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Kushiel's Pupil	By : Seraphis Category: G through L > Kushiel's Trilogy Views: 5698 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Kushiel s Trilogy, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Kushiel's Pupil
- 2-TWO
- 3-THREE
- 4-FOUR
- 5-FIVE
- 6-SIX
- 7-SEVEN
- 8-EIGHT
- 9-NINE
- 10-TEN
- 11-ELEVEN
- 12-TWELVE
- 13-THIRTEEN
- 14-FOURTEEN
- 15-FIFTEEN
- 16-SIXTEEN
- 5
- 6
- 7
SIX
I think, mayhap, that my mother was more meticulous with me in preparation for my four-day encounter with the Shahrizai than she had been while dressing me for the Royal fête. She had commissioned, from Favrielle nó Eglantine, a complete set of winter hunting and riding dress, to the dismay of our esteemed couturiere, though the sets of slim-fitting jackets and calfskin trousers she made certainly disguised my leggy frame, and allowed for freedom of gesture, enhancing my well-balanced athleticism.
My parents rode with me to the Palace, in a carriage, with Hephaestos fastened behind. Father had allowed me to bring my vambraces, and a pair of daggers, which hung low on my hips. Imriel had laughed, when I complained of the many trips of Favrielle’s salon. ‘Phèdre,’ he had remonstrated, ‘will you never tire of making Ana your doll? When she is of age, she will be sick to death of your pampering, so that she will choose to go about in rags.’
‘Will she indeed, Diogenes?’ she replied, and Imriel had blushed. I looked out the window, and watched the buildings and people we passed.
‘Ana,’ my father’s voice drew my attention toward him, ‘I do not doubt your comportment, but you must promise us to behave yourself, and allow Imriel to look out for you. We are entrusting the honour of Montrève to you, and you to Imriel, and you must uphold it.’
I nodded. I knew it was a grave trust which they were giving Imri, but it was not the first time he had looked after me. When I was six, he had remained at Montrève with me when mother and father had gone to Verreuil to see my uncle Luc, papa’s elder brother. We had gone fishing all day, and he put me up on his saddle horn, telling me stories of Tiberium, and of the siege of Lucca, when he had fought beside Gallus Tadius, come back from the dead.
This, of course, would be very different. Not only would I be riding my own horse, but we would be surrounded by Shahrizai, who bore the gift of Kushiel in their veins, the ability to see the fault-lines in others, to use them, or wait till they could be used. Imriel, I knew, carried also this gift, and betimes used it over me, unthinkingly. But that was different. I loved him, trusted him. He was my brother, and not raised by such a notorious House.
We arrived at the Palace, and found that Imriel was waiting to depart. We would ride to the lodge, but there was a small trap accompanying us, containing a valet for Imriel, and one of Sidonie’s own ladies-in-waiting to care for me. However, before we could leave, we were summoned to the Queen’s presence. Sidonie sat beside her mother in the throne room, appearing unwontedly cheerful for a woman whose husband was leaving for a weekend with his libertine relatives, even for a d’Angeline. As for Ysandre, there was a crease of worry between her brows, the same that I had seen my mother try so many times in these past two weeks to conceal.
I bowed to her, and she gave me a tight smile. ‘You are certain,’ Ysandre addressed my parents, ‘that you wish to do this?’
‘Imriel has his company of guardsmen, and besides, Mavros would himself be put to the sword before allowing harm to befall the Prince.’ My mother replied confidently. ‘I trust him, even if I do not like him.’
‘And I,’ Sidonie said, laying her hand upon the Queen’s wrist, ‘both trust and like him, and I do not think that Anafielle, out of all the children in our family, is one who will be easily swayed by new friends and ideas. They are,’ she paused, and thought for a moment, ‘our kin. As she is, as Phèdre and Joscelin are. As Imriel is.’ Ysandre sent a cool glance in his direction, but said nothing for a moment.
‘Well, if that is all. And if you are satisfied that she will come to no harm,’ she said, again, to my parents.
