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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
EIGHT
I packed my things very early, before, even I met Imriel for forms, that I should have time to see Taurus in the library between practise, before breakfast and our departure, which would be that afternoon. I found him on a ladder, running his hands over the spines of historical records. As I entered, he turned his head, and shot a grin at me, sliding down the ladder. ‘Where do you live,’ I inquired, ‘when not here?’
‘In the City of Elua, of course.’ He replied. ‘As you will.’
‘You will visit me, in the palace?’
‘I shall accompany my father, when he goes. But I think we are going back to Kusheth, for the balance of the winter.’
‘I shall be in Montrève for the spring, I think, but in the summer, I am to be fostered in the City.’
‘Yes, I know. It is a rather while to be apart,’ he took my hand, almost absently, ‘but I shall write to you. Even if you do not reply, though I believe I should like it very much if you did.’
‘I will reply, if I receive letters. I have already promised to correspond with Laurient de Trevalion and Eldora Zornín, and my mother wishes me, also, to write to Queen Ysandre and the dauphine, but that, I do not think I will enjoy.’
‘You mustn’t forget me, Montrève, amongst the abundance of your friends. Promise me you will not.’ He conjured me, by a gentle pressure on my hand, and I recalled how hard his father had held me, when he danced with me.
‘How forget?’ I smiled, and returned the pressure. ‘How ever?’ I lifted myself on my toes, for he was a tall boy, outstripping me by nearly a head, and I kissed his cheeks, as I had seen adults do, at parting. His solemnity seemed to lift a little, though he did not return my smile. Very deliberately, he released my hands, and took a single step backward.
‘It is well. I think Narcisse would like you to speak well of her to the dauphine. She will debut at court when she is fifteen, next year, and seeks to become a lady-in-waiting upon her Majesty.’
‘Do you think I should?’
‘No, I think she will pester uncle Imriel into it.’ His lips twisted, finally, into an expression of amusement at his cousin’s efforts to surge up the social ladder.
‘And you? When you are old enough, will you seek a place at court?’
He shook his head. ‘I will travel, if father permits. I wish to study in Menekhet, at the University of Iskandria. They are regaining their name as a capital in education, did you know? I think I shall pursue a politic career, and become a diplomat to far-off lands.’ He compressed his lips. ‘I will not remain here all my life. I love Terre d’Ange, but my love for her cannot be pure if I know I have never seen aught other. If I should ever find a dearer land, I shall remain there.’ His eyes softened, and glinted with somewhat which I was not yet old enough to understand. Then, shaking himself, he pressed his lips to my forehead, and led me out of the library and into the parlour.
Oriane and Maphiste were playing again before the fire, Oriane with dolls and a tea service, and Maphiste with wooden soldiers. Lady Vivienne and Narcisse were sitting round, working on their dreaded embroidery. Lord Baptiste was sitting on the floor, his head leant back on Lady Roshana’s lap, and she was braiding his hair. Taurus shuddered beside me.
‘It takes so much time,’ he tugged on a handful of his own braids. ‘And Narcisse is not so gentle as aunt Roshana.’ Pushing past me, he sat down on the divan beside Lady Roshana, without touching her, and beckoned to me as I stood hesitantly in the doorway. ‘Come, you must learn how, so you can do mine when I visit you.’
I came forward, a little timidly, and Lady Roshana looked up, smiled as her eyes caught mine. ‘Come, victomtesse,’ she murmured, in a singularly matronly voice. ‘Taurus wishes you to learn. And if you are to be kin to the Shahrizai, you must at least observe.’ She carried on braiding Lord Baptiste’s hair with smooth, efficient fingers. ‘I have this lesson to Imriel, once, during our summer in Montrève. I was fifteen, and Mavros was just seventeen. Strange, to think on it. We were such children.’ Her smile softened, and she twisted a waxed string at the end of a completed braid, gathering another portion of hair to start a new one.
