Kushiel's Avatar (Phedre's Trilogy #3)

Kushiel's Avatar (Phedre's Trilogy #3) Page 32

"I saw them." I had no answers. Imriel de la Courcel was strong, strong and willful. It was clear in all that was said of him, clear in the stamp of his blood lineage. And, too, he was Melisande's son. Whatever else one could say of her, there was no end of courage in Kushiel's scions. Would Imriel bend or break? I could not say. "Was it that which angered you so?"

"Yes." He rubbed his palms on his knees as if, even now, they itched to strike. "Do you remember . . . you said something to me once. It was in Morhban, after you'd . . . well. As we were leaving."

"I remember." It had been on our mad chase to Alba, to bring Drustan mab Necthana and an army of Cruithne to D'Angeline soil to face Selig's invading Skaldi. I had traded my favors to Duc Quincel de Morhban in exchange for passage across his holdings; a trade, I think, neither of us regretted. Joscelin had been less pleased. Although we'd not been lovers at the time, my anguissette's proclivities offended his sensibilities.

"You tried to explain it to me—the pleasure, the relief in surrendering one's will to a patron. You asked me if I didn't feel somewhat similar when I gave in to defiance, when I fought against the Skaldi, Gunter's thanes, or Selig's, even knowing I would lose."

"And you owned that you did." I smiled. "I accused you of having a terrible temper."

"Buried under Cassiline discipline." Joscelin acknowledged it with a nod. "You were right, though I didn't want to hear it. Even so, I've never felt the sort of rage that could only spend itself in another's suffering. I felt it, the other day, when we found those poor children. I wanted to see the Carthaginians bleed for what they had done. It frightens me, Phèdre, to know that's in me."

"As it should." I touched his arm. "Joscelin, what's in you is no worse than what's in anyone else; a good deal better, rather. You're just more loathe than the rest of us to accept your own mortal failings. In the end, it's what you do with them that matters."

He looked sidelong at me. "I accepted you, didn't I?"

"Eventually," I said evenly. Joscelin laughed.

"Ah, well. . . the thing is, Phèdre, what would happen if I did give in to it? Such a rage, I mean."

"I don't know." I thought about it and shook my head. "Who can say? All I know is that if you ever did, you'd have a damnable good reason for it.”

"I suppose." It relaxed him a little. "I hope it never comes to it."

Our voyage passed in like days, bright and idle. The Aragonian crew was pleasant and good-natured, and we dined some evenings at the Captain's table in his neat quarters. He was from Amílcar, an ed ucated man who spoke fluent Caerdicci. He reckoned himself Count Fernan's man, but he spoke well of Lord Ramiro and his D'Angeline wife. Nicola, I knew, was a gracious hostess. I daresay Ramiro owed his present appointment to her skills, though to his credit, he seemed to do a fair enough job at it.

At length we arrived in Marsilikos.

If I had been less impatient, I would have paid a visit to Roxanne de Mereliot, the Lady of Marsilikos. She had been a friend for many years, and one of the few I trusted implicitly. But I was loathe to delay after so long on the road, through mountains and over sea. We had left one pack-mule in Siovale and the other in Amílcar; by now, we'd naught but our mounts and such baggage as they could carry. It would do. There were inns and villages all along Eisheth's Way to the City of Elua. If we hoarded our remaining coin with care, we needed to carry little in the way of provisions.

Travelling lightly and tarrying seldom, we made good time. It was a glorious summer day when we reached the City of Elua.

I hadn't realized how good it would feel to come home.

The white walls of the City glowed like a promise in the lazy afternoon sunlight and the guards, recognizing us, ushered us through the southern gates with a cheer. We had been missed. I saw even Joscelin smile, and raise one hand in salute, steel vambrace flashing. Truly, I thought, this has become his home, too. He has a place here, that no longer exists for him in Verreuil.

Word raced ahead of us, borne by one of the intrepid lads such as hang about the guards at the City gates, waiting for something of note to happen. I've no doubt Eugenie paid him in coin for the news, for by the time we arrived at my charming house tucked into the end of a winding street below the Palace hill, a joyous reception awaited us.

"Name of Elua!" Ti-Philippe was fair dancing with excitement. "It's about time you came back, my lady! Whatever missive you sent to the Queen, Court's been buzzing like a hive for a month and more, and her close-mouthed as a clam about it. You could have sent to us, you know. What is it? Did you find the boy?"

I opened my mouth to reply.

"Oh, let her be," Eugenie scolded, thrusting Ti-Philippe out of the way and coming forward to embrace me. "Come, my lady, ignore him. I've water heating for the bath, it will be done in a trice, and supper to follow. Julien's run down to the market to see if they've got fresh snapper yet ..."