‘We are satisfied.’ My father said, and the Queen nodded.
‘Well, you must be underway, then.’
We left the throne room, my father and mother, Imriel, and I, and stopped, in the courtyard, where our horses and small retinue was waiting in readiness for our departure. Mother stooped, and kissed me, and murmured a prayer to Elua for my safety. Father was solemn, as he tightened my belt. ‘You promise,’ he said, to Imriel, ‘that you will have her outside, every morning, practising her forms. Teach her tight circles, make her go through all of them, that she will forget none, and do not allow for her pleading glances. She will drill for three hours, betimes, when it suits her, so do not allow for less than an hour every morning.’
‘Of course,’ Imriel nodded, and embraced mother. ‘Phèdre, you need have no fear. Mavros will see to everything, and Taurus is a temperate child.’
‘Indeed,’ she said, an oblique expression in her dart-stricken eyes, and when she looked at father, he repressed a laugh.
‘Imri, warn poor Mavros’ son of her temper.’ Papa said, as we mounted up. I rejoiced at the feeling of Hephaestos moving between my legs, the strength and restiveness of him, and repressed the urge to give him his head, and allow him to sprint down the road. Indeed, there was time enough for my horse to weary himself, though the road to the Shahrizai manor was not a long one.
Imriel and I whiled away the time by playing games which he and my mother had invented, games of languages, and of observation. He confounded me, more often than not, for mother had not yet begun to teach me the game of covertcy. She promised me that I should begin to study it when I turned ten, and I wondered how I would study it when I was fostering in the City of Elua. Mayhap Imriel would teach me. He had learnt, well enough, in his youth, though I did not know when he had the occasion to use it.
We arrived at the Shahrizai lodge as luncheon was being served, and I admit, I was glad of the respite. After two weeks out of the saddle, I was ill accustomed to riding, and my legs felt the strain of it. It was a manor house, not overlarge, but convenient for a hunting party, and only half a league from the City. We gave our horses to the grooms that greeted us, and were led directly to the dining hall by an attendant. There were some eight persons sitting and leisure round a table, all but two bearing the unmistakeable stamp of the House Shahrizai.

Lord Mavros stood as we entered, coming forward and throwing his arms round Imriel. ‘Ah, you’ve arrived! I was beginning to worry you’d been waylaid upon the highway. Come, sit, and eat. You know everyone here, do you not?’
Mayhap Imriel was acquainted with them, but I was not. Lord Mavros and Lady Roshana, I knew, but another Shahrizai, a man, was unfamiliar to me, as were all three children, and another woman, who was not born of the House. There was, however, one at the table whom I counted as a friend. ‘Gerard!’ I exclaimed, catching myself before I abandoned all decorum and rushed forward to embrace him. ‘I mean,’ I stopped, and bowed, ‘my Lord de Mereliot.’
‘You know my husband, then?’ Lady Roshana smiled indulgently.
‘My parents and I took a holiday with Lady Jeanne,’ I replied. ‘Is the fishing here so abundant as in Marsilikos?’ I inquired.
‘Indeed,’ Gerard de Mereliot smiled back at me, his handsome face lit by genuine delight, ‘not in the winter, though in the spring there are trout aplenty. This is my daughter, Oriane,’ he motioned to a girl of not more than five, ravishingly lovely, with a plush, peach-blossom complexion and eyes a shade lighter than those of the other Shahrizai.
Lord Mavros introduced me to Baptiste, Lady Roshana’s brother, and his wife Vivienne, as well as their children, Narcisse and Maphiste. Narcisse was a coy girl of perhaps fourteen, with a sly, though ready smile, and Maphiste was seven, with merry eyes, and a restive way about him. ‘And this,’ Lord Mavros said, ‘is my son, Taurus.’ He was a solemn-eyed boy of twelve, who nodded to me, mutely. I bowed.
‘I am Anafielle Verreuil, Vicomtesse de Montrève.’
