Kushiel's Justice
Page 7

"Lord Shahrizai." Joscelin inclined his head. He tolerated Mavros, but he had little fondness for any member of House Shahrizai.
"My lady." Mavros' expression changed, and I knew Phèdre had returned.
"Hello, Mavros." She gave him the kiss of greeting with serene composure. A little shiver ran through him as he returned it; I could see the myriad braids of his hair quiver. I could have punched him for it, even though I knew what he was feeling.
"Ah, well." He cleared his throat. "You did promise to come with me, Imri. And I've got both the Trentes in tow, and a fair escort to keep us safe.”
My face felt hot. "Where are you bound?”
"Alyssum House." There was a wicked challenge in Mavros' eyes. "I thought we'd follow the alphabet. Do you have a better idea?”
There were Thirteen Houses in the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, known more familiarly as the Night Court. Each of them catered to a different taste. The patrons of Alyssum House fed their fancies on illusions of modesty. It might not have seemed a titillating notion elsewhere, but D'Angelines were not known for their modesty, and that which is rare is always prized.
I glanced involuntarily at Phèdre.
"Go." She sounded amused. "You'll come to no harm at Alyssum. Go, with my blessing.”
I wasted no time in obeying.
The night was cold, but it was warmer in Mavros' carriage. Julien and Colette Trente were there, huddled under fur blankets. As the carriage lurched into motion, Colette squealed and threw herself in my arms.
"Imriel!" She kissed me effusively. "I'm sorry I couldn't attend the fête.”
"No matter." Her soft warmth was dizzying. I hugged her, forgetting I'd ever been wroth with the Trentes. " 'Tis good to see you.”
"And you." She ran her hands appreciatively over my shoulders.
"Oh, it's Imriel, now, is it?" Julien inquired. "What will Raul say?”
Colette looked sidelong at him. They were cut of a piece, the children of Lord Amaury Trente, who was one of Queen Ysandre's most trusted nobles: eager, friendly faces, topped by curling brown hair. "He knows who he's wedding. He's half-D'Angeline himself, you know.”
"Now, now, my loves." Mavros wagged a lazy finger. "Tonight's for honoring Naamah's pleasures.”
"So it is." I set Colette from me, gently but firmly. "You're wedding Raul?”
"I am." She looked defiant. "But he's in Aragonia now. And anyway, it needn't mean—”
I raised my hands. "I know," I said. "Believe me, I do.”
Mavros chuckled.
Outside the confines of the carriage, the horses' hooves clopped steadily along the frosted flagstones. I drew back the curtains and peered out. One of the outriders saluted me. We crossed the Aviline River, the hoofbeats sounding hollow over the bridge, and passed soon through the district of Night's Doorstep. All the taverns were alight and lively, and a part of me yearned to tarry there. But we passed onward and began to ascend Mont Nuit.
"So what passed between Raul and Maslin of Lombelon?" I asked Colette. "I heard Maslin gave you insult and Raul challenged him.”
"Maslin!" Julien nudged his sister. "Tell him.”
"He was rude." She crossed her arms. "Very rude. I merely expressed the thought that I found him appealing in a certain brooding fashion. His response was quite ungracious. Raul took offense on my behalf when I told him. It was all very foolish.”
"Mayhap Maslin's interests lay elsewhere," Mavros said smoothly. "Mayhap he had an itch in need of scratching.”
As much as I liked my cousin, betimes I hated him.
"The Dauphine," Julien affirmed. He withdrew a flask of brandy from the inner pocket of his doublet and drank deep before offering it to the rest of us. "Dear Sidonie. That's where Maslin's aspirations lie.”
"Oh, Sidonie!" Colette said scornfully. "She wouldn't.”
"No?" Mavros tipped the flask and drank. "I heard she did.”
"No, no," Julien said drunkenly. "She's got the priestess' daughter. And she took her to the Night Court, just as we're going. All very discreet, but that's the rumor I heard.”
"What?" My voice rose.
