“My choice?” Sidonie asked.
I nodded.
She withdrew a length of silken gold rope.
“You’re sure?” I asked. I’d not bound her since Carthage’s spell had been broken. Too many memories of pain and fear, the ollamh’s bindings and her wits slipping away. But tonight Sidonie placed her wrists together and nodded.
“I’m sure.”
I tied her wrists together, lashing them securely. Lashing them to the bedposts. I placed her on her belly first. I stripped off my own clothes, kissed her from the nape of her neck to the cleft of her buttocks, lingering over the sunburst. I fingered the slick cleft and bud between her thighs until she writhed beneath me, face pressed against the pillow. And then I pulled the pins from her hair and turned her over. The golden cord stretched her arms tight overhead, her breasts taut.
“Imriel . . .” Sidonie said, breathless.
“Ah, no.” I spread her thighs wide, sliding downward to taste her. “I’m only beginning.”
Kushiel’s mercy, cruel and sweet. I had learned the art of patience making love to her. Mine. She was mine. I took her to the precipice of pleasure and abandoned her there, over and over, until she wept and begged.
So good.
And then I fitted myself between her thighs, propped on one arm. I rubbed the crown of my phallus between her slick nether-lips, over Naamah’s Pearl. I slid the tip of my shaft into her, only enough to make her body jerk and strain, then withdrew, over and over.
Sidonie glared at me, her face damp with tears. “I hate you!”
I smiled. “No, you don’t.”
“Please?” she begged. “I need you.”
I clutched my aching phallus, feeling it throb in my fist, rubbing it against her. “Tell me the truth.”
“I love you.” Her back arched. “Always and always.”
I sank into her, deep and true.
“Oh, gods.” She began to climax, ankles locked around my hips. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t ever stop.”
And I didn’t.
Not for a long, long time.
Eighty-Nine
Two days later, we were wed.
The day before the wedding, we didn’t see one another. I knew Sidonie was being taken to Eisheth’s temple, where she would light a candle to Eisheth and beseech the goddess to open the gates of her womb and grant her children. It was a mystery in which men were not allowed to partake.
I thought about that alone in my quarters. I thought about the unborn son who had died with Dorelei. Aniel. We had chosen that name for him. If Sidonie had a boy, I wondered if she’d consent to name him Aniel.
I thought she might.
Whatever fate saw fit to grant us, girl or boy, a lively horde or a cherished few, I thought, we would love them. We would never let a day go by unmarked, unnoticed, without letting them know they were loved. Without letting them know we loved one another. Our lives together were a gift. I would always be grateful for it.
The day of our wedding dawned clear and bright. How not? The Master of the Straits was in attendance. Favrielle nó Eglantine’s assistants came to make certain that my attire was immaculate. It was simple, very simple. Black breeches, a white shirt open at the throat, embellished with subtle white-on-white embroidery along the neckline. No doublet. I remembered sweltering when I’d wed Dorelei.
Not today.
They fussed over the lay of the shirt and fussed over my hair and the shine of my boots until I grew impatient and dismissed them. Not long afterward, Phèdre and Joscelin arrived to escort me. Phèdre caught her breath at the sight of me.
“You look—” She shook her head.
I smiled. “So do you.”
And then it was time to go. We rode the short distance from the courtyard to the Palace gardens, wreaths of flowers draped around the necks of our mounts. At every step of the way, there were folk flanking our path, cheering and throwing petals. I thought half the flowers of Terre d’Ange must have been stripped bare for this one day. We reached the gardens and dismounted, continuing on foot. Petals fell like a blizzard.
Through the falling petals, I saw her.
Sidonie’s dress was white, white on white, matching my shirt. It looked vivid and bright against the greensward and the blue robes of Brother Thomas standing behind her. Her arms and shoulders were bare. There were white roses woven into her honey-gold hair. We smiled at one another. There was a throng of thousands present, but I saw only her.
I walked across the greensward and took her hand.
Another moment in life come around full circle.
