She tore her hands free of mine and grabbed my head, kissing me hard. Sunlight, liquid gold. I slid both arms around her, hands pressing her slender back. We tumbled onto the floor together, our fall cushioned by a woven rug. I held her down, kissing her. Ah, Elua! My head was filled with a dazzling brightness, my body singing with desire.
"Imriel…" Sidonie arched her neck, gasped. "Ow!”
"Sorry." I'd pinned her hair to the floor. I pulled her atop me and sat up, settling her astraddle of my lap.
"I don't—" Her skirts were puddled around us. She rocked against me. "Oh.”
With one hand, I undid the laces of her bodice, baring her breasts. Skin like cream, tender with youth. I cupped her breasts, tracing the line of her cleavage with my tongue, then lowered my head to lave her nipples. Sidonie sighed, sinking both hands into my hair. I held her breasts and suckled them hard until she whimpered and ground herself against me, and somewhere there was knocking, and I wanted to stop, but I couldn't, not until she cried out and shuddered, and the fierceness of it made me lose control and spend myself.
"Ah, Naamah!" she panted.
The adjoining door opened. "Sidonie?”
Sidonie glanced up, dark eyes wide and blurred with pleasure, honey-gold hair clinging to skin damp with sweat. "What is it?”
"I'm sorry." Amarante looked apologetic and amused, and not in the least startled to find her half-naked royal mistress straddling me. "Your mother sent a messenger. I told him you were napping, but he's waiting.”
Sidonie sighed. "All right." She got up, which Elua knows, I couldn't have done at the moment. In seconds, her bodice was laced and her hair twined in a lover's-haste knot at the nape of her neck. I stared at her in amazement and began to wonder what I'd gotten myself into. Her lips curved, her Cruithne eyes reading my thoughts. "We'll talk later.”
"All right," I said faintly.
The women exchanged one of their glances, and Amarante raised her brows. "Don't worry," she said. "I'll clean him up.”
"My thanks." Sidonie kissed her and left.
I groaned. Amarante laughed and fetched a linen towel from the washbasin. "Here.”
"Give me a moment." I rested my back against the edge of her bed and contemplated her. "Why are you doing this, my lady?”
"Should I be jealous, you mean?" she asked, and I nodded. "Are you?”
I thought about it. "I don't know. But Mavros said you were loyal to Sidonie.”
"I am." She sat in the chair beneath the window. "She has a lonely path. I think she deserves to have one person who won't break trust with her for any reason. I think, too, that it will make her a kinder person in turn, and one day, mayhap a gentler ruler. And for so long as she wishes, I'm content to serve in that role.”
"And are you always impossibly wise and compassionate?" I asked.
Amarante laughed again. "No.”
"That's good to know." I levered myself to my feet and went to use the washbasin, feeling remarkably self-conscious about it. Amarante waited, unperturbed.
"Prince Imriel," she said when I'd finished. "You asked why. I was raised in Naamah's worship, and we honor love and desire over politics. If you and Sidonie wish to bruise your hearts on each other, it is your right. But if you hurt her a-purpose, I will call down Naamah's curse on you.”
I nodded. "Fairly spoken.”
"I'm glad you think so." Her apple-green eyes glinted. "And next time, mayhap you'll make it as far as the bed.”
I left the Palace in a daze. Fire, had I said? Name of Elua! More like a firestorm. I should have known. I had known, or suspected. Still, it hadn't prepared me for the reality. Sidonie, my cool, regal cousin. My body was quivering like a plucked harp-string and I wanted more, so much more, than this half-thwarted encounter that left me with damp breeches and heightened yearning. I'd known desire before. Claudia Fulvia's ardor had kept mine at a fever pitch for days on end.
This was different.
For the first time, it scared me. She was right, of course. We were the last two people in the realm who could afford a casual dalliance. Only it wasn't casual. It wasn’t casual because of the Queen's disapproval and the menace in Barquiel L'Envers' stare, and worst of all, the unnerving ache in the hollow of my chest, a terrible surge of tenderness.
Naamah's curse didn't frighten me.
