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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
SEVEN

Taurus came to my room uninvited that night, with another book, this time an anthology of Menekhetan folk tales. My maid eyed him with restrained disapproval, but said nothing as she left. ‘I believe,’ I said, as I slipped beneath the bed-clothes, ‘that I shall have no trouble in getting to sleep tonight.’

‘It signifies little,’ he replied, with an inscrutable confidence, very brazenly, I thought, for someone who encroaches upon another’s private space, ‘but you are only here for another two days, and I should like, very much, to indulge a little in your company.’ I studied him, wishing the gift of Kushiel flowed in my veins, so that I might deduce his reasons for so pursuing my friendship, and in so obstinate a manner. He seemed to understand this, and smiled, his open, free expression the more beautiful for its frankness. ‘I do not know,’ he continued, coming forward and sitting at the foot of my bed, ‘by what power I am constrained toward you, only that I am. It is as though I knew, always, that you and I should go along in life together. When my father mentioned your name to me, a light came on inside me, and it was all I could do not to ask him a million questions about you.’ My brow knit, and I drew away a little, even as a pit of strange yearning opened before me, and I felt my heart opening, inexplicably, toward him.

‘Why, how do you mean?’ I stammered.

‘I think,’ he opened the book, and began rifling through the pages, ‘that we are somehow fashioned alike, and were meant to be somewhat to one another. There are things in you that…’ he struggled for a word, ‘…complete things in me, and our faults and strengths align. I do not know. Mayhap, when we are older, we shall be lovers. Or we shall fight together against a common enemy, or somewhat.’

‘Does Kushiel’s gift extend to divination?’ I smiled slyly. ‘I was given to believe, in my lessons, that has always been the province of Azza.’

‘You are right, but this has less to do with divination, and more with the perception of common faults and common strengths.’ He seemed to discover the page he was seeking, and sighed. ‘Ah, here is a tale, linked with that of the Yeshuites, about how the Habiru rebel Moishe called down ten plagues upon the Pharaoh of Menekhet.’

‘You do not explain much to me,’ I crossed my arms and looked to see whether he was watching me, or impatiently scanning the pages of the book. His eyes were fixed upon me, solemn and steady.

‘I do not understand it well, myself. But I am certain.’ He was, and I think some of his certainty was effaced onto me. I moved aside on the bed, and shifted a pillow to better accommodate him.

‘Well, and so, if you are going to read, I wish to see the prints.’ He nodded, and, kicking off his boots, he slunk up beside me, sliding beneath the duvet, and accepting me as I curled round him.

I still do not understand what possessed a twelve-year-old scion of the Shahrizai to extend himself so frankly and vulnerably toward me. Mayhap he saw in me the fault that accepted only honesty, or, at least, responded best to it. Or mayhap there was somewhat more in it, more reason, more craft. Whatever the purpose, it was effective, and I have rarely questioned the movement of my heart, where he has been concerned. He is Taurus, and I, Anafielle, and that has been enough for me.

He did not fall asleep, rather, when he felt he had read enough, he closed the book and, taking my only candle with him, left down the hall. I slept very soundly that night, and when I woke, and emerged from my bed, it was in time to see Imriel emerging from his room, lingering in the doorway, a flush on his pale cheeks. I came toward him, still buckling a vambrace, and saw that there was someone standing behind him. As I drew forward, I saw that it was Lord Mavros, only just fastening the end of one of his many braids with a waxed string.

‘Good morning, little Montrève,’ he grinned, and it took an effort for me not to narrow my eyes at him. It was not that he had obviously spent the night with Imriel, for he was unclad save for a sheet wrapped round his waist, but rather that he appeared completely nonchalant, while Imri blushed up to the whites of his eyes and was about stammering some incomprehensible words when I bowed fluidly, and met Lord Mavros’ eyes squarely.

‘Good morning, Lord Mavros. I trust you slept well?’

