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Kushiel's Avatar

Kushiel's Avatar

Titel: Kushiel's Avatar Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Jacqueline Carey
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remove fish residue. “My lady ... Phèdre ... I meant no offense, back there in Verreuil. With the Tsingano, I mean. I wouldn’t have harmed him, not really. Even if I was sure of a man’s guilt, I’d still summon a magistrate and see him given a proper trial. I was angry, that’s all.”
    “I know.” I set the parchment aside. “Luc, I know. The problem is, there are others who wouldn’t, and too many who’d remain silent to see it done. A Tsingano like Kristof isn’t going to take a chance on which kind of man you are. I know their reputation. Some of it is deserved. Most of it isn’t. I asked their aid. It took courage for Kristof to seek me out. It didn’t help matters to have you threaten him.”
    “I suppose not,” he murmured. “But how can you be so sure he didn’t lie?”
    I told him how to discern the nine tell-tales of a lie, watching his eyes widen.
    “That’s so ... complicated .” Unlike his brother, Luc Verreuil was at heart an uncomplicated man. He rose, shaking his head. “I’ll take your word for it, and stick to what I know, which at the moment is fish. Joscelin, since you’re so fast with a knife, you can dispose of the offal. My lady Phèdre, if you’ll forgive me, I’m off to the river to wash my hands and gather stones to build a cook-pit.”
    “Forgiven,” I said.
    When he had gone, Joscelin chuckled, wiping his fish-gutting blade on a handful of grass. “It’s been eating him up since we left, you know. I’m glad he finally talked to you. Mayhap he’ll actually think about what you said.”
    “Mayhap.” I regarded him. “For all their energy and wit, members of your House don’t appear over-quick to change their ways of thinking.”
    “No.” Joscelin squatted on his heels beside the campfire, glancing to see that his brother and the others were out of earshot. “The old beliefs hold strong in the back-country. It comes home to me every time I visit. I love them, Elua knows, but... my childhood was a long time ago, and too soon ended.” He stretched out his begrimed hands, contemplating the calluses left by dagger-and sword-hilt. “I held Verreuil in my heart,” he mused, “and Verreuil went on without me, unchanging. It’s I that has changed.”
    “Do you regret it?” I had to ask it.
    “No.” The firelight reflected in his eyes as he glanced at me, dispelled by a quick shake of his head and a half-smile. “Do you?”
    “No,” I said. “Not you. Never you.” I brushed his forearm with my fingertips. “I didn’t have much of a childhood either, not as people like your family would reckon it. But there was Delaunay, and Alcuin. Hyacinthe. I had love. And I have you. For that alone, it is worth the cost.”
    “Yes. Always.” Joscelin gazed toward the south. “And there are worse ends to childhood than entering the Cassiline Brotherhood or Anafiel Delaunay’s service.”
    I shuddered. “I know. Ah, Elua!”
    “Melisande’s boy.” He was quiet for a moment. “Mayhap the priest was right to raise him as he did. At least he had joy in it. That’s ended, now. Even if we find him whole and unharmed, it’s a hard path he’ll tread once he knows who he is. He’s not like the crofters’ daughter, to return to a loving family.”
    “Ysandre will see him safe,” I said.
    “She’ll do her best, I know. Still...” Joscelin shrugged. “’Twill be a hard path.”
    I thought about Imriel de la Courcel. What would it be like, at ten years old, to learn that everything you had believed about your life was a lie? To learn that you were a traitor’s get, that your very existence was part and parcel of an unthinkable scheme, and people you’d never met would gladly see you dead?
    “Poor boy,” I murmured.
    “Poor boy, indeed.” Gathering himself, Joscelin eyed the pile of fish guts. “Ah, well. I suppose I’d best get rid of these, unless you’d care to do it.”
    I raised my eyebrows at him. “You’re the one loves fishing.”
    He gave his wry smile. “That’s what I thought.”

Twenty
    IT TOOK nearly a fortnight to reach Amílcar. We lost two days to summer storms in which Jean-Richarde, the senior of the men-at-arms, deemed it unsafe to travel. I was impatient at the delay, but after seeing the torrential downpour swell the river until it overflowed its banks in a churning rage, lapping at the foot of the caverns where we’d taken shelter, I ceded to his wisdom.
    We timed our arrival for the morning, taking lodgings in one

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