‘It is a lesson of patience,’ Lord Baptiste said, his eyes opening halfway, catching lazily on mine before returning to the fire, to smile on his son, who was jousting two wooden figures against one another. ‘For me, I think, the study is easier. My work is only to submit to Roshana, to be groomed, while hers is to submit to work, to grooming me, even should her hands cramp, or her concentration flag. But I think, Anafielle Verreuil,’ he lingered on my name, ‘that you have strong enough hands.’ I said nothing to this. Each of the Shahrizai had different ways of addressing me, with Narcisse and Lady Roshana both addressing me as ‘vicomtesse,’ while Lord Mavros and Taurus used ‘Montrève,’ Oriane and Maphiste favouring ‘Ana.’ I had spent the least time with Lord Baptiste, though he had expressed a few sentiments concerning Montrève and my parents that I found fair, if a little tainted by the nostalgia of childhood. I liked him, too, mayhap not so much as I liked Lord Mavros, who was irreverent and jocular, but there was, in Lord Baptiste a sensitivity, paired with languid sensuality, which I found soothing.
‘I can braid my own hair,’ I said, absently, and Taurus grinned sidelong at me, elbowing me in the ribs.
‘I shall have you start there, then, Montrève.’
‘You shall not “have me” do anything.’ I replied, in mock indignance. ‘I shall do for you as I choose.’
‘I might make you choose.’ He teased gently, eliciting a snorting laugh from Lord Baptiste. Lady Roshana clucked her tongue at his movement, but he only opened one eye and bent it sternly on Taurus.
‘Shahrizai or not, boy, you shan’t make any child of Verreuil do anything it doesn’t wish to. Bloody stubborn, these Siovale stock.’ For some reason, his comment, rather than cowing Taurus, only made his confidence blaze higher.
‘Because you could do nothing with them, uncle, that is no reason to assume that I may not.’
‘Do you mean to say,’ I glared at him, ‘that you shall attempt to shape me to your will?’
‘Oh, no, Montrève, never that. Only, know that I might, if so inclined.’
‘It’s just as well, Verreuil,’ Lord Baptiste sighed, closing his eyes and relaxing again into half-sleep beneath his sister’s hands, ‘that he underestimates you. Take care not to knock him down too hard.’
I do not doubt that Taurus would have had somewhat more to say had not his father and Imriel appeared in the doorway, and our attendants besides, carrying our luggage. ‘Shall we break our fasts,’ Lord Mavros said, ‘and send our guests back to the City with their bellies full of the excellent boar we hunted?’
We repaired, again, and for a final time, to the dining hall, where I wondered at how the place could have become familiar to me so easily, and, also, how Taurus Shahrizai had so boneheadedly inserted himself into my heart. Whatever the reasons, it was finished, now. If I had believed I should leave the Shahrizai lodge without becoming part of their family, when that was precisely the object of their invitation to me, I would have been mistaken.

I say that it was their design to bring me close, and, I think, even if I were not to be fostered in the palace, they would have behaved in the same fashion. I daresay they might themselves have offered to my parents for fosterage, though I cannot speak for the answer they would have received. Their efforts to court me were calculated, yes, but for that they were not the less genuine. The Shahrizai had conceived a fair respect for my mother and father, and they loved Imriel. Lord Mavros, at least, loved him deeply.
We broke our fast slowly, for neither Imriel nor I were eager to depart, and the Shahrizai did not rejoice to see us go. When, however, we did, we did not leave empty handed. Imriel was given the tusks of the boar we had felled, and Narcisse presented me with a fine cambric handkerchief, embroidered with my initials, and the intertwined keys of her House. Taurus made me a gift of pens, which, I think, he had made himself of crow’s feathers, and Lady Roshana gave me a string of pearls, from Marsilikos, to pass on to my mother, with her blessing.
Thus laden, we returned to the City of Elua.
Though we rode, at first, in companionable silence, Imriel soon broke it, speaking Cruithne, for which he had a remarkable facility. ‘So, Ana, how did you find my cousins?’
‘As interesting as everyone seems to think,’ I replied, ‘and at least as singular.
‘Taurus rather insisted upon himself with you, did he not?’
‘Yes, but it was not unpleasant to be sought after.’
He laughed. ‘Ah, Ana, you will be tired enough of being sought after once the summer is through.’
‘Not tired of Taurus, though.’ I compressed my lips.
‘I was afraid he would be a little more incendiary.’