‘She is your cousin,’ Imriel said, ‘by my fosterage with her parents.’ It was a little more formal, than, perhaps, it should have been, but I was nervous, and even with Imriel at my side, there was somewhat that lacked in my security.
‘Sit, sit.’ Lord Mavros insisted, and I hesitated for a moment, before Narcisse beckoned to me.
‘Come, vicomtesse, sit between Taurus and I. We have been positively aching for a new face.’ There was somewhat in her smile that was both open and dangerous. I moved forward, forcing myself not to glance backward at Imriel, and sat between the two Shahrizai. An attendant came forward to place a glass and trencher before me, and filled the latter with a portion of sweet hare, and a sort of flour porridge flavoured with a sharp yellow cheese and fresh parsley.
‘So, you are our near-cousin, then?’ a hesitant voice whispered to me, closer than I thought propriety dictated. I turned to stare into Taurus Shahrizai’s midnight-sky eyes, and saw behind them the beginnings of a thousand questions.
‘I suppose,’ I hesitated, but continued. He did not seem so sharp-eyed and dangerous as the others, but slower, quieter, and, mayhap, softer. ‘I do not know you, so I do not know well how to appreciate the shared kinship.’
‘Uncle Imriel visits often,’ Narcisse said, on my right, reaching over my dish and cutting my meat, as one does for a very young child. ‘Did you know that my father fostered at your county for a summer?’
‘Yes. I met Lord Mavros and Lady Roshana at the Palace some time ago.’

Taurus grinned suddenly, his smile a slash of white between red lips. ‘Lord Mavros, she says. Aye, but she is no cousin of ours, Narcisse.’
‘We shall teach her to be.’ The girl said, to him, though it was me she looked at. ‘We are near-kin, be it by fosterage or by blood, it matters little. But vicomtesse, you simply must allow me a little freedom with your beautiful hair! It is such a shame to have it so tightly braided all the time, and not allowed to tumble round your pretty face.’
I was much astonished by her words. Never had I been, yet, described as ‘pretty.’ We are d’Angeline, and if we are all beautiful, we are still more conscious of the absence of beauty. I was well accustomed to the suppressed comments, and polite murmurs of ‘lovely enough,’ and, ‘so like her father,’ but for so striking a girl as Narcisse Shahrizai, and, indeed, striking she was, to declare me so offhandedly to be pretty was a singularity indeed. ‘Uncle Imriel says you sit a horse very well,’ Taurus nudged me with his shoulder, ‘can you sit one through a hunt? I admit, I could not, at your age.’
‘I am nine,’ I protested, ‘and shall be ten in the spring.’
‘Yes, well,’ he shrugged, ‘it is still a fair thing to say that you are well capable of riding a hunt.’ He paused, and touched my elbow, under the table. ‘It was a compliment, you know.’
I felt my cheeks redden. ‘Oh,’ I said, rather foolishly, and Taurus’ smile deepened.
‘Well, aren’t you rather meant to say, “thank you?”’ he sipped from his cup, and it seemed to me that he was looking beyond, rather than at me. I nodded curtly.
‘Thank you.’
‘Oh, Taurus, you mustn’t!’ Narcisse cooed, ‘She is really so charming and fresh.’ I had heard that precise combination of words before, and what it really meant was, ‘ah, the sweet provincial.’ I do not know why, but I liked Taurus a little more because of it, and because of his next words.
‘She isn’t stupid, Narcisse.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘She obviously knows enough of life to ignore me.’
‘But I wasn’t ignoring you.’ I insisted. ‘I simply—’ I thought, and chose my words. ‘—I am not at all good at this. You are right, Lady Narcisse, I am provincial, and simple.’
Narcisse and Taurus’ combined laughter caused the adults, momentarily, to glance at us. Imriel caught my eye, one brow raised in inquiry, and I lifted my chin. ‘Not quite provincial enough to miss the faults in my cousin’s phrase, eh?’ Taurus elbowed me again, and I found the gesture companionable. ‘So, Montrève,’ his smile took on that reckless quality I had observed in his father, ‘tell us what else they teach you in Siovale.’