On it went, a litany of domestic comforts. I was home.

Ti-Philippe could wait; I had my bath first, luxuriating in hot water, fragrant with sweet oils, a handful of dried lavender floating on the surface and candles set about everywhere. When all was said and done, I was a courtesan still. Nicola was right in that. My bedchamber, I share with Joscelin, and no patron has ever seen it. But my bathing-room was my own.

Afterward, I lay on the massage-table and Eugenie's niece Clory rubbed my travel-weary body with an oil containing an infusion of mint, soothing and refreshing. I scarce knew the girl; she'd been new-hired in the spring. Not so new, now. It was I who had been absent.

"You've good hands, Clory," I murmured, eyes half-closed.

"I've been studying with a masseur from Balm House, my lady." Her voice was tentative, though her hands were sure, thumbs pressing hard into the small of my back, relieving days' worth of saddle-ache. "Aunt Eugenie said you would be pleased?"

"Your aunt is a wise woman." In the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, Balm House is dedicated to comfort and solace. I sat up re luctantly. "Thank you, Clory."

She flushed with pleasure, holding out a silk robe in the proper manner. "You liked it? Master Lugard said a raw apprentice wasn't fit to tend to Kushiel's Chosen."

"What?" I looked over my shoulder, twisting my damp hair out of the way. "Well, the more fool, he. Listen to your aunt, child, she's wiser than him. I grew up in the Night Court, and I know how its servants gossip. I was one. Your skills are a welcome addition, but in my household, as Eugenie knows well, I value discretion above all else. Do you understand?"

"My lady." Clory bobbed a fervent curtsy, oil-slickened hands clutched together as if to hold something precious. "I understand, my lady. I would never betray your trust, never!"

"Good." I smiled at her, thinking to myself; child, Blessed Elua, I called her child! I never thought to hear such a thing from my own lips. "And the next time anyone dares suggest you're not fit to serve me, tell them I say otherwise.”

"I will, my lady." Another curtsy, adoration in her eyes. "Thank you, my lady."

Ah, Elua. I sat before my mirror after dismissing Clory. My own face regarded me quizzically, fair and shadowed by candlelight, the dark pools of my eyes, a rose-petal of crimson marring the left, beautiful still, but not a maiden's anymore. A mouth made for love, the smooth curve of eyelid, brows arched like gentle wings. How long, I thought, tracing my features in the steam-misted glass, before it begins to fade? It is one of the ephemeral qualities most cherished in Cereus House— beauty at its fullest bloom, before the first sere kiss of frost. If I were an adept proper, pampered and cosseted, I might maintain it for years. On the road, the dark road that lay ahead . . . who could say?

"Phèdre." Joscelin leaned in the doorway. "Ti-Philippe's like to die of impatience if you don't come down to supper, and Clory's dropped a plate of sliced melon in Eugenie's geraniums. What have you done to overexcite the poor girl so?"

"Me?" I looked up at him. "Nothing."

"No?" He grinned. "It doesn't take much, with you. Come on, let's eat. I understand young Hugues has composed some few dozen poems in your honor, too. You'll not want to miss them."

TWENTY-FOUR

AFTER AN excellent meal—and indeed, a number of dubious verses—we talked long into the night, Joscelin and Ti-Philippe and I; I daresay we'd have stayed up until dawn, if not for the fact that Ysandre had left standing orders for me to report to her presence upon my return.In the end, I went short enough of sleep as it was. Mayhap it was folly, but thus is ever the case in matters of love. I was reminded, with each homecoming, how precious was the life I had been given, how scant the time in which to cherish it. I was Kushiel's Chosen, yes; but Naamah's Servant, too. And she sees fit to reward her servants from time to time.

Moonlight filtered through the garden window into the bedchamber, the fine-spun linens soft and welcoming, scented with dried herbs. I dropped my robes standing in a square of moonlight, reached up with both hands to unbind Joscelin's braid when he had shed his own clothing. The tips of my breasts brushed his hard chest and his unbound hair spilled like flaxen silk over my hands, over his shoulders. I pressed my mouth to the hollow of his throat, tasting the salt of his skin, tracing his collarbones with my tongue.

"Phèdre," he whispered, lifting me onto the bed.

I used my art, yes; it was not the first time. I had, for this moment, a respite from Kushiel's unbearable presence, the demands of his choosing. It was a full moon that hung over my garden—Naamah's moon, a lovers' moon, round and silver. I let it take me, take us both, the tides of my blood matching its draw. A yearning of heart and loins, simple and sweet. I performed the languisement upon him until his phallus leapt like a fish on a line, taut and straining, a shimmering drop of seed forming at the tip.