‘However do you mean?’ I did not see how Taurus was at all incendiary. Rather, he was steady going, and predictable enough, once one learnt the trick of him.
‘Well, if is curious,’ Imriel chewed his lips, ‘but he was present when Mavros invited me on this hunting party, and I mentioned that you, and mother and father, would be in the City of Elua. Mind, this was before you arrived, but Taurus rather pounced on his father, and had him repeat your name over to him, twice, and slowly, and it was he that suggested you come along with me, to keep him and Narcisse company.’ I thought of how easily Taurus had made his mind up about me, how he had been waiting by his door that first night, when the storm had come in. I affected nonchalance, but Imriel seemed to confirm the peculiar attachment Taurus appeared to have taken to me, and my heart lightened for it. It had, indeed, occurred to me over the past few days, that his affection might have been wholly or partially a fabrication. However, even before he had known of my fosterage, he seemed, truly, to have evinced a singular interest, and this was satisfying to my rapidly burgeoning ego.
The weather was a little bleak, as it had been the day previous, and though the sky was clear, there was a crisp sharpness in the air, which speaks of blood-freezing cold and no snow, which always fouled my mood. Imriel attempted to distract me with a song and the purchase of a brightly-patterned wrist-band from a band of Tsingani we met upon the road, but I remained in low spirits till the City was in view. Then, seeing an opportunity of distracting me, Imriel suggested we race to the gates.
‘To the gates?’ I squinted in their direction, where they stood, some three furlongs distant. He nodded. ‘And what shall we name as a forfeit to the loser?’
‘Ah,’ Imriel’s eyes turned canny. ‘Have you learnt to wager from my nephew, then?’ I replied with only a smile. ‘It is just as well. What will you have of me?’
I reflected for a moment, thinking of what Imriel presently possessed, and what he might, in the future. ‘The freedom,’ I said, ‘of a day, whichever I choose, for whatever I choose, once I am fostered with your wife.’
He nodded, and wound the reins of his horse, a speckled five-year-old of Aragonian stock, round his left hand. ‘And I,’ he said, ‘I shall claim the same. A day of servitude from you, whenever I please, for whatever I please.’ Images of dreadful fêtes and audiences with personages like Barquiel l’Envers flashed through my mind, but I had no intention of renouncing my own claim, and I held out my arm. He reached forward, and we clasped one another’s wrists. ‘Will you signal?’ he said to one of the attendants, as I brought Hephaestos up alongside his prancing speckled horse. The young man raised his arm, and I contracted myself in the saddle, angling my feet downward into the stirrups that they might not slip loose, and when he lowered his arm suddenly, I clapped spurs to Hephaestos’ haunches.
He bolted beneath me, his strides devouring the ground, sending up dust in thick clouds all round me, and I leant close in to his neck, whispering encouragement into his ear, my legs clenching in the effort to keep myself seated. He was a powerful horse, but the sire of Imriel’s mount had been an exquisite Aragonian horse, by the name of Hierax, affectionately nicknamed ‘the Bastard.’ The Bastard was now some fourteen years old, but he was still a prize of horseflesh, and his filly had been thrown true, and Hephaestos was still a gelding.
We were neck and neck before I could intake breath, matching stride for stride, and though I could not see much for the dust that was kicked up all round us, I knew that I should have to ride harder than ever I had to beat Imriel at this. I gave Hephaestos his head, and he stretched beneath me, strides lengthening, the thunder of his hooves sending a trembling fire up into my gut. Our breath seemed to synchronise, as I raised myself in the stirrups, throwing my weight forward, leaning on his shoulders, and it seemed to me that if we went any faster, we might leave the ground and take to the air.
In the dust and confusion of the horse’s breathing, a tense coil of exhilaration in my gut seemed to spread outward, diffusing, and I tightened my fingers, seeking to draw myself together, to compact myself. I was lighter by some hundred pounds than Imriel, and he carried, besides, a sword of forty pounds, where I had nothing but a pair of daggers. Still, he was an excellent horseman, with many years over my experience, and as we came upon the gates of the City, he forced a final effort from his horse, and passed just a half-length before me.