"Well, what would you have her do?" Mavros' tone was logical, but his eyes gleamed in the dim light of the carriage. "Grant her favors to one of the dueling cocks of the walk that hang about the Court and watch the feuds ensue?" He wagged his finger at me. "Ah no, dear cousin! Our young Dauphine is far too cool-headed to be carried away by passion. If she was of a mind to take a man into her bed—and why shouldn't she?—she'd sooner trust to the discretion of Naamah's Servants.”
I glared and snatched the flask from him, swigging brandy.
"Was it Alyssum House?" Colette asked her brother, who opened his mouth to reply.
"No, wait." Mavros forestalled him. "Let me guess." He tilted his head back and pursed his lips in thought. "Not Dahlia," he said. "It's too obvious, isn't it? She's haughty enough as it is, she'd not seek more of the same. No. Camellia, mayhap? Nothing less than perfection should suit a princess. But no, she might not care to be reminded that her lineage renders her less than perfect in the eyes of Camellia House. And I think we've already seen that our Dauphine favors unwavering devotion. So." He narrowed his eyes. "Heliotrope.”
Julien shook his head. "Jasmine.”
"Jasmine!" Mavros' brows shot upward. "Well, well!”
I laughed softly in the darkness. Among the Thirteen Houses, Jasmine catered to sensuality, pure and simple. Phèdre's mother had been an adept of Jasmine House. Ti-Philippe had once said there were adepts there would leave you limp as a dishrag, half drowned in the sweat of desire.
"Well, well," Mavros repeated.
"It's just a rumor," Julien said. "It may not be true.”
I believed it. I had caught a glimpse of what lay beneath Sidonie's surface. It wasn't brittle and it wasn't cool. And I half wished we were headed for Jasmine House. It was a mortifying thought, but I wanted to study the adepts and guess which one she'd chosen, which one bore the memory of her naked skin against his. But then came the sound of one of the outriders answering the gatekeeper's query, and we passed through the gates and arrived at our destination.
Alyssum House had a deep courtyard lined by tall cypress trees. It had twin entrances with high pointed arches, both deeply recessed.
"Which one—" I began to ask. No sooner had the words left my lips than a pair of adepts emerged; a woman, robed and veiled, and a man, clad in a long surcoat with a high collar. He bowed to Colette without meeting her eyes and beckoned her toward the left-hand entrance. She giggled and went with him.
The veiled woman ushered us into the right-hand entrance. I felt at once uneasy and aroused. She led us into a private salon. With a shy gesture, she drew back her veil to bare a lovely face, though her gaze remained averted.
"Be welcome, my lords," she murmured. "I am Agnés Ramel, the Second of Alyssum House." A light flush touched her cheek. "We have all manner of adepts to serve you. You may whisper your desires to me.”
I felt a fool when my turn came, bending to whisper into her delicate ear. I seek a woman. Surely there was naught out of the ordinary in it, and yet her flush deepened and her eyelids trembled.
Amid hushed apologies, her steward brought the contracts. We all signed them and paid our patron-fees, and one would have thought there was somewhat unnatural in the transaction for all the embarrassment it caused.
"This way," she whispered.
I had been to only two Houses of the Night Court, and they were very different. Here, there was no easy commingling. What Mavros and Julien had chosen, I couldn't say, but I had to await my turn before I was ushered into a room filled with female adepts, standing in a line. All of them were robed and veiled, but the robes they wore were of sheer linen, almost transparent in the lamplight. I could make out the shapes of their bodies; tall, slender, plump, short, firm. At a word from Agnés, they unveiled and stood with eyes downcast.
The remembered odor of stagnant water haunted me. It was too much like the Mahrkagir's zenana, the women awaiting his summons in dread. I did not like the way it stirred me. "I'm sorry," I said thickly. "I fear this is not for me.”
Agnés Ramel twisted her hands together in an agony of embarrassment. "My lord, please! Do not be cruel.”
Near the end of the line, one of the adepts glanced up at me. A quick glance, swift and darting, and then her gaze was lowered once more.
"All right," I said recklessly, pointing. "Her.”