‘Not much,’ I joked. ‘We ride horses and shoot deer.’
‘Ah, of course.’ Narcisse cast a cautious look at her mother, a green-eyed brunette, who was flirting shamelessly with Imriel. ‘But you shall be a fair hand, I think.’ She did not say what it was she supposed I had a talent

for, but the mystery was not long in resolving itself.
After luncheon, Oriane and Maphiste were put to bed for an afternoon rest, and Narcisse, Taurus, and I were permitted to sit at the fire with the adults, so long as we entertained ourselves while their parents and Imriel spoke. Narcisse produced a deck of cards, and suggested we play a game out of Kusheth, called borders and banquets. It was played on a singular deck, fashioned specifically for it, in which no card was higher than another, but with which particular combinations, played one after the other, might conspire to beat another. It was a complex game, one which I had little natural talent for, as it was based upon the premise that all its players bear the gift of Kushiel in their veins, and could read the fault-lines in their opponents, thus discerning patterns of behaviour. Very soon, I found that, while I tired of the game itself, I found endless fascination in observing how Narcisse and Taurus confounded one another by turns.
I saw almost immediately that what I had taken in Taurus for solemnity was really an unhurried thoughtfulness, and what I had seen as slyness in Narcisse hid a razor keen wit. She was a shade more decisive, perhaps, than her cousin, but he was more patient, and had learnt better to conceal his intentions. It was noticed, first, by Lady Roshana, that I had dropped out of the game, yet was still observing the remaining players. She tapped her brother, and motioned toward me, with a smile that was very much like that of a cat looking down into a pool of fish. I saw them, out of the corner of my eye, whispering to one another, and laughing occasionally in dulcet tones. I gave no indication that I saw them speaking about me, and essayed to appear absorbed in my contemplation of the game.
Truly, it was not so difficult an attitude to represent, for both Narcisse and Taurus were fascinating to observe, the hands they played, and the way they challenged one another. It was a study in beauty and control, with both of them physically at their leisure, and mentally poised to strike. Betimes, I felt as though the cards were immaterial, but that they might easily have played this game under the guise of a casual conversation. I believe I am not mistaken in believing that the Kushelines are a canny, and, yes, a dangerous people, though they do, unfortunately, tend to underestimate danger, for the simple fact that they are taught so early to encounter it. They do not, however, treat it as the Camaelines do, with a drawn sword and a wary stance—rather, they smile and extend the hand of friendship. It was this peculiar trait that distinguished Melisande Shahrizai’s treatment of the Skaldic warlord, Waldemar Selig, and also, the stoic Black Shields of Camael—the Unforgiven, few of whom are still alive, patrolling the Skaldic border.
These, I knew somewhat of, for we had, the previous summer, gone to Camael, my parents and I, with a company of Montrève guards, and we had come across a company of Black Shields. There were only five of them, men of my father’s age; grim, hard men, who bowed to my mother and put themselves immediately at her disposal. I do not well recall their faces, but they seemed, each one, so like the other, but I well remember their expressions. They were tired—no—weary. It was in every line of their bodies, in the way they held their heads. They were proud, very proud, but weary of it.
It was raining outside, so that any thought of riding over the grounds was impractical, a bath had been drawn for me, and I found myself steeped, as it were, to the neck in hot, scented water, as Sidonie’s maid worked her fingers through my hair, sloughing away the dust of the road.
As the evening wore on, the rain outside quickly whipped itself into a violent storm, which seethed angrily outside the manor house. If it had been a storm outside the Castle Montrève, I should have slept the better for the wailing wind and crashing thunder, but I was in a strange room, amongst strangers. Kin to Imriel, yes, and his presence made theirs easier to bear, but it could not give me the sense of familiar safety that I lacked. I wanted nothing so much as to walk down the hall to Papa, to climb into his bed and his arms, to hear my mother’s drowsy whisper before she fell back to sleep. Even Ti-Philippe and Hugues would have sufficed, but they were not present, either.