Her blessing was another matter.
Chapter Nine
I attended my first session as a member of Parliament some days later, although the Marquise de Lafoneuil would be displeased to know that the matter of the cooper's tax was not addressed. Ysandre had convened the meeting to give ear to Diokles Agallon, the Ephesian ambassador. It was a partial session, as many members would not be travelling to the City until spring, but it would suffice to afford him a hearing.Sidonie was there. I hadn't expected it, Elua knows why. She had no vote, no official role until she gained her majority. But she was Ysandre's heir, and she'd been learning statecraft at her mother's knee while I was herding goats in the mountains of Siovale.
It made it hard to concentrate. Childric d'Essoms introduced the ambassador, and Diokles spoke at length about the diminishing market in Ephesium due to unrest in realms to the north, and the desire to establish a more fulsome trade with Terre d'Ange. If he had a hidden agenda, I couldn't fathom it.
"Your policies favor Khebbel-im-Akkad, your majesty, though we offer many of the same goods," he said. "Ephesium does but seek the right to compete freely, with the same import fees.”
"The cost of transport is higher for the Akkadians," Barquiel L'Envers observed. "Thus, you have the advantage elsewhere." He had a vested interest in the matter, as his daughter was wed to the Lugal of Khebbel-im-Akkad. I was fairly certain she'd tried to have me assassinated when I was a boy.
"And a shipment of Ephesian cotton should sell for a lower price than an Akkadian," Diokles Agallon said politely. "Yet we must pay a higher fee for the right to do so, and are forced to raise our prices accordingly to make a profit. Should Ephesium be punished for its geography? And moreover, should Terre d’Ange be deprived of the right to benefit from it?”
I ceased paying attention to his words and focused on the way he shaped his vowels. His accent was like Canis' and yet, not quite. I'd known Ephesians in Daršanga, but I couldn't remember if it had been the same. It was hard to tell there, where everyone spoke in a polyglot babble. And at times, I could have sworn Canis was Hellene by the things he said, though that wasn't quite right, either.
"…an obligation to honor alliance through ties of marriage," L'Envers was saying.
"Indeed." Agallon bowed. "The Sultan is well aware of this. In fact, it is a matter he would be interested in discussing himself.”
At that point, everyone in the room looked at Sidonie.
"No," Barquiel L'Envers said. "Oh, I think not.”
"Oh, let him speak, my lord uncle." Sidonie smiled at the Ephesian ambassador. "I confess myself curious.”
"Forgive me." The words were out of my mouth before I had any intention of speaking them. I flushed. "The proceedings are new to me. Is this a fit matter for Parliament to discuss in an open session?”
"No, no." Diokles Agallon raised his hands. "I would welcome a private audience with her majesty, but I fear I overstep here. Trade is at issue. My lords and ladies, pray, think on our request.”
Ysandre inclined her head. "We will do so.”
There was a rancorous discussion on the question of trade after the ambassador took his leave. L'Envers led a faction arguing against easing the fees, and others argued in favor of it. When the Queen called for a vote, it was evenly divided. I voted for it, mostly because L'Envers was opposed.
"Very well," Ysandre said. "We'll return to the matter in the spring when a full meeting is convened.”
"Are you going to hear the Sultan's suit?" someone called.
Ysandre glanced at Sidonie, who raised her brows a cool fraction.
"We may hear it," the Queen said calmly. "There is never any harm in listening, my lord.”
Of course, once the session was dismissed, no one could talk of anything else. Members of Parliament clustered in the halls of the Palace, gossiping in hushed whispers. They fell silent when Ysandre and Sidonie drew nigh. I watched them pass, my emotions in a tumult. We hadn't had a private moment since the afternoon in Amarante's bedchamber, and I was losing sleep. I was hoping very much that if I hovered here long enough, the priestess' daughter would come fetch me.
"Prince Imriel." A hand landed on my shoulder. I turned to see Childric d'Essoms. He smiled at me. "Lord Agallon would like a word with you.”
I sighed inwardly. "Of course.”