Her name was Mignon, and once I had chosen, she led me to a private chamber. There, I gazed at her. Her limbs beneath the sheer linen were soft and rounded, and she made me think of a dove. She looked away.
"Will you put out the lamps, my lord?" she whispered.
"No," I said. "Mignon, this is a game, is it not?”
"Would you have it be so?" She did look at me then, her eyes full of soft wonder. "No, my lord. There are those among us who believe that Naamah trembled at what she did when first she lay with a mortal man—at the audacity of it, at the shame of it, at the glory of it.”
"Shame," I murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Shame is a spice, my lord," Mignon said softly. "Why have you come here if you do not understand this?”
"Because," I said, "Alyssum starts with an A.'“
"Then I will have to show you.”
It was not, I think, the way assignations usually went in Alyssum House; or mayhap it was common. I do not know. Mignon sat on my lap and stroked my face, her fingers quivering. She rained soft kisses on me, her breath quickening, and pressed herself against me. Her body trembled in truth, and yet she radiated heat and the tips of her rounded breasts were taut with desire as they rubbed against my chest. She whispered in my ear, telling me in a broken voice all the things she wished me to do to her, until I groaned aloud.
I understood.
There was pleasure in it, and it was a pleasure akin to the violent ones I had known in Valerian House, though it was different, too. I did all that she wished, and all that I wished, too. And yet I could not relish the shame. For her, it was purging. For me, it was not.
When we were finished, she wrapped herself once more in her linen robes. "I'm sorry, my lord. I wish I could have pleased you better.”
"Don't be." I leaned down to kiss her, but she turned her head away. "Mignon!" I said her name sharply and she glanced up involuntarily. I smiled at her. "I have learned somewhat about myself this night, and that is a valuable gift. Thank you.”
She gave me a shy smile in return. "You are welcome.”
Afterward, in the carriage, the other three compared their experiences. Mavros, as usual, was pleased with himself, and the Trentes had found it a great lark.
"Oh, the way he blushed!" Colette laughed. "I bade him take off his shirt, and he went red all over. It was sweet. Did yours blush, Julien?”
"I don't know," he admitted. "She begged me to blow out the lamps, and I did.”
"Silly boy," Mavros said. "That's part of the fun." He studied me. "And you, Imri? You didn't care for it?”
I shrugged. "Not as much as you did.”
My Shahrizai cousin grinned. "That's true of a great many things.”
That night I lay awake for a long time, thinking about Alyssum House, wondering what manner of patron went there as a matter of course, whether they went to purge their own shame or to revel in that of the adepts. Whether Naamah appreciated the reverence done to her there. I supposed she must. Desire, like love, takes many forms.
And I thought about Sidonie, too.
Jasmine House. I wondered if it were true. Somehow I didn't doubt it.
Well, well.
Chapter Five
"DIOGENES," I SAID FIRMLY.Favrielle nó Eglantine clamped her jaw so hard the crooked little scar on her upper lip turned white. "Can you not talk sense into him?" she spat at Phèdre.
"Why not Diogenes?" Phèdre replied. "Can we not do a Hellene theme?”
Due to the distraction of Lucca's siege and my uncertain return, we were late in commissioning costumes for the Longest Night; truly late, and not just in terms of Favrielle's reckoning. That wasn't why she was angry, though.
"Rags!" She loaded the word with contempt. "You want me to adorn a Prince of the Blood in rags.”
"And a lamp," I added.
"Why?" Favrielle demanded of Phèdre.
"I've no idea," she said tranquilly. " 'Tis Imriel's fancy. And after what he's been through in the past year, I'm minded to let him have his way." She paused. "If you're unwilling, we can always go elsewhere…”
Favrielle merely glared at her. It was a bluff, but it was one she wouldn't call. It was ever thus between them. In the end, Favrielle conceived of a notion that pleased her well enough. I would portray asceticism in the persona of the Cynic philosopher Diogenes, and Phèdre would portray opulence in the persona of the D'Angeline philosopher Sarielle d'Aubert, who was renowned in her lifetime for travelling with a retinue of attendants prepared to cater to her every whim.
"I reckon that would be me," Ti-Philippe observed.