I rose from my bed, reaching for my belt, which hung upon one of the head posts, and withdrew a dagger, finding a flint and taper, and striking the flint against the steel of my dagger. A spark leapt between them, catching the wick of the taper, and turning rapidly into a small flame. Indeed, the lightning outside was so bright that I scarcely required the candle, but the process of performing so mundane an act was soothing to me. Taper in hand, I located a warm dressing gown and my slippers, and opened my door, peering out into the hall and feeling very small in the face of its shadowy gloom.
I swallowed my fear, reasoning to myself that this was no monster’s lair. This was the house of my kin, had once been a haven for Imriel, when his forbidden affair with Sidonie had come to light, so many years ago. I conjured up the image of Gerard de Mereliot, handsome and smiling, how he had fished with me in Marsilikos, how he seemed unaware, sometimes, of everything save his sharply beautiful wife.
I stepped out into the corridor, holding the taper before me, squinting into the darkness, approaching the staircase which I knew would lead down to the deserted common areas of the manor. There came a soft creaking behind me, and I leapt round, poised, either to fight or fly, watching, transfixed, as one of the doors swung slowly open.
‘Why, Montrève,’ a newly familiar voice murmured, ‘what are you doing out of bed?’
‘Lord Taurus,’ I sketched a brief bow, which made him grin. ‘I can’t sleep.’
‘None of this “lord” business, Montrève, you are kin.’ He came forward, and took my hand. ‘You made a dreadful lot of noise, moving about in your room, and then clodding round out here. We’ll be lucky if Maphiste doesn’t wake, and come running to see what we’re up to. Little scamp.’
‘We’re not “up to” anything.’ I narrowed my eyes, but he tugged on my hand.
‘Of course we are. We are always up to something.’ His confident statement, considering I had only met him that afternoon, perplexed me. ‘Come along.’ I followed him. How not? He was some three years my superior, and seemed infinitely more at his ease, and besides, I could not sleep. He led me back, away from the stairs, treading softly, but with a stride so quick the taper nearly blew out twice. Down a few hall twists, and into a pair of double, arched doors, and it was a moment before I realised he had taken me into a library. ‘You like books?’ he inquired, and I nodded.
‘Betimes.’
‘Good. Come.’ He brought me forward a little, and shoved me onto a settee covered in cushions. It was not an urgent push, but it was imperative, with a command I would never have expected in a child. Now, I know that is only his way, to place people at odds with his masterful confidence and to observe their reaction. He went toward a shelf, and selected a book. It was well-thumbed, an anthology of Hellenic myths set to verse, the sort of thing one would expect should entertain a young noble.
‘What are you doing?’ I inquired, as he settled down beside me.
‘Are you warm?’ he said, ignoring the question.
‘Yes.’
‘Good. You may rest your head on my shoulder, if you like.’
‘Why? What are you doing?’ I demanded again.
‘I,’ he sighed, with the air of one explaining the state of affairs to a simpleton, ‘am putting you to sleep.’
‘By reading?’
‘Yes,’ his tone grew mildly indignant. ‘Do not your parents read to you when you are restless at night, or during storms?’
‘Well, betimes. Usually, they will tell me stories. It is only Charles Friote who will read. Everyone else has their own stories.’
‘I am not old enough,’ Taurus fixed me with an impatient look, ‘to have any good stories yet, so I shall read you those of other men.’