I drew Hephaestos up, my eyes blinking dust from them, and smiled at the bewildered expressions on the faces of the city guard. It is true that I was disappointed, but the excitement of the race had driven from me the thought of Taurus, and the knowledge that I should not see him again until summer, and then, that I should be firmly ensconced in any duties to the palace, and to Sidonie, that were entailed in my fostering. To my credit, I did not sulk much upon returning to the palace, and Imriel was a jovial companion. He was in very high spirits, for he had missed Sidonie a great deal, I think, and it would be some time before he could be constrained again to part from her.
As we rode through the City, we were greeted with shouts of ‘Prince Imriel!’—and—‘your Majesty!’ Imri nodded and waved, and I wondered how soon the people would learn to recognise me. They knew my mother and father, for they were heroes like those in books and legends, but I?—I was no more than a country vicomtesse. I knew, of course, that it was too much to ask for this to remain so, but still, there was somewhat in me that wondered what it would feel like to be recognised, to have people call my name in the street, and to hail me welcome when I entered the City.
Upon our entry to the palace, we were informed that the queen and dauphine were not present, and that Lord Barquiel l’Envers was closeted with my mother. Imriel inquired after Sidonie’s whereabouts, and was informed that she and her mother were at the house of a courtier, having been invited for luncheon. He took himself away with no undue haste, remanding me to the governance of a butler. I did not begrudge him his impetuosity, and requested to be brought to my mother.
I was led, and left, before a hermetically sealed door, behind which I knew was a private study, of which I had vague recollections of my mother and Gilles Lamiz, the poet laureate of Terre d’Ange, discussing the translation of a canto from Caerdicci. I waited for the steps of the butler to fade before I pressed my ear against the door, and heard the vague rush of voices behind. They were too low, and the door too thick, for me to distinguish the words, however, and I knocked, with my face still against the cool, dark wood. The voices fell instantly silent, I stepped back hastily. There was no reply forthcoming, and neither did the door open. I knocked again. This time, it was shoved ajar with a force, and Barquiel l’Envers’ narrowed, fierce eyes scanned the corridor, lowering and catching on me when he saw no one at his eye level.
‘Good day, my lord.’ I said cheerfully, despite a distinct quailing in my gut, and bowed as fluidly as I dared. He stepped back, though not enough for me to enter, and cast a glance over his shoulder.
‘Your offspring, comtesse, appears unaffected by the foray into the serpent’s lair.’
‘Anafielle?’ I heard my mother’s voice, and stepped forward, nearly touching l’Envers, expecting him to step aside. He did no such thing. My mother sighed, with a faint chuckle of amusement colouring her following words. ‘Lord Barquiel, if you please, allow my daughter to embrace me.’
He studied me for a moment, and it was with an effort that I recalled that he had a daughter, that Yseulte de’l Khalifate was his granddaughter. I looked straight up into his hard eyes, and smiled, as I might have smiled in greeting to my own father. ‘My lord, if you please.’ I echoed my mother’s words, though I knew that papa should have known my sweet tones for the farce that they were. Lord Barquiel’s lips compressed, and I knew I need not fear him, even if I did not like him. He inclined his head by a fraction, and stepped aside, that I might pass, though he did not, it is true, open the door very much wider.

I slipped inside, and inhaled. Even four paces from my mother, her scent of attar of roses and clean silk soothed me. She was resplendent as a goddess, sitting at her leisure, spread across a chaise, wearing a caul over her hair of thread of gold and seed pearls and a gown of yellow chiffon, gathered beneath the bust in a Hellene style. She was impossibly beautiful, my mother, and her dark eyes caught the light in her joy, when she smiled at me, and opened her arms.
‘Maman!’ I dashed forward, dispossessing any illusions Lord Barquiel might have held concerning my self-possession, burying my face in her neck as her arms came round me. It was sweet to have her holding me, to enjoy the firmness of her hands pressing my back, her soft lips, still plump and smooth, caressing my forehead. I kissed her mouth firmly, adoring her with my eyes.
‘Ah, Anafiel, you are become neither wilder nor softer for your time with the Shahrizai.’ She smelled my hair, a thing she did throughout our life together. ‘You have come back bright eyed and healthy, with a glow in your cheeks that Montrève has been hard-pressed to inspire as of late. I am pleased.’