Brother Thomas stooped to touch the green, growing grass, then lifted his hands to the blue, blue sky. He invoked Elua’s blessing on us. Once more, I felt my brow anointed with oil. I touched the golden torc at my throat, remembering. I saw understanding in Sidonie’s dark gaze. And then Bérèngere of Namarre came forward and anointed us a second time in Naamah’s name. Her daughter had kept our secrets, but she knew the role desire had played in our union. The oil on the Lady Bérèngere’s fingers smelled of jasmine, and her expression was at once solemn and glad.
There were vows then. I repeated the words that Brother Thomas gave me to recite, finding my voice gone suddenly soft and husky. Tears stood in Sidonie’s eyes. I watched Sidonie recite the same vows. A thousand memories crowded me. We’d gone through so very much to reach this place, this moment in time.
“Let it be done.” Brother Thomas’ voice was firm and carrying. He spread his arms wide as though to embrace the world. “In Blessed Elua’s name, I bid you seal this union with a kiss.”
The cheers rose.
Petals fell.
Sidonie smiled at me through her tears, joyous tears. She slid her arms around my neck. I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her as though the fate of the world depended on it.
It was done.
We were wed. Melisande Shahrizai’s son and Ysandre de la Courcel’s heir. And the realm rejoiced at our union, their cheers ringing to the heavens. A vast band of musicians began to play. Servants began to circulate bearing trays of joie. I downed a glass at one swallow, gasping at the cold fire that burned its way down my throat. Sidonie laughed with delight at my reaction.
The celebration began.
I would that I could have stopped time and preserved that day forever. It was a perfect day. There was the shadow of sorrow, yes. It would always be there. But that was the nature of life. The bright mirror and the dark, reflecting one another. And today there was so much brightness.
So many people I loved were there.
“Dagda Mor!” Eamonn said good-naturedly, folding me into a rough hug. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you truly happy before, Imri.”
I laughed. “Elua willing, you’ll see a lot more of it.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Maslin de Lombelon go to one knee before Sidonie, taking her hand and speaking in a low tone. She listened, then kissed his cheek softly.
Urist came to clasp my hand, his grip hard and strong. We nodded at one another, sharing memories in silence. “She’d be glad,” he said simply.
My eyes stung. “Thank you.”
Maslin, rising to approach me, his gaze clear of the old bitterness. “I’m happy for you,” he said, honest and direct. “Truly. Both of you.”
I grinned at him. “My thanks, my bright angel.” It made him laugh. “I’m glad you came.”
Alais, looking older and self-assured. She hugged me hard and whispered in my ear. “I’m so glad to have you as a brother, really and truly.”
I hugged her back. “You always did, villain.” She didn’t protest at the nickname, only laughed. “No harpist?” I inquired.
“No.” Alais pulled away to regard me with amusement. “Not yet.”
And then Drustan and Ysandre approached. I bowed. “Your majesties.”
“Imriel.” Drustan laid his hand on my shoulder. “I told you once that you would always be family to me.” He smiled quietly. “I am pleased to find it true.”
“As am I,” Ysandre echoed.
I bowed again. “I will try to be worthy.”
“I think you’ve managed,” Ysandre said wryly; but then she embraced me and touched my face, her touch gentle and lingering. “I did a very good thing when I sought to heal the rifts in our realm by finding you, Imriel de la Courcel. Better than I knew. I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”
I nodded, words failing me.
It went on and on. Mavros and my Shahrizai kin. Lady Nicola. Ghislain nó Trevalion; his wife, who’d sought to have me killed. Their son, Bertran. Lucius Tadius da Lucca. Barquiel L’Envers. Old friends, old enemies.
All happy.
Phèdre and Joscelin.
“Thank you,” I said to them. “Just . . . thank you.”
For the gift of my life, for the gift of all that I was. For everything. I owed them everything. I always would.
Phèdre smiled. “Your happiness is all the thanks either of us ever needed, love. I pray to Elua it never ends.” She turned her head, sensing Hyacinthe’s approach. “What does the dromonde see today?”
