I glanced around. "Not here.”
We went to Lord Sacriphant's townhouse. Mavros' father wasn't in residence, and Mavros, who liked the City rather better than many of my Shahrizai kin, had the run of it. Truth be told, the place made me uneasy. It was very elegant and the servants moved about with hushed grace. They seemed to have pride in serving House Shahrizai, but one couldn't help but wonder what penalties were levied on them for disobedience or failure.
Or at least I couldn't. The first time I'd been here, Mavros had gotten me stinking drunk and taken me to Valerian House, where the Shahrizai reserved a private dungeon. The memory of that excursion still made me squirm with pleasure and unease.
Come to think on it, I'd been chafing over Sidonie that night, too. That was shortly after things had first changed between us, and Mavros was still the only person I'd told. Despite his teasing, he was a good listener and I trusted him; or at least I did in this.
He listened without comment while I told him an abbreviated version of what had transpired, leaving out the more embarrassing bits.
When I had finished, he raised his brows. "You really didn't think about how this might appear?”
"Well, yes," I said. "But not as—”
"Conspiracy?" he suggested. I nodded. Mavros steepled his fingers, tapping his lips in thought. "You do have a certain naïve charm, cousin. One thing in the realm I daresay everyone could agree on is the fact that Melisande Shahrizai's laughter would ring to the heavens if she learned her son had managed to seduce Ysandre's heir.”
"It's not like that," I said miserably.
"No, it's not, is it?" There was sympathy in his gaze. "Do you want my advice?”
"Please.”
"Too bad," he said. "Because I don't have any.”
"Mavros!”
"All right." He smiled wryly. "My best advice is to make an end of it, because if you're caught—and the odds are you will be—there'll be an unholy uproar and Barquiel L'Envers will want your blood. But…" He shrugged. "This itch has plagued you for a long time. The lady knows her mind and at least she's a better sense of the danger involved than you do. If you're minded to pursue it, in Elua's name, be careful. It's only a few months, and then you'll be packed off to Alba with your Cruithne bride.”
"I know," I murmured.
"Second thoughts?”
I glanced sharply at him. "Don't tempt me.”
On the ride home, I thought about Sidonie and the risk involved; bruised hearts at best and accusations of treason at worst. And I thought about my impending marriage and all the fine advice about duty and honor I'd given Lucius Tadius da Lucca, whose situation mirrored my own. I'd resolved to take my own advice when I made the decision to come home. I would do my duty to Terre d'Ange and House Courcel.
My resolve strengthened on the ride. Mavros was right, I should make an end of it. There was no future in it for Sidonie or me. Like as not she was right, and it was little more than the lure of the forbidden that goaded us. I was bound for Alba, and if it wasn't the choice I might have made with my life, it was one that would atone for all the choices my mother had made. In the meantime, I had no business sowing the seeds of chaos.
"I'll end it," I said aloud to the Bastard's flicking ears. "I will.”
The Bastard snorted, as well he should.
For all my bold words, my resolve began to falter the following day, the instant I saw Amarante of Namarre waiting for me outside the ollamh's study. In her bedchamber, Sidonie was gazing out the window, standing in a shaft of light. She turned as we entered, smiling at me with unreserved happiness. My heart leapt in my breast, and my resolve crumbled into a thousand meaningless pieces.
"Imriel." She did linger over my name this time.
I bowed to her. "Sun Princess.”
It made her laugh, that unexpected, full-throated laugh that had turned my world upside down and made me realize that the private Sidonie de la Courcel was very different from the public one. Amarante shook her head and left us. I sat down on the bed uninvited, fearing we might not make it that far if I didn't start there.
"Do you think we might take this at a slower pace today?" I asked.