‘I missed you, maman.’
‘I missed you, my love.’ She repulsed me with a gentle hand against my chest, and arranged me at her side, smoothing her skirts and turning her attention back to the other present party. ‘Lord Barquiel, I am sure you will pardon our filial display.’
‘Of course, madame. I am a man of a family, as well.’ There was much that was ironic in his words, but mother replied only with a smile.
‘Well, we are quite safe discussing our business with my daughter here. Indeed, it does affect her, and I am certain that we are qualified to inform her.’
‘Inform me of what?’ I sat up, and looked from Lord Barquiel to my mother, both curious and convinced that their information could not have been very interesting, as they shared it freely with me. ‘And where is papa?’
‘Your papa is with Sidonie and Ysandre. They thought it important that they display solidarity with their appointed Champion, while I spoke with Lord Barquiel here, in the palace. And there is to be a fête, tonight, so you shall have to bathe again today, and wash away the dust of your travel. You look as though you have rolled in the road.’
‘Ah!’ I plucked at one of my daggers absently. ‘Imri and I raced back to the City gates, and I lost. I owe him a forfeit.’
‘Do you indeed?’ mother exclaimed.
‘And what, pray,’ Lord Barquiel smiled, and there was nothing warm about his expression, ‘was the forfeit which our prince claimed from you?’
‘It is a secret, between fraternal parties.’ I replied quickly, with a piquancy in my voice which I had never before in my life ventured against anyone beside Ti-Philippe, or Eugénie.
‘Indeed.’ He took himself a seat, seemingly unaffected by my impudence, though I knew, from a tightening of my mother’s fingers upon my arm, that I should hear of it later, and be reprimanded for it. ‘I believe, comtesse, that we are quite finished here. I do not believe there is much to speak of with your daughter, as you do, and I am certain that you are eager to have her safely reinstated in your house.’
‘I am indeed. It is good of you to have such sensitivity to a mother’s instinct.’ She rose, taking me with her, and curtseyed with the utmost grace. I bowed again, and bid farewell to him, feeling, as we took our leave of the study, a very deep gratefulness not to be forced into his presence for undue amounts of time.
‘What were you speaking of, maman, that he did not think it important that I know?’ I was anxious, now to hear what might have been said to me, the tantalization of the indefinite mysterious suddenly beckoning.
‘Oh, it is nothing, love. It is only that he will be a part of the palace household when you are come to be fostered.’
‘What!’
‘His daughter, Valère, is leaving the City of Elua, returning to the Khalifate. She came here to leave Yseulte with her d’Angeline family, as she does not believe that Khebbel-im-Akkad is the proper place to raise a young lady. She has sons that will succeed the Khalif, and she must tend to their education. Lord Barquiel is to become the guardian of his granddaughter, and you are to be educated together in the palace come the summer.’ She said all this as though it were the simplest thing in the world, and though I had liked Yseulte, when I had spoken to her at the various functions I had gone to in the City, I held a strong feeling of antipathy for Barquiel l’Envers.
I said nothing, however, and was only too grateful to be returned to the town house, despite that I was forced to bathe again, and was scrubbed head to toe by Clory, steeped in salted and scented water, and clothed in a gown of soaring sky blue, and adorned in ruby and topaz jewellery. Father had returned some time during my bath, and I flew into his arms when I found myself finally free of Clory. He kissed me and pressed me so firmly in his arms that my breath was short when he held me at arm’s length, and mother sighed that he should crease my gown.
‘But you look lovely, Ana!’ He said, and I clung to his hand, passing my palm over his to feel the hewn, hard valleys and plains which the sword and daggers had long worn into them.
‘You say I am lovely when I have just come in from hunting rabbits with Hugues.’ I protested, but was nonetheless flushed with pleasure at his compliment.
‘I shall learn to be more discriminating in your praise.’ He said, and in no time at all we were in a carriage, and I was grateful not to be on horseback, for the night air was sharp and cold, my breath hanging like peripheral frost before me.