“Happiness, indeed.” Hyacinthe’s sea-shifting gaze settled on my face. He smiled, too. “Ordinary and mortal and messy. A great deal of it. Will that suffice?”
“Yes,” Joscelin said firmly.
“Gods, yes!” I echoed fervently.
The congratulations ended and the fête began in earnest. There was food, an abundance of food. Long tables had been laid beneath the silk tents and they were filled to groaning. Musicians played in shifts, unceasing. There were acrobats from Eglantine House and strolling poets. Sidonie and I sat side by side, reveling in the joyous pageantry. We listened to a thousand toasts, we received a thousand gifts. We made a toast of our own, drinking deep to one another, to all of those we loved who were present. To those who could not be here today. I watched Sidonie fulfill a vow, dancing with lumbering Kratos as the setting sun streaked the sky with fire.
I thought about my mother, far away on Cythera.
And Ptolemy Solon.
Happiness is the highest form of wisdom.
I thought the Wise Ape might be right.
“Your highness,” Claude de Monluc’s voice said at my ear. “There’s a fellow here seeks entrance to your nuptial feast. He says you’ll know him. Says he has your horse. Sure as hell looks like it.”
I rose, a trifle unsteady. “Did he give his name?”
Claude shook his head. “He said you’d know.”
I went to meet him. In the fiery wash of light, the Bastard’s spotted hide glowed. He pricked his ears forward at the sight of me. The figure astride him raised one hand, backlit by the setting sun. I looked up at him, shading my eyes, and gazed at a face I’d seen in the mirror, disconcertingly familiar. “Leander Maignard.”
“Prince Imriel.” He bowed from the saddle, then dismounted with a lithe twist and handed me the reins. “Thought you might like your horse back. He’s a fine mount and you seemed passing fond of him.”
I stroked the Bastard’s neck. The Bastard snuffled my hair. “You came all this way to return my horse?”
“Not exactly.” Leander grinned. “I was supposed to be here days ago, but the damned ship was wind-stilled during the passage. Her ladyship’s going to be disappointed that I missed the ceremony. She was expecting a thorough accounting.”
“I see.” I glanced back at the reveling throng. “It would surprise me to learn that she doesn’t have other spies in place.”
“Ah.” He shrugged. “Doubtless. But none who might hope to gain a lengthy audience with the Dauphine of Terre d’Ange that they might report back to her ladyship in great depth and detail on the singular nature of this young woman for whom my lady’s only child was willing to take such great risks.”
I smiled. “Oh, you reckon, do you?”
“You owe me,” Leander said shrewdly. “I loaned you my face, I gave you the clothes off my back. I gave you my memories.”
“She’s curious, isn’t she?” I asked.
He grinned again. “Perishing.”
I laughed. “All right. Let me have a word with my captain here.” I turned the Bastard over to Claude de Monluc and bade him have someone stable him. “You can put Leander’s things in my quarters,” I said. “I’ll not be needing them tonight.” I lowered my voice. “And have a discreet guard set on him. I want him watched while he’s here. I’ll want to know where he goes and whom he meets with.”
“As you will.” Claude looked bemused. “He’s your mother’s spy, isn’t he?”
“He is,” I said. “But he’s right. I owe him.”
I rejoined Leander. We crossed the greensward, toward the sound of music and laughter. The servants were lighting the lamps, sunset’s glow giving way to blue twilight. The scent of thousands upon thousands of flower petals crushed underfoot and thousands more blossoms blooming hung in the air.
“It’s beautiful,” Leander mused. “I’d forgotten.”
“Imriel!” Sidonie came toward me, holding Lucius by the hand, her eyes sparkling. “Lucius has been telling me tales from your days in Tiberium. I knew about your dalliance with his sister, but you never told me you posed . . .” Her voice trailed off as she stared at my companion. “Leander Maignard,” she said in wonderment.
Leander bowed. “Her highness Sidonie de la Courcel, I take it?”
“Well met, messire.” She laughed. “Again, as it were.”