does he?"

I hesitated. "Somewhat like, yes."

"I'll do it."

Obeying my whim, I departed the insula and headed for the D'Angeline embassy. The day's heat was rising and shops were beginning to close their doors, but I was able to purchase a cheap leather satchel in the Great Forum. It was poorly cured and stank a bit. I smiled, thinking about how we had cured gazelle hides to make waterskins by burying them in hot shale in Jebe-Barkal. It had worked better than whatever method had been used here. Still, the satchel served to contain my myriad pouches of incense, and I made my way to Lady Fleurais' palazzo trailing a most peculiar aroma behind me.

At the embassy gates, the guard on duty stared at me. "My lord?"

I stood before him in a miasma of ill-cured leather and incense. "Her ladyship said she would leave a standing order to admit me," I said. "But if she is available, I would speak with her." He continued to stare, his gaze travelling from my face to my feet. I realized, then, the figure I cut. I was wearing dusty student's togs, rumpled with sleep, and the crude rope sandals I'd bought after the rioting. Until today, my ankle had been too sore to consider replacing my boots. "I know," I said. "But it's important."

The guard gave himself a little shake, then opened the gate to admit me. "Name of Elua!" He grinned at me. "The Comtesse de Montrève would die of shame to see you thus, your highness."

I laughed. "Like as not."

He escorted me to the temple garden and went to send word to the ambassadress. In the height of the midday heat, the garden was empty. Not even the priest was about. I took off my sandals and knelt in the green grass, removing the pouches of incense and arranging them in order. And then, one by one, I made my offerings at each of the altars, filling the bowl before each effigy and kindling the incense with the fire-striking kit that had been our guide Bizan's farewell gift to me.

Another memory of Jebe-Barkal. It seemed fitting. As hard as the journey was, I had been happy there. It was there that Phèdre and Joscelin had found healing together. It was there that I had begun to know myself loved.

I said prayers as I lit each bowl; prayers for all those lost in the zenana, all who had not survived the uprising. Remember this. I said prayers for the survivors, and most of all for Kaneka, tall Kaneka, who had been a pillar of strength. I said prayers for everyone we had met in our travels who had done us a kindness, and a few who had not. I prayed for my kin… the family of my blood, Mavros and Roshana and Baptiste, Ysandre and Sidonie and Alais. And for the family of my heart.

Phèdre.

Joscelin.

And the others, too—all of Montrève's household, and most of all for Gilot. For him, I offered an incense of chamomile, hyssop, and cedar gum to Eisheth, praying she would send him healing. I prayed, surprising myself, for Maslin of Lombelon, a traitor's child who bore a dark shadow like my own on his soul. I remembered the joyous pride I had first seen in Maslin's face and offered Master Ambrosius' new mixture to Azza on his behalf, praying that he might regain it one day.

I prayed for Dorelei mab Breidaia, whom I barely knew.

And for Eamonn, whom I loved dearly, and Master Piero in his wisdom, and my haunted friend Lucius. For him I made an offering of attar of rose and amber to Naamah, hoping he might find love. I hesitated, then prayed for Claudia, too. I made her offering to Kushiel, spikenard and mastic, praying his justice would be merciful on the both of us.

It was a long process.

I saved the last offering for Blessed Elua; mistletoe and myrrh. And to Elua, I said no prayer, but merely knelt and bowed my head before his grace. I stayed there for a long time.

"Prince Imriel?"

I rose, stiff-jointed, and bowed. Midday had passed and the shadows were lengthening. In the center of the garden, Denise Fleurais gave a soft, wondering laugh, gazing around her. From seven bowls on seven altars, dying trickles of fragrant smoke arose.

"'Tis a wondrous thing you've done, your highness," she said. "What does it mean?"

"My lady," I said softly. "I'm ready to go home."

We spoke long into the night, first over dinner and then over glasses of cordial. As it transpired, the ambassadress had canceled an engagement to put herself at my disposal. It felt peculiar. So often, this self seemed unreal; Imriel de la Courcel, Prince of the Blood, third in line for the throne of Terre d'Ange. I'd not grown up knowing it. I'd grown up a goatherd, not a prince and a traitor's get. It had been thrust upon me unwanted.

Inside, I was only me. Imriel; Imri to a few.

An orphan among orphans, a slave among slaves.

But it was real, and time enough I acknowledged it. And so I spoke of my thoughts and plans. I kept my word to Ruggero Caccini. I said nothing of the attempts against my life, and I said nothing of the letter I held implicating Bernadette de Trevalion in the matter. I would deal with her in my own time, and I hadn't yet decided the manner of it. But in everything else, I spoke candidly to Denise Fleurais. I saw the wash of relief that suffused her face. She was a diplomat. She knew what was at stake in Alba.

"May I tell her majesty?" she asked.

I shook my head. "I'd prefer to do it myself. You have couriers?"

"Yes." She rang a handbell. "I'll send for paper and ink."

I wrote two letters that evening. The first was to Ysandre, and it was formal and brief. I announced my plans to remain in Caerdicca Unitas for several more weeks to attend the wedding of a friend, and return to Terre d'Ange in autumn, before winter made the passage dangerous. I tendered my offer to wed Dorelei mab Breidaia in the spring, should all parties concerned still find it desirable.

The second letter was to Phèdre.

I lingered over it, but there was too much to put into words. In the end, I opted for brevity, with a promise to explain more upon my return. I smiled at the thought of the impatient happiness it would evoke in the household, and kissed the parchment before I sealed it.

"Will your courier see this is delivered first?" I asked, handing it to Denise Fleurais.

She raised her brows. "Before your missive to the Queen?"

"Yes," I said. "Please."

The ambassadress studied me. "Will you permit me to have my couturier attire you for this wedding you're determined to attend?"

I laughed. "I will."

Denise Fleurais inclined her head. "Then we have a bargain, your highness."

BOOK: Kushiel's Scion

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