‘Very well.’ I settled closer, under the arm he had flung over the back o the settee, and he opened the book. It was illuminated beautiful, with colourful wood block prints, depicting scenes from the myths. Clearing his throat, Taurus began to read the tale of the arrogant King Minos, and of his wife, cursed Queen Pasiphaë, who had sinned with a bull, and produced the flesh-hungry, monstrous Minotaur, which was slain by the Hellene hero, Theseus. I recalled, vaguely, other legends attached to it, those of the Flight of Icaros, and the marriage of Theseus to Phèdre, after whom my mother was named. The lull of his voice drew me into the tale, filling my mind with images, weighting my eyelids down. The even beating of his heart beneath my ear, and the rise and fall of his breathing drew me away from my awareness of the storm raging outside, and I was grateful that he had given me permission to lay my head upon him, for very soon, I had sunk down and sleep claimed me.
~
I woke on my own, and all at once, my habitual morning forms the first order of the day. Taurus was sleeping beside me on the settee, his hair unbound, but seeming, for all the world, as though he had not spent the night in the library. The book of myths lay open on his lap, and I did not wake him as I returned to my room. I changed quickly out of my night dress, and into a set of soft grey green trousers, a white shirt, and, over this, an undyed woollen jacket. Buckling on my daggers and vambraces, I headed down the stairs. I found Imriel in the common room, standing before a roaring fire, with Lord Mavros. As I came into view, they smiled.
‘Ah, you are just in time.’ Imri extended a hand. ‘I was about to start forms without you. Are you sparring yet?’
‘No, but father says it will come soon. I last learnt the final quarter-phase of the répas du heron. Will you do it over with me? I am not so clear on the last lunge, and the snap after it.’
‘Yes, of course. Come.’ He led me out into a freezing courtyard, where we bowed our heads and spoke the brief prayer to Cassiel. Turning, at last, to stand side-by-side, we flowed instinctively into the forms.

Practise with Imriel was different from with my father. His circles were tighter, more self-protecting. Father had never taught him to protect a ward, only himself. I thought, mayhap, that Imriel would be faster, but he was only marginally so, and only with his left arm. We drilled for perhaps two hours, a long practise, even for a master, and by the time we had finished, our hosts were watching us, except Oriane de Mereliot, who was, I think, too young to take interest in anything beside dolls and frocks. I felt a little awkward, as though I were on display, for them to judge, to observe, to analyse. However, when Taurus handed me a towel to wipe away my sweat, I could see a sort of respect in his eyes that had not been present the previous day, and certainly not when we played at borders and banquets, as I had not precisely been a worthy opponent.
‘My father,’ he said, as he led me to the dining hall, ‘told me you were dangerous, in your own way, and not as we are. I think, mayhap, that you will be very impressive someday.’
‘Someday? Am I not impressive now?’
‘No, you cannot possibly be. Not until you have grown into yourself much more.’ He was very forthright, more so than Laurient, and though the words he spoke might have been offensive, their intent was only truth. In this, he was different from Narcisse, who fawned and exclaimed over my hair and eyes, and of whom, by luncheon, I was thoroughly sick. She had attempted to dress me in three different frocks, had brushed my hair twice, had threatened me with kohl and carmine, and had succeeded in forcing my feet into a pair of silken slippers the colour of dead leaves.
‘They are tea,’ she insisted, while I rolled my eyes and though she must be daft. Tea was a hot drink served with honey, and betimes milk. Tea was not a pair of slippers, and if they were, I had no further interest in tea. Lady Vivienne was scarcely better, and Lady Roshana did not aid matters by suggesting they teach me a little about embroidery. This was, of course, not an improvement, but I could at least feel secure in the knowledge that neither my hair nor wardrobe would be altered during an embroidery class.
When I extracted myself from the clutches of the Shahrizai women, I found Imriel and Lord Mavros poring over maps, discussing the hunt, which was to take place on the morrow. There had been foxes sighted, and deer, as well, but there were still two or three bears that had not gone into hibernation, which they desired to stay well clear of. ‘So, little Montrève,’ I noted, with amusement, how both Lord Mavros and his son addressed me by my county, ‘how fair a hand are you with a bow?’
‘Fair enough, Lord Mavros,, though my strength, mayhap, will never equal that of a true yeoman.’