D'Essoms escorted me there and left us. The ambassador's quarters in the Palace were quite fine. We met in the tapestry-hung sitting room, where a tall Ephesian servant with a bald head and an imposing beard brought mint tea sweetened with honey. Diokles Agallon dismissed him and poured the tea himself. I thanked him and didn't drink until he raised his own cup and took a noisy sip.
"You're careful," he said. "Wise.”
The tea was good. "I try, my lord.”
He smiled. "I have been thinking, your highness. Your aid in this matter would not be unwelcome. A youthful prince's voice urging for the vigor of change. Perhaps an exchange of favors might be made.”
"Which matter is that?" I asked.
Another noisy sip. "The matter of Ephesium.”
"Do you speak of trade or marriage?”
"I speak of both," Agallon said. "Though of course, our hopes are modest.”
"I see." I set down my cup. "And what do you offer?”
His smile was a diplomat's, smooth and practiced. "The medallion you wore …very interesting. Perhaps if you were to tell me more about it, I might be able to tell you somewhat about where it originated.”
I gazed at him for a long moment without speaking. There were no telltales of a lie, but there were cracks in the veneer of his composure, a subtle discomfiture that surfaced the longer I stared. I thought about his careful wording, and I thought about what Claudia Fulvia had told me about the Unseen Guild. There were currents and cross-purposes within it. If this man was my mother's ally, he would have known where the medallion came from. He wouldn't have needed to dig.
It smelled like a trap, though I couldn't have said why. I didn't want to be beholden to the Guild in any way. And of a surety, I didn't want to argue the case for Sidonie's wedding the Sultan's son or brother, or whatever he had in mind. It wasn't just my own feelings at stake. The very notion had the peerage in an uproar. For me to argue in favor of it would have smacked of sedition.
My mother would have known that. And strangely enough, if she had enemies in the Guild, I didn't want to treat with them.
"Thank you, my lord." I inclined my head. "You are generous and I am grateful for it. I will gladly argue on behalf of enhanced trade, for your cause seemed good to me. But as for the rest…" I spread my hands. "I fear I must decline.”
"Indeed?" Diokles Agallon mused. "Interesting.”
"Is it, my lord?" I asked lightly.
He showed white teeth in his diplomat's smile. "I find you very interesting, Prince Imriel de la Courcel. Remember my name, young highness. You may find yourself interested in trading a favor of your own one day. Not many are willing to entertain such an offer.”
That, at least, I could be reasonably sure would never happen. "Of course, my lord," I promised. "I will.”
Leaving his quarters, I made my way downstairs and decided to loiter for a few minutes in the Hall of Games, listening to the lively buzz of gossip. The rumor had grown in the telling; already, Sidonie was said to be contemplating a marriage with the Sultan's second son. I accepted an offer to play a hand of piquet with an Azzalese lordling I knew by sight, listening to the murmurs and shaking my head to myself.
"Imri!" Mavros manifested, winding through the crowd. He laid his hands on my shoulders and peered at my cards. "You're not going to lead with that, are you?”
I batted at him. "Shut up, Mavros.”
"You're so unkind, cousin." He leaned over, his lips close to my ear. "The priestess' daughter was looking for you.”
I lost the trick and then the hand, paid my wager, and left the table, leading Mavros over to the colonnade. "Where is she?”
"I'm jealous," Mavros said, narrowing his eyes. "Or am I?”
"Mavros!" I shook him.
He laughed. "She left, Imri. Couldn't stay, said she'd look for you on the morrow. Tell me, did you succeed in poaching where I failed? Or does the lady run her mistress' errands?”
A pair of strolling passersby glanced at us with idle interest. I put my hand over Mavros' mouth. "Will you please shut up!" I hissed.
"Ooh, forceful." His voice was muffled and his twilight-blue eyes gleamed above my smothering hand. "Do you want me to play Valerian to your Mandrake, cousin?”
He was so impossible I had to laugh. "Mavros, truly. I need you to be discreet.”
"As the grave," he agreed. "Will you tell me if I promise not to breathe a word?”
"Swear it," I said.
Mavros raised his hand promptly. "In Kushiel's name.”