Kushiel's Justice (44 page)

“It’s no effort,” I assured her.

“Nonetheless.” She picked up a ball of soap. “I insist.”

I let her bathe me, smiling at the simple pleasure she took in it. It reminded me of the pleasure I’d taken in rubbing Dorelei’s belly with flaxseed oil when the babe had gotten so big. The memory hurt, but it was good, too. And strangely, it did nothing to lessen my arousal. When Sidonie finished, we both clambered out of the tub. She patted me dry with a thick towel, careful not to disturb the water-softened scabs.

“Leave it be for now,” I said. “They need to dry. I’ve a salve to put on them later, it will keep the bandages from sticking.”

“Oh, I’ve somewhat else in mind at the moment.” Sidonie slid a dressing-robe over my shoulders; heavy black silk embroidered with the golden Shahrizai key pattern, thoughtfully provided. Her lips curved in a wicked smile. “Don’t worry, it’s no effort.”

She led me over to the nearest chair, the robe hanging loose around me, then knelt between my knees when I sat. Her naked skin was moist and flushed from the bath, her hair spilling over her shoulders in damp coils.

At the first touch of her mouth on my taut phallus, I groaned and sank both hands into her hair. Sidonie made the
languisement
an act of worship, performed with lips and tongue; beautiful, wonderful, and maddening. The sounds she made, the murmurs of pleasure, set my entire body to quivering. I never wanted to it to end and I never wanted to stop watching her. And then she took the whole of my shaft into her mouth, cheek and throat muscles working, and uttered a deep, stifled moan, and my eyes nearly rolled back in my skull. I held her head hard, my hips jerking, as my body sought to turn itself inside out, sending spurt after spurt of seed down her throat.

“Name of Elua!” I sank back in exhaustion. “No effort?”

“A little, mayhap.” Her voice was low and sensuous, hoarse from her exertions. Sidonie gathered herself and rose to straddle my lap, sitting on my knees. We regarded one another. “I love you,” she said. “You’re headed off Elua-knows-where, like as not into a hostile nation, pursuing a man who may or may not be able to turn himself into a bear, a bear that nearly killed you. Imriel, I understand why you have to do this. I do. But if you don’t come back, if you don’t survive this, I will spend the rest of my life with an aching hole in my heart, mourning you.”

I wound a lock of her damp hair around my fingers. “And this helps?”

“Yes.” Sidonie traced my lower lip. “If nothing else, I want to leave here with the memory of you inside me. Everywhere.”

“Everywhere?” I asked.

She leaned forward and kissed me. “We’d better eat. You’re going to need your strength.”

The servants of the manor house had provided a prodigious feast. We uncovered platters to find roasted partridge with a quince sauce, rabbit stew, simmered leeks and mushroom tarts, an array of nuts and candied peels of orange and lemon.

To my surprise, once the food was revealed, I discovered I was ravenous.

Small wonder, I suppose.

Sidonie, clad in a robe that was the twin of mine, ate half as much as I did and spent the balance of the time watching me with a spark of laughter in her eyes. “You needn’t stare,” I observed, washing down a mouthful of partridge with a swig of cool white wine.

She smiled. “Your appetite amazes and impresses me.”

I swallowed another bite and pointed my fork at her. “You’re the cause.”

“Oh, I know.” Her smile deepened. “It’s just . . . Elua! I don’t want to let a moment pass unmarked. It seems so strange, after all the secrecy and hiding, to be here with you, like this. Even if it’s only for one night. To have stood up to my mother, to have defied all those men today . . .” She shook her head in wonderment. “You know, I never thought I’d do such a thing for the sake of love. I could never have imagined the need. Betimes I think the gods must have a peculiar sense of humor, to visit this on us. Don’t you?”

“Yes.” I put down my fork. “Sidonie, if it comes to it, what if your mother
does
threaten to disinherit you?” When she didn’t answer, I pressed the issue. “Is it worth the cost?”

“Is it to you?” she asked.

“To spend my life with you?” I didn’t hesitate. “Yes, of course. But it’s not my birthright we’re talking about.”

