Kushiel's Avatar

on him like an ox. He stared at us in disbelief before shouting at the top of his considerable lungs. “Philippe! Philippe !”
    I’d gotten half out of the saddle and almost remembered the young man’s name by the time Ti-Philippe came at a run, sword half-drawn from a scabbard he clutched in his bare hand. He skidded to a halt on the frost-slick paving stones and let out a whoop of pure joy, tossing his sword aside. “ Phèdre !” Grabbing me about the waist, he swung me free from the saddle and spun me around. “You’re alive !”
    “You doubted it?” I asked dizzily when he set me down.
    “I shouldn’t have,” he said, and grinned. “I shouldn’t have. Cassiline!” He turned to Joscelin, who had dismounted, and embraced him hard, thumping his back. “Elua’s Balls, it’s good to see you!”
    “And you, sailor.” Even Joscelin was beaming. “And you!”
    “And what have you brought home this time, my lady? “ Ti-Philippe inquired, surveying the others, still seated in their saddles. “A Yeshuite sage? A Jebean honor guard? They don’t look Jebean ...” His voice trailed off as Imriel drew back his hood. “Name of Elua!”
    “Philippe Dumont,” I said, making formal introduction, “this is-”
    “Imriel de la Courcel,” he finished for me. “Ah, my lady! You’ve done it now.”
    After that, a good deal of chaos ensued, foremost of which was the emergence of Eugenie, who pushed everyone else aside to embrace me and then take me by the shoulders and shake me, weeping, only to embrace me again. Joscelin, she kissed resoundingly on both cheeks, then shook. Imriel watched it wide-eyed. Ti-Philippe saw to the business of dismissing the Serenissimans with thanks and a gift of coin. He spoke Caerdicci and sailor’s argot alike, and I’ve no doubt he instructed them on the best possible places to spend one’s coin on dice and wine and pleasure in the City of Elua. I thanked them too, before they left, and promised to commend them to Ricciardo Stregazza. All the while, Hugues-I had remembered his name-toiled to bring our laden trunks inside the house, while Benoit tended to our mounts and Eugenie commenced to turn the entire household upside down to welcome us home.
    “Don’t,” I said gently to her. “We’re bound straightaway for the Palace. It’s not an occasion to celebrate, not yet. A bath and a bite of food is all.”
    Her shoulders slumped, then straightened. “Ah, child. It’s the boy, isn’t it?”
    I nodded.
    Eugenie patted my cheek. “He needs a bit of tending, doesn’t he? And a light touch, I’m guessing. Will you be bringing him home from the Palace, my lady?”
    “You know who he is?”
    “Shouldn’t I?” There was kind wisdom in her smile. “I told you once, my lady: Hearth and home mean love, too. And if ever there was a lad in need of it, it’s that one.”
    I found Imriel in the salon, considering the bust of Delaunay upon its marble plinth. I sat upon the couch and watched him. It seemed strange to be here. The house was immaculately kept, smelling of citrus oil and beeswax. Everything was as I had left it, down to the smallest detail-the pomander ball on the low table, the engraved fire-screen angled just so, the tall vase in the corner with leathery dried flowers that rattled like a gourd when shaken, a gift from a long-ago patron with an interest in botany.
    “Who was he?” Imriel asked without turning around.
    “That is my lord Anafiel Delaunay de Montrève, of whom I have spoken,” I said. “He bought my marque, and adopted me into his household. And he trained me in the arts of covertcy.”
    “He made you his spy.”
    “Yes,” I said. “He did. But he asked me, every step of the way, if I was certain it was my own desire. I always wondered, Imri, why he kept asking me the same question, over and over, when my answer was always the same. I understand it better now.”
    Imriel sat down next to me. “Like you keep asking if I’m sure.”
    On the plinth, the bust of Delaunay watched us both, his austere marble features imbued with all the irony and tenderness of the living man. I rested my chin in my hands and gazed back at him, wondering what he would make of this unlikely turn of events, wishing he was here, as I have wished a thousand times since his death. “Yes,” I said. “Like that.”
    “Were you ever sorry?”
    I glanced at Imriel to find him smiling, eyes dancing; he already knew the answer. “No.” I smiled back at him.