‘As well as can be expected on so quiet a night. Indeed, betimes a good storm is required for me to settle, do you not find it so?’

‘I find that a vigorous exercise in the morning quiets me well, sir.’ I grinned cheekily, and nudged Imriel’s ribs with an elbow. ‘I shall meet you in the courtyard, Imri.’

‘And I,’ Lord Mavros smiled, backing into the room with a lounging, sensual smile on his lips, ‘shall dress for breakfast, and give orders as to the hunt.’

I did not request Imriel to teach me any new forms that morning, as he seemed rather awkward
that I should have discovered him with Lord Mavros. He did not, at first, speak to me of it, as we slid through all the preliminary, warming movements, which circulated the blood and caused the limbs to increase in flexibility, but when we paused to drink a sip of cool water, he turned a stern eye upon me. ‘We are d’Angeline,’ he said, peremptorily, and was about to continue, when I held up a hand.

‘Imri, our maman is a Servant of Naamah. And I am only nine years old. I do not need to have this explained to me. I expect that Sidonie is aware, and now I am. That is enough. I trust you. And you do not brood with Lord Mavros, as betimes you do in the Palace. It is all within the precepts of Blessed Elua, for all of us.’ I do not believe he expected me so clearly to understand, but if my mother had taught me anything, it was to respect the precepts of Elua beyond those which propriety might dictate. Love was what mattered, and particularly for me, as my life was nothing if not a manifestation of the power of trust in love. I laughed at his bewilderment, and then he seemed to stop a bit, and to think on something.

‘I am relieved,’ he said quietly, ‘that you have been so well educated. I should have given mother credit for this.’

‘Well, papa too. He made Cassiel’s choice, and flouted the principles of the Brotherhood.’ He knelt, for a moment, and looked up into my eyes, a little earnestly, I thought, his hands on my shoulders.

‘You have been fortunate, by far more blessed than I, to have been conceived out of love, rather than produced simply for the sake of playing games with the gods.’ I recalled, then, that he had been the pawn of his mother and father, and made to fill an absence in their politics, rather than one in their hearts.

‘I should have never been made, if you had not been.’ I leant forward, and kissed his forehead, with the same reverence I would have given to the image of Elua himself. ‘We are sacred, you and I, both made of god-fated things, powerful things. We have been touched by angels, even beside the ichor in our veins.’

He smiled softly, and murmured, ‘This, too, is sacred.’ There was bemusement in his tone, and when he rose, the blush had gone from his skin and full confidence had returned to his bearing. ‘Well, come. Let us have—what was it? The danse du mâle?’ he grazed my shoulder with his hand, and we set back to our forms as though there had been no intermission.

~

The hunt which Lord Mavros had planned was nothing like that which Bertran de Trevalion had given. There were no pavilions, no hunting horns, and the attendants who waited upon the hunting party were limited to the houndskeeper, the falconer, and a chirurgeon, in case of accidents. We were not dressed gaudily in raiment designed to impress our peers, rather, each of us was clad in forest colours, browns, blacks, greens, and greys. The horses of the Shahrizai had been well rested, and fed heartily the night previous, but given nothing but water and dried peasecods that morning. It was, pleasantly enough, more like our hunts in Siovale. Lord Mavros, though he held seniority, deferred to Imriel to lead the hunt, and I joyfully into place beside Taurus, with Hephaestos stamping and snorting beneath me. The day was clear, and very cold, and the ground had frozen, making tracks difficult to follow, but the hounds of Kusheth were not to be confounded by so simple a deterrent. They caught a scent not twenty minutes into our foray, and were off, scattering into the forest, and we followed cheerily, our shouts mingling with their sonorous baying, Imriel’s bugle sounding a charge.

We found the boar in a thicket, and it burst, red-eyed and bristling in rage, from the brush, smoke seeming to billow from its nostrils, and a paroxysm of fear clutched at me. Hephaestos reared a little, disorienting me, before I managed to shake myself, control the reins, and hone the fear into a needlepoint, goading myself into action.