Sidonie lifted her chin, gazing at the ceiling. “Blessed Elua cared naught for crowns or thrones,” she mused. “It was your mother who said that, wasn’t it? You told me so, once. Melisande Shahrizai may have done a great many bad things, but she was no fool.” She looked back at me, her black eyes unfathomable. “If it comes to it, and I pray it doesn’t, it would be
my
choice, my goatherd prince. Not yours. Mine.”

Why it was those words that caught at my desire and aroused me beyond bearing, I couldn’t say. There is no logic in love or desire.

It sufficed.

It sufficed to ignite a maelstrom in me.

I cleared the table with a sweep of one arm, sending dishes and platters clattering in a wholly unnecessary gesture. I stooped and picked up Sidonie, cradling her in my arms and carrying her to the bed, neatly remade by the manor house’s servants. This time there were no clothes to be disposed of, only robes, easily shed. I laid her on her stomach. She turned her head and watched as I went to fetch a vial of scented oil from the corner where the bathtub stood.

“Everywhere?” I asked softly, spreading a glistening trail down her spine.

Sidonie nodded, wordless.

Creamy skin, young and tight. I worked the oil into it, lower and lower. I pulled her to her knees, spreading her buttocks with both hands. Braced on her elbows, she shuddered when I touched the tip of my tongue to the puckered rose of her anus. Shuddered harder when I slid one oiled finger into her, then two. With my other hand, I caressed Naamah’s Pearl. Sidonie cried out, convulsing around my fingers.

“Do you want this?” I slid my fingers out of her and grasped my phallus, slickening it with oil. I positioned the swollen head at her rear entrance, prodding. “Do you?”

“Yes.” She gasped. “Elua, yes!”

I eased it into her, slowly. We both caught our breath when the head of it breached the tight ring of muscles. Ah, gods! She was so tight it nearly hurt, but it was so good, too. Inch by inch, I sank into her, until I’d sunk to the hilt, my testes pressed against her swollen nether-lips. Her head was turned on the pillow, her profile clean and clear, her features suffused with unspeakable pleasure.

“So full,” she whispered.

I withdrew a few inches, then thrust slowly back into her. She slid one hand between her thighs, rubbing. Faster. Her hips thrust backward to receive me, urging me onward. Faster, harder; full, deep strokes. I dug my fingers into her flesh hard enough to bruise, my breath ragged. The sensation when she climaxed was indescribable, sending me over the edge in an excruciating spasm of pleasure, buried deep inside her.

For a long moment, neither of us moved.

I rested my cheek on her back. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

It took a great effort to make myself move. My limbs felt heavy, my entire body languid with pleasure. I pulled away slowly, my softening phallus slipping from her. Sidonie sighed and rolled over. I lay down beside her.

She turned her head. “Did your wounds reopen?”

I glanced down at myself. “Not much.”

“That’s good.” Sidonie closed her eyes. “I’ll go fetch that salve. In a moment.”

“It can wait.” I pulled her closer to me, settling her head on my uninjured left shoulder. “Stay here a while.”

“All right,” she murmured.

Which of us fell asleep first, I couldn’t say. I heard her slow, steady breathing deepen, felt her limbs growing lax. And then there was only darkness, warmth, and peace, the low crackle of the fire dying in the hearth, the smell of lovemaking and the rain-washed scent of her hair. I slept and dreamed of joy.

F
ORTY-THREE

T
HE KNOCK AT THE DOOR
of the master chamber came before sunrise. Urist and I had agreed that we should leave at the day’s first light. I donned my borrowed dressing-robe and opened the door to find Isembart bearing an oil lamp.

“Forgive me, your highness,” he said. “Commander Urist said you wished to be awakened.” He glanced past me into the wreckage of the darkened room; the cold bath, blood-sodden bandages beside it, the remains of our dinner strewn around the floor amid shards of broken crockery. And the heir to Terre d’Ange, naked and sublimely disheveled, sitting in a tangle of bedclothes. Isembart’s expression never changed. “I’ll send attendants.”