‘Well enough, for I saw how you handle your dagger. I take it that Montrève is still fair grounds for rabbits and foxes?’
‘And wolves, my Lord.’ I nodded. ‘This summer past, I helped my father and our men-at-arms chase down a pack that was preying upon our sheep.’
‘And your mother approved?’ Imriel inquired sceptically, and I blushed.
‘Charles Friote took me riding, rather conveniently, while the wolves were being herded.’
‘Did he?’ Lord Mavros nudged Imriel. ‘I wonder how Lady Phèdre would have taken that?’
‘She was never informed,’ I avoided Imriel’s eyes, ‘but I think she could tell, when father mounted a wolf’s head on a plaque and engraved my name beneath it.’ I managed a guilty smile. ‘But that was nearly two weeks after the hunt, so she could not have been certain till then.’
‘I think I recall,’ Imriel paused in thought, ‘Charles was sent to the townhouse in the City of Elua for a month, and I wondered why.’
‘Yes, well.’ I lifted my shoulders. ‘I was not harmed in the hunt, and I know how close one may push a horse to a wolf before it shies.’
‘A valuable lesson, and worth Lady Phèdre’s wrath.’ Lord Mavros said, philosophically, though it was irony that lay at the heart of his words. ‘Taurus tells me that you have no stomach for storms.’
‘It was not the storm, my lord,’ I replied, ‘but rather my unfamiliarity with my room that caused me to rise last night.’
‘If there is any way I may make your stay more comfortable, you have only to speak it.’
‘I think my lord’s son well afforded me every mark of comfort when he offered to read to me.’

Lord Mavros smiled, but gently, with the sort of ineffable pride a man feels when he hears his son praised. ‘He is soft-hearted, that one.’
‘Like you, eh?’ Imriel spread a hand over Lord Mavros’ shoulder.
‘No, indeed. You know better, Imri.’ They looked at each other for a moment, then back at me. ‘Are you finding your time here to your liking, little Montrève?’
‘So far. I wish, however, that Narcisse did not think I was a girl.’
‘Oh, are you otherwise?’
‘No. I am, only, she seeks to dress me in new frocks, and tie up my hair, and make me embroider. My mother does not embroider, and neither does my papa, so why might I need to?’
‘I suppose there is no need,’ Imriel smiled, ‘but Sidonie embroiders, you know, and it is likely she will wish you to, as well. Then you shall have a mother who does needlework, and you shall have no excuse against it.’
‘Oh, I think I shall find better things to do in the Palace, and better ways, besides, to court Sidonie’s favour.’ I believe my smile was somewhat impish, for Imriel turned upon me with narrowed eyes.
‘And, indeed, what shall you do to court her favour?’
‘What you did, Imri.’ I replied jauntily. ‘Whatever it was.’ Both he and Lord Mavros burst into laughter. ‘Well, are you not going to share your secret with me?’
‘Ah, little Montrève,’ Lord Mavros reached toward me, petting me as he might a favoured cat, ‘what our Imriel did to court Sidonie’s favour is not a thing for children. Mayhap when you are older?’
I pouted, but did not shake off his hand. ‘Well, then, gentlemen,’ I said, with a moue of determination, ‘I shall hold you to your word, and make inquiries to you when, as you say, I am older.’
Here, Narcisse peeked round the corner. ‘Oh, vicomtesse, I thought I might find you here. Always seeking to mingle with the men! Uncle Imriel, uncle Mavros,’ she dipped into a fine curtsey. ‘Well, you will be glad of it, Taurus has sent me to find you. He wishes to try his hand against you in a game of mille.’ I turned a longsuffering smile toward her.
‘As you wish, dear Narcisse. Or, rather, as Taurus wishes.’ I sent a wry look back at Imriel, and said, in Jebean, ‘If she kills me with her needlework classes, have papa avenge me.’
‘I shall see that he takes your message,’ he replied, in d’Angeline, smiling as Narcisse dragged me down the corridor.
~
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Kushiel's Pupil