I seized the sort javelin hanging from my saddle, and aimed it unsteadily, heart thudding in my ears, unable to hold the weapon steady. Finally, after several unending seconds, I cocked my arm back and let it fly. It struck the boar’s flank—not so good a shot as I would have liked, but Hephaestos was wheeling madly, screaming, and I was glad to hit the creature at all. Wrestling my horse under control, I struggled to fit an arrow to my short riding bow, watching three more javelins and several arrows striking our quarry as I did so. I caught a glimpse of Narcisse, her eyes blazing, her mouth open in a triumphant smile of fierce exhilaration, and I thought, perhaps, that she was far more beautiful now than when she had been quiet and sedate, embroidering or reading in the parlour.

Distantly, I heard Imriel reprimanding my boldness as I urged Hephaestos closer to the cornered, enraged boar, and let fly two bolts from my bow in rapid succession, one missing entirely, the other burying its head in the boar’s mouth, and blood spurted forth, staining the yellow tusks, eliciting a bellow of pain. Lord Baptiste brought his horse round, cutting me off from going nearer, and, with a low snarl, he plunged his long-handled spear into the throat of the boar. Its cries turned from angry to piteously anguished, and it sank, twitching, upon the sward, as I sent another arrow past Lord Baptiste and into its shoulder.

I heard my name shouted again, more imperatively, by Imriel, and turned to acknowledge him. His dark eyes seemed flinty, though a second glance revealed an undercurrent of stark terror. I lifted my head, and turned Hephaestos toward him, catching brief snatches, in the din of the dying animal, of his words. ‘—careless, bloodyminded stubbornness!—could have been killed!—Joscelin will have my head!’ and I felt, suddenly, the urge to laugh, as the needling urgency of the kill evaporated, and I spurred toward him, smiling.

‘Imri! Imri! I hit him!’

‘I know.’ He growled, and I blinked. I had sensed his anger and fear intermingling, and felt the easiest way to deflect it would be to assume an air of ingenuousity.

‘Imri, are you not proud of me?’

‘Of course,’ he sighed impatiently, and seemed suddenly very tired. ‘Of course,’ he finally smiled, ‘You will put Sidonie into her grave, if ever you behave like this round her.’

‘It is fortunate, then,’ I replied, ‘that she is not here.’ He shook his head, and spurred forward to dispatch the boar.

Taurus wheeled up beside me, and the same bright fierceness was in his eyes that I had witnessed in Narcisse. ‘You were magnificent, Montrève!’ he exclaimed. ‘So bold! You could have killed a lion!’

‘Twas not I who dealt the death blow.’

‘Even so! I should never have enterprised so close to a boar.’ He shuddered. ‘Name of Elua, Montrève, but what they must teach you in Siovale!’ I luxuriated beneath his praise, and gave Hephaestos his head, that he might wind down from his recent excitement. There was little enough work for me to do heretofore, as the adults would skin and divide the boar. Taurus followed me a few lengths, and spoke my name. ‘Come, I know a stream where your horse would be glad, I think, of some refreshment.’ I went after him, and we ambled in personable silence for some time, till we came to the stream of which he had spoken, a half-frozen little affair, and we dismounted, standing for a moment as my heart slowed its beating, and I felt the ferment of uneasy agitation recede from my veins.

‘Are all your hunts so brief?’ I inquired. ‘Betimes, we will chase for hours before our quarry is run down.’

‘Boars are a strange quarry. Betimes, they die quickly, as this one did, and betimes, they fight, and gore dogs and horses, for hours before the blood is drained from them. Stags are easier, and foxes, the simplest to kill, and the hardest to chase.’

‘It is so,’ I nodded. ‘I have never hunted boar, though I think I like the danger of it.’
Taurus’ brow knit. ‘You were brave, and did well. But Uncle Imriel will be right to chastise you, if he will. You are a good rider, and your horse is active, but had the boar charged you, I would not answer for your safety.’