“My thanks.” I took the lamp from him, closed the door, and eyed Sidonie. “You might put some clothes on, you know.”

She smiled sleepily. “He’s a steward for the Shahrizai. I daresay he’s seen worse.”

“Do it for my sake, then,” I suggested. “Or I’ll never be able to bring myself to leave.”

“Mmm.” A hint of regret clouded her smile. “Don’t tempt me.”

There was a part of me that yearned to stay. To barricade the door and return to the bed with Sidonie. To make love until we were limp and exhausted, covered in sweat and drenched with love’s juices. To tie her to the bedposts and fling open the doors of the flagellary. To explore every pleasure, the sharp and the sweet alike. To forget about the world that lay beyond these four walls and lose myself in her.

But there was the matter of vengeance.

I took a deep breath, feeling my scabbed bear-gouges stretch and crackle. I thought about Dorelei, laughing and alive, our son growing in her belly. All the lovemaking in the world wasn’t enough to assuage the deep ache of that grief. Berlik had rent my heart as surely as my flesh, and it was a scar I’d carry to the end of my days. I thought about the bear-witch and his sad, sad face. Somewhere to the north, Kinadius and the others were following his trail. I had to join them. There would be no lasting peace for me until Berlik was dead, and his head buried at Dorelei’s feet.

And if mighty Kushiel was merciful, I’d find the chance to kill him myself.

Sidonie slid into her dressing-robe and crossed the room. She touched my face, kissing me lightly. She was the eldest child of the Cruarch of Alba and the heir to the Queen of Terre d’Ange. I didn’t need to speak to her of love, honor, and duty. “There’s clean water in the ewer by the washbasin. Go wash, and I’ll find that salve you mentioned.”

I obeyed.

She did a good job of tying the bandages, better than the first time. She was a quick study. I watched her deft fingers at work and thought about what Alais had said about her. “We talked about you,” I said. “Alais and I.”

Sidonie gave me a quick glance. “Did you?”

“Yes.” I smiled. “She came to visit me every day in the temple, after it happened. I don’t think I could have endured it without her. She said betimes it was hard to be your sister, because you’re always the proper one. But that you’re fierce, too, only it doesn’t show. I said I knew that.” I watched her mouth quirk with amusement. “She said it was hard to think about, you and I. But she promised she would, if I promised to live.”

“Blessed Alais,” Sidonie murmured. “I miss her.”

“Berlik killed her dog,” I said.

“I know.” Her hands went still for a moment. “Turn around, I need to knot this in the back.”

I shifted. “Did you know Alais wants to rule Alba?”

“Oh, yes.” Sidonie tied the final knot. “Or at least to rule as Talorcan’s equal and see their children inherit. Imriel . . .” She sighed, sitting back on her heels. I turned to face her. “Will you please go kill this man, this cursed magician, so you can avenge your wife and your unborn child, and come home and marry me so we can spend the rest of our lives making love and discussing politics?”

Her eyes were bright with tears. I swallowed. “Yes.”

“Good,” she said.

While we spoke, attendants arrived and set the room in order; cleaning away the mess, kindling a new fire in the hearth, bringing boiled eggs, sausages, fresh-baked bread, and an assortment of fruits. They were swift and efficient, and once they had finished, there was nothing to do but dress and eat.

And leave.

Once we were under way, I thought, it would be all right. I would feel the drumbeat of my heart calling once more for justice, calling as it had yesterday when Deordivus arrived. There would be only the keen, insistent tug of vengeance, hard and cold. But right now, the memory of last night’s intimacy was too close, and the thought of leaving brought a tightness to my throat that made it hard to eat.

We both dressed in silence. I watched Sidonie brush her hair, turning a glorious tangle of locks into a smooth, shining fall. “Will you be all right at Court?” I asked her.

“I’ll manage.” She wound her hair into coils, pinning it artfully. “My mother’s temper will cool, and you’re not without sympathizers, Imriel. After all, you
are
emerging as a figure of great and terrible romance.” The words were wry, but the shadow of sorrow was still there. “It will help when Phèdre and Joscelin return,” she added, pausing. “What in Elua’s name are they doing, anyway? ’Tis an odd time for them to be gone.”