"We can try." Sidonie stood between my legs and cupped my upturned face. I rested my hands on her hips and we gazed at one another. Her hair was pinned in a complicated chignon with looping tendrils, and the sunlight made an aureole of it. She kissed my face, my eyelids, the corners of my lips. " 'The lover showers kisses on the face of the beloved,' " she recited softly from the Trois Milles Joies, " 'like petals falling in a summer rain.'" Her lips brushed mine, once, then again. The tip of her tongue darted, fleeting. "'The lover seeks to open the beloved's lips like a tight-furled bud.'“
" 'The beloved's lips open like a blossom to admit the lover,'" I whispered, and then her mouth was on mine and her tongue in my mouth, my arms hard around her waist. We fell over onto the bed, kissing.
Elua, it was sweet, so sweet! When I could tear myself away from her mouth, I undressed her in between kisses, and kissed every part I uncovered, while Sidonie did the same. She found the scars; the battle-scars and the others. I felt her touch linger over the faint traces of old weals on my back, the brand on my left flank.
She lifted her head, eyes grave. "Will you tell me about these?”
I nodded. "But not now.”
"No, not now." One finger brushed along the underside of the rigid arch of my phallus, which quivered in response. "Can we do it like before? Only properly.”
I smiled. "You liked that?”
"Mmm." Sidonie kissed me. "Yes. Now, please. I don't want to wait.”
She didn't say why and I didn't ask. I knew. It was a threshold. Until we crossed it, we could still go back. We could still tell ourselves it was nothing more than a few feverish moments of kissing and groping. Afterward, it would be different.
"You're sure?" I whispered when she was straddling me, her bare thighs nestled on the outside of mine. My phallus was throbbing in my fist, the swollen head nudging her nether-lips. They were parted and slick with desire, and I thought I might die if she said no.
"I'm sure." Sidonie shifted deliberately, and we both drew in our breath as the head of my phallus slipped inside her. "Oh, yes! I'm sure.”
Inch by inch, she took me in, until I was sheathed to the hilt. I felt like laughing and I felt like crying. I wrapped my arms around her as she rocked atop me. And ah, Elua! It was hot and tight and slick, and terrifyingly intimate in a way I'd never felt before. We held each other and leaned our brows together and I watched her eyelids flutter, echoing the steady surge of ripples below that made her pant and gasp, until I couldn't stand it. With her hands wrapped around my head, I clung to her and groaned against her breast, my seed spurting deep inside her.
Everything was different now.
"Imriel?" Sidonie murmured. "Why do we fit so well together?”
I lay on my back, exhausted. "I wish I knew.”
She wriggled atop me, clamping her thighs together and preventing my softening phallus from slipping out. I rolled her onto her side, rolling with her. We stayed conjoined, her upper thigh flung over mine. Our entwined limbs slid against each other and I felt the surge of desire returning, sooner than I would have thought possible. Sidonie laughed deep in her throat, legs squeezing mine. "I could climb you like a tree.”
"I didn't think you liked climbing trees," I said.
She kissed me. "I don't.”
"Do you know what I love?" I whispered. "I love your eyes. I love the way they don't match the rest of you.”
"Cruithne eyes." Sidonie smiled. "You don't mind?”
"No." I kissed the outer corners of her eyelids, moving slowly inside her. "I like them. I always did." I dug my fingers into her thigh, moving it higher. I settled deeper into her, and she caught her breath in a long, satisfied sigh. "Why did you tell the Sultan's ambassador you'd entertain his suit?”
"Politics." Sidonie tasted my throat. "You want to talk politics?"
“I'm curious.”
"Jealous?" She bit my earlobe. "You don't have the right to be.”
"I know." I gathered her closer, sliding my arms up her back and sinking my hands into her hair. It was true, we fit together as though our bodies were made for one another. I'd never felt that with anyone else. This was slow and languorous and wonderful, and I didn't want it to end. I wanted to stay inside her, holding her. "I'm curious, that's all.”
"Because," Sidonie murmured, punctuating her words with kisses, "it shows good faith on our part. And because Parliament will be sufficiently relieved when I refuse the Sultan's suit, they'll be more inclined to agree to the reduction in import fees despite my uncle's opposition, which is what Mother wants." She lifted her head, black eyes languid and amused. "Does that answer your question?”