‘I would have had little choice, wherever I was.’ I lifted my chin, and spoke coolly, but I was not much offended, recalling the smile which Taurus had given while congratulating me.

‘Yes, mayhap.’ He reflected a moment, then caught his horse’s reins up in an offhand gesture that somehow translated into pure elegance. ‘But you must not go into danger with no cause beside simply winning.’ He laughed. ‘Singular advice, mayhap, but I have had occasion to heed it, myself.’

I nodded. ‘I do not risk needlessly.’

‘It is well. For I should take it as a folly, were you to perish in a hunting accident before you are sixteen.’ Tugging his horse round, he swung into the saddle, and I followed suit, heading back toward the scene of the hunt.

It seemed as though we had not been missed, though Lady Roshana and Narcisse were about heading back for the lodge, and invited Taurus and I to accompany them. As I did not wish to remind Imriel of the risk I had taken, as I would have done by wallowing in the blood and meat encountered by skinning the animal, I accepted, though Taurus elected to return and assist the apportioning of the fallen prey.

A blazing fire was lit in the parlour, and cups of perry cider awaited us, as well as hot pastries of honey and apples. I sat eagerly, washing my hands in the petal-strewn fingerbowls provided, and greedily consumed two pastries and a cup of spiced cider, fingers thawing from their half-clutched position, as Narcisse set up a game of chequers before the fire, and invited me to join her.

‘I did not think, when we rode out this morning, that you would be much use in a hunt, and when I saw the boar, I thought you would defer.’ She said, frankly.

‘I am afraid that my initiative shall earn me a reprimand, when Imriel returns.’

‘Mayhap, but you still have impressed me favourably.’ She reached forward, and pressed my hand, as she took one of my game pieces from the board.

That even, we dined on fresh boar, the meat savoury and vibrant, if a little tough. The animal had been an old one, and that was the reason for its easy death. The cooks had composed, to complement it, a sauce of hazelnuts and sage, with wild mushrooms and wheat-berries. I fear that I rather gorged myself, so that when finally, belly groaning, I pushed myself back from the board. I felt as though I should never feel hungry again.
Not to be outdone in gluttony, the Shahrizai also ate their fill, and we retired, after supper, to the parlour, where Narcisse volunteered to read to us all, and Taurus brought the cards for borders and banquets back out, and proceeded to better educate me in the finer points of gameplay.

Oriane and Maphiste were given leave to stay up a little later than usual, as they had been excluded from the hunt, and I found myself watching them as they half-listened to Narcisse’s reading of a canto from a book of narrative poetry. They had caught one of the six cats that had the run of the kitchens and rooms of the manor, and were busily engaged in dressing it in rags from one of Oriane’s dolls. It mewled piteously, but did not scratch them at all, and I marvelled at their delicacy—it seemed to me that there had never been more perfectly formed children. Their faces were flushed from the heat of the fire, soft, pink embryonic lips parted in determined absorption over their feline captive, which struggled a little, and finally relented to wearing a pair of cambric boots and a blue chemise.

‘Montrève, you are not listening!’ Taurus touched my shoulder, not impatiently, but the gesture was imperative. ‘Attend. Narcisse will, when confronted by a priest of Kushiel, and the fountain, will feint, with a lily and a priest of Naamah, which you must capture with a devotee of Eisheth and a noose, do you see?’

I returned my attention to him. ‘What if I played a lily and a commander of Eisheth?’ I pointed out a set I held, and he grinned.

‘Oh, you are not so simple as you seem, eh? You know that if I played my noose and devotee, you could gain the border with your lily and commander. I think you will be a good player, if you practise.’

‘I am,’ I said, smiling, ‘a good anything with practise.’

He laughed then, as I expected him to, eyes open, sparkling. ‘To be sure, Montrève, to be sure! I told Narcisse you would make us a fitting cousin!’
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Kushiel's Pupil