I laughed. “Unless I’m mistaken, hiding the Book of Raziel.”

Her hands froze. “Does anyone else know this?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“That’s a grave trust you’ve imparted to me,” she said slowly.

“I know,” I said.

Sidonie set down her hairpins with an inarticulate sound, came over and kissed me. I held her hard and kissed her back. “I hate this,” she whispered against my mouth. “I hate it so much.” She pulled away, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes for an instant. “You should go. This is only going to get harder. Where’s your sword-belt?”

I pointed.

She fetched it, knelt, and buckled it around my waist. I drew another deep breath, testing the pressure and pain. It was bearable. She’d found the vambraces, too; rose and slid them into place, fastening the buckles. My eyes burned. “Dorelei did this for me,” I said hoarsely. “The night . . .”

“Don’t say it.” Sidonie touched my lips with two fingers. “She loved you. I love you.”

“I have to go,” I said.

She nodded. “Make it swift.”

Urist had everything in readiness. We were travelling light for speed. No carriages, no wagons. Only our mounts and four pack-horses. They had assembled in the narrow courtyard, ready and waiting. A stable-boy was holding the Bastard’s head. I slung my saddlebags over his haunches, lashing them in place. I wasn’t carrying much, either. Salve, clean bandages. A change of clothing, borrowed from the closet of the master chamber. A woolen cloak. The satchel of coin Hugues had brought. His wooden flute. The polished croonie-stone. A golden torc around my throat, a golden ring knotted around one finger.

The dawning sky was grey, holding the promise of more rain. The Cruithne were mounted and waiting. Lord Amaury Trente was there. The Dauphine’s Guard was there. I glanced at the Bastard. He blew hard through flared nostrils and tossed his speckled head, doubting whether or not I was ready to ride. I wondered, too. Urist watched me without comment. He didn’t say what he was thinking, but I could guess. If I could ride a woman until my half-healed wounds burst their seams, I could ride a horse. No excuses.

I didn’t offer any.

Time to go.

Lord Amaury said somewhat; I don’t know what. It sounded as though he wished me well. I trusted it was so, nodded, and shook the hand he offered.

Sidonie.

Her guardsmen, headed by Captain de Monluc, stood behind her in tight, neat ranks. She looked small standing in front of them, the regal tilt of her chin belying the tears in her eyes. Neat and proper.

What a lie that was.

It felt like my heart would burst.

I didn’t have any words left. There was too much to say, not enough time to say it. I enfolded her in my arms and held her close, held her hard enough to hurt, hard enough to defy all the forces of the world that sought to separate us. Sidonie clung to me, burying her face against my chest. I bowed my head over hers. I didn’t want to let her go, not ever. Horses snorting, a shuffling of hooves.

“Go.”
Sidonie pushed me.

I went.

My eyes were blurred. I took the Bastard’s reins, found the stirrup, and hoisted myself blindly astride. Settled myself in the saddle. I shook my head, blinking, trying to clear my eyes. “I love you,” I said roughly.

Tears shone on her cheeks. “Just come home.”

Urist blew his hunting horn; a clear, clarion call, piercing the leaden dawn. Unexpectedly, Amaury Trente saluted, pressing a closed fist to his heart. His brown eyes looked over-bright. After a second’s hesitation, Claude de Monluc followed suit, and so did all his men; Sidonie’s guards. Another time, it might almost have made me laugh. Now it made me want to weep. Urist glanced at me.

“Ride.” I cleared my throat and repeated it more strongly. “Clunderry,
ride
!”

We rode.

We rode fast and hard, thundering down the entryway and turning onto the road. Deordivus took the lead, heading unerringly north. My wounds burned and ached. I concentrated on keeping my seat. The Bastard ran smoothly beneath me, stretching his legs. I gritted my teeth and settled into the pain, welcoming it. It was a fair price to pay for the pleasure I’d taken.

Behind us, the manor house dwindled.