It was not a fête, exactly, which welcomed us upon our arrival, but rather a private dinner, celebrating Imriel and my return, and to wish Valère farewell, as she was to depart on the day following. Nicola l’Envers was present, as were her son, Colette, and Eldora. Bertran and his wife, and Laurient, also attended. Barquiel l’Envers was flanked by Maslin d’Aiglemort, and the Duc de Morbhan and his family. I was pleased to find that, despite the seeming festivity of the occasion, there was to be neither dancing nor games, only a feast upon goodwill and the excellent fare of the queen’s hospitable board.
I was placed, at the table, between my father and Eldora, rather further from Laurient that I would have liked, but she made charming small talk through the opening courses of clear soup of asparagus and crisp wafers topped with cured meat and capers. When, however, a dish of roasted pheasant, still bearing its bright autumn plumage, and stuffed with pears, was brought, she began to inquire after my time at the hunting lodge, and by the time two capons and a sucking pig were distributed, she had gotten me past my annoyance with Narcisse’s delusion that I was her doll, to Lady Roshana’s disquieting shift between danger and matronly warmth, and my hesitant description of my rapidly bloomed friendship with Taurus.
‘I have only met him twice,’ she confided to me, ‘his father does not often take him round. I found him rather cold, and it seemed as though he was always thinking somewhat unpleasant.’
‘Not so,’ I hastened to defend him. ‘He is a little phlegmatic, that is all. When he reads to me, he goes all up in a dither, and it seems as though the characters were all leaping off the pages and into the room. Anyhow, I preferred his company to that of Narcisse.’
‘Oh, but you are peculiar,’ Eldora sighed, rolling her dark eyes. ‘I, for one, would love to have an older girl teaching me what to do with my hair, and dressing me in her mode.’
‘Well, she isn’t a half-poor rider, anyhow.’ I decided. ‘It was her mount that overtook the quarry first, but that, I expect, is because it is one of their Kusheline horses, and she is so light.’
‘Oh, Ana, I despair of you!’ it seemed to me that Eldora was attempting, too overtly, to portray a sense of maturity, and I suddenly felt as though I were not the gauche at the table, though I did not like myself thinking so.
‘I believe,’ I replied, ‘that I shall do quite well.’
‘And I,’ Laurient’s voice unexpectedly caught me, ‘believe you shall, as well, should you surround yourself with such capital friends as you hitherto have, and cease knocking them down when they dance with you.’ I allowed him his little joke, for no one else seemed to have comprehended it, though I did draw an inquiring glance from my father. I shrugged.

‘If my dancing partners did not seek to rouse the Cassiline,’ I retorted coolly, ‘they must not fear that they shall meet him.’ I caught the eye of Yseulte l’Envers de’l Khalifate, sitting, as she was, at Laurient’s elbow, and winked at her. Her dark eyes grew wider still, and she smiled at me.
Perhaps the sympathy I felt for her was not so deep, but it was, at least, sincere. I did not, myself, fancy the idea of being given to the mercy of a man like Barquiel l’Envers, even if confronted with the choice between advanced d’Angeline education and the Oriental barbarism of Khebbel-im-Akkad. I knew, now, however, that she and I were to have some semblance of kinship with one another, and I wished to be friendly with her, as I could certainly not be friendly with her grandfather.
I thought of my own grandfather, Millard Verreuil, a tall, severe, one-handed man, with the same line to his jaw as my father, and I, and the same blue eyes and lean height. I thought of how he always gave me the seat at his side, when we visited Verreuil, and how he had watched me, in Montrève, training a hawk with silent pride shining in his face. The image came to me of him standing beside Barquiel l’Envers, both silver-haired, one with a long braid and the other with his so closely-cropped that the colour could scarce be defined at a distance. I thought of their similarities, the age-creased, still clean lines of their faces, the sharp beauty of their d’Angeline features, and wondered abstractly how much taller my grandfather was than Lord Barquiel.
‘There!’ Eldora’s voice snapped me out of my reverie. ‘That is precisely the look that Taurus Shahrizai wore when I met him. You mustn’t allow it to catch on you, Anafielle. It is so unsuitable.’
I smiled blandly, and looked up at my father. ‘My grandpère is the handsomest of anyone's grandpère.’ I said, and returned my attention to the board.
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Kushiel's Pupil