"Mm-hmm." I thrust into her, watching her eyelids flutter again. For some reason, it was perversely arousing to hear her discuss matters of state while I made love to her. "You know, I could envision spending the rest of my life—”
"Don't say it." She touched my lips. "Please, don't.”
Until that moment, I hadn't been sure that what Sidonie was feeling cast the same fearsome shadow in her heart that I felt in mine. But I saw the pain surface and I knew. We gazed at one another, face-to-face, and saw the vast, impending hurt that awaited us reflected in one another's eyes.
"Too late," I said quietly.
Something else surfaced in her expression; the cool determination with which she faced down whispers in the Court and charted her course to the throne. Sidonie rolled onto her back, pulling me atop her with agile strength. I propped myself on my arms above her. The pins had fallen out of her hair, spilling it over the pillows. "Then let's make it worthwhile," she said, locking her heels behind my buttocks.
I did my best to oblige.
Chapter Ten
That winter passed too quickly.For days on end, I forgot all the things that should have absorbed me. I managed to tend to my Alban studies and I endeavored to learn more about issues of statecraft I'd neglected throughout my tenure as a Prince of the Blood. I consulted with the Queen regarding my upcoming nuptials, which filled me with vague dread. Everything else—the Unseen Guild, the mysterious Maghuin Dhonn, my vanished mother—I forgot.
Sidonie.
We didn't speak of the future, but every stolen moment we could snatch, we spent together. It was never enough. I always wanted more. I wanted to make love to her, and I wanted to talk with her. I wanted to talk about politics and philosophy and what it meant to be good. I wanted to talk about everything under the sun, the way Eamonn and I used to do. I wanted to talk about the endless ways she surprised me.
Sometimes we did. I kept my promise and told her about being abducted, about Daršanga and the Mahrkagir's zenana, and what I had endured there. I told her more than I'd ever told anyone except Eamonn and Phèdre.
"The worst part was that he made us complicit in it," I said without looking at her. "It happened a lot. There was a girl from Ch'in who displeased him. I never knew her name, but she had beautiful hair, hair to her waist. She used to hide her nakedness behind it in the festal hall." I gazed into the distance. "The Mahrkagir grew impatient at it. He gave me a blunt knife and bade me shear her. He said if I didn't do it, he'd do it himself and take her scalp with it.”
Sidonie made a sound deep in her throat.
"So I did." My palms were sweating at the memory. I rubbed them on my thighs. "I hacked away her beautiful hair and laid it in his hands. Then he put the knife to my throat and bade her plait her own hair or watch me die slow. When she was done …" I took a deep breath. "He throttled her with it and made me watch. Took her by force and throttled her, so he could feel her die under him. He liked that.”
I told her how I'd gotten the scar seared onto my left flank. How after Phèdre had come, the Mahrkagir had given me as a plaything to the Tatar warlord Jagun. How Jagun had fondled me and beaten me and branded me as his own property. How for long years I'd had nightmares in which I'd awakened screaming, the stench of my own burning flesh in my nostrils.
There were other stories; worse stories.
I didn't tell them all, but I told enough.
Sidonie listened without saying a word, her face stark with horror, streaked with silent tears. It was the only time I didn't touch her, and I couldn't look at her when I'd finished. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She knelt behind me, wrapping her arms around me, her head on my shoulder. "I'm so sorry.”
I nodded, unable to speak. Neither of us did, not for a very long time. Sidonie held me, so still she might have been keeping a vigil; and mayhap she was. The sun crept across the floor of Amarante's bedchamber and another knot of shame inside me slowly uncoiled.
At length her warm breath stirred my hair. "Does this mean I shouldn't expect you to do wonderful, horrible things to my helpless body?”
A bolt of mortified desire went through me and my mouth went dry. I turned in her arms to look at her in shock. "Are you jesting?”
Her black eyes were bright with a mix of mirth and sorrow. "No.”
"Elua!" I laughed shortly and rubbed my face. "Oh, Sidonie.”