I don’t know how long or how far we rode in that first burst. Deordivus led, but Urist set the pace. Too fast for common sense, really, but he knew what he was about. He’d watched me, he gauged me. Trees and fields passed in a green blur. Urist didn’t give the order to slow for a long time. Not until the wind of our passage had blown away the sharpest of the lingering remnants of yearning and desire that clung to me, until I was able to fix my mind on the distant horizon.

“Walk!” Urist called.

We slowed to a walk.

It must have been a long time; the other horses were blown, and the Bastard was sweating, reins damp with lather. I patted his neck, then felt at my torso. If I was bleeding, it wasn’t bad.

Urist ranged alongside me. “All right, lad?”

I nodded.

“Doesn’t come often, does it?” There was sympathy in his voice. “Passion like that.”

I gazed at the grey sky. “Gods above, I hope not.”

He laughed, reached over and patted my arm. “Remember who you owe it to. Hold hard, ride hard. Do it for
her
.” Urist’s voice hardened. “Our lass, our sweet lass, the one who loved you enough to free you.”

“She was my wife, Urist.” I held his gaze. “She would have been the mother of my son. Do you truly imagine I could ever forget what I owe her?”

“No,” he said after a moment. “No, I don’t.”

After that, he left me to ride in silence, and the others did, too. I was grateful for it. It had been a hard parting, harder than anything I could have imagined. The first time, I’d felt numb and half-dead inside. Sidonie and I had been young and uncertain. It was all different now. There was no uncertainty and all my emotions were honed to a keen edge, aching and tender. For the first time in my life, I knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, exactly what I wanted. I knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, that I was wanted in turn. And I was riding in the opposite direction.

I didn’t try to hide the pain from myself. I settled into it, letting the pain in my heart echo the soreness of my wounds. In time, both would diminish and grow more bearable. I knew that now. After Dorelei’s death, I hadn’t thought the enormity of that grief would ever grow less raw and overwhelming, that I’d ever wake to face a new day without feeling my heart scourged anew with a tide of anguish and helpless fury. But bit by bit, I was learning to live with it. We live, we heal, we endure. We mourn the dead and treasure the living. We bear our scars.

Some of us more than others.

There was guilt, of course. There would always be guilt. If Sidonie and I had been more brave, if we’d had the courage to trust in our love, in Blessed Elua’s precept, Dorelei wouldn’t have died. The shadow of that knowledge would always lie over us. That, too, I would learn to bear. So long as there was brightness, I could accept the darkness.

As we rode, I became aware that we hadn’t managed to outrace gossip. It had been two days since Sidonie walked up to me in full view of the watching Palace and kissed me; one day since she’d managed to silence Barquiel L’Envers in front of a considerable audience. D’Angelines love gossip, and the news had spread fast. Every traveller we passed glanced curiously at us, and there were covertly pointing fingers, wondering stares, hushed whispers.

But they had heard the other news, too.

News of Dorelei’s terrible death, of magicians and bears and dire enchantments. Of the oath of vengeance I’d sworn, of the trail that had been found. Urist and his men rode grim-faced, surrounding me, countenances forbidding comment or question, and I was glad of it, since I’d no wish to speak to anyone. Still, it seemed to me that mayhap not all of the stares were condemning. In some, especially among the commonfolk, there was a measure of awe and sympathy.

It gave me hope. I cherished it, that hope.

We made camp that night near the edge of a forest in northern L’Agnace. I was stiff, my muscles unaccustomed to riding, but not as sore as I expected to be. The overcast sky had cleared before sunset, so we didn’t bother with the tents. I lay wrapped in my bedroll, gazing at the stars. I went over in my mind the memory of every moment I’d spent with Sidonie in the past day. Every moment, great and small. I polished them like jewels, examining every facet.

And then I put them away, one by one, locking them away safely in my heart. Not buried, not denied. Safe. Hidden. Like as not, we had a long, dangerous journey ahead of us. I needed my wits. I couldn’t afford to be distracted, mooning endlessly over my girl. And if there was anyone in the world who would understand, it was Sidonie, with her streak of cool pragmatism; Sidonie, who’d been careless only a fateful once.