Kushiel's Avatar (Phedre's Trilogy #3)

D'Angelines, Tsingani; there were even Yeshuites among them.

"Mont Nuit!" someone else cried, pointing. "Look!"

From the heights of the hill of Mont Nuit, where the Thirteen Houses of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers were clustered, a torchlit pro cession was winding toward Night's Doorstep. All of them . . . all. I caught my breath to see it. The Night Court had closed its doors. In tribute, they came, in celebration. All of the Servants of Naamah. And Cereus House, that is first and eldest among them, led the way, fragile and beautiful, while the madcap adepts of Eglantine House followed close behind, singing and playing, the tumblers throwing somersaults as they went. Ah, Elua! They were all there: modest Alyssum, gentle Balm, proud Dahlia, dreaming Gentian, merry Orchis, adoring Heliotrope, shrewd Bryony, perfect Camellia, sensuous Jasmine, my own mother's House, and yes—Mandrake too, with its delightful wickedness, and Valerian in all its sweet yielding. And they entered the fête like a stream mingling its waters with a mighty river.

"Did you plan this?" Hyacinthe asked. His voice was shaking.

"No." So was mine. "This was a gift."

"Oh, Phèdre!" The tears shone bright in his eyes; his changeable eyes, still Hyacinthe's beneath it all, my Prince of Travellers. "I will miss you so. I'll miss this all."

An Eglantine tumbler, fresh-faced and merry, evaded the guard and darted onto the chariot to steal a kiss from a laughing Drustan mab Necthana, looping a green ribbon about his neck. Once, in this very spot, a troupe of Eglantine adepts had tormented Joscelin, while Hyacinthe and I had stood atop empty wine-casks and watched, stifling our mirth. The tumbler snatched Ysandre's hand and planted a kiss on it, somersaulting backward off the chariot before the Queen's Guard could stop her. Ysandre was laughing. I saw in the vanguard behind her Duc Barquiel L'Envers, his eyes narrowed with calculating amusement. He saw me watching and saluted. The Dowayne of Orchis House coaxed a Tsingano fiddler into playing a lively tune. Emile's voice was audible above the crowd, roaring about somewhat. No one paid him any heed.

"Miss us later," I said to Hyacinthe. "Tonight is for you."

He nodded, understanding. "Thank you."

Good-bye, I said, only the words came out, "You're welcome."

And the fête, my fête, continued, all throughout the City of Elua. It went long into the small hours of the night, and many stories are told of it, for the City had never seen its like. There was joy in it, and sorrow, for it was celebration and farewell alike. On the morrow, there would be sore heads aplenty, and I would worry anew about Imriel's safety and wonder what message was coded in Barquiel L'Enver's mock ing salute, and how long Melisande would remain complacent in the Temple of Asherat-of-the-Sea.

For now, this was enough.

If I did not have everything, I had enough. I had my household to sustain me—there was Eugenie, wading into the fray and hoisting her skirts to dance, unexpectedly nimble. I had the regard of the Cruarch of Alba, whom I esteemed beyond gold, and the forgiveness of my Queen, Ysandre de la Courcel, which meant more to me than I had ever reckoned.

I missed my lord Anafiel Delaunay, more than I could say. And I missed my foster-brother Alcuin, who was too gentle a soul to have died as he did. I missed Kaneka, for whom I had conceived a great respect, from whom I was parted by great distance; I missed Kazan Atrabiades, my Illyrian pirate. I wished I could speak to Pasiphae Asterius, the Kore of the Temenos. And I remembered, and grieved, for those others I missed, those who had died for my goals: Eamonn of the Dalriada, Remy and Fortun, my dear chevaliers, and those brave, doomed women of the zenana. I touched the ivory hairpin thrust through my coronet, remembering Drucilla, fierce Jolanta, so many oth ers. And not just the women, no; there was Rushad, who had reminded me so of Alcuin. Erich the Skaldi, who had died trying to protect him.

So many dead.

So many living.

Hyacinthe, my one true friend. I had given him back his life, and if it was not the one he'd had, still, it was his. And he had Sibeal with him, whom I liked and admired, who understood his dreams. And I ... I had friends everywhere, now. Friends and comrades, patrons and lov ers.

I had Joscelin, my Perfect Companion, the compass by which I fixed my heart.

No one could ask more.

Nor had I, and yet it had been given. By Kushiel, who had used his Chosen harder than any in recorded memory? By Naamah, whom I had served long and faithfully? By Blessed Elua himself, whose mercy is beyond reckoning? I do not know. Nor does it matter, in the end.

I had Imriel.

Imri, who'd spat in my face upon our meeting, who trusted me beyond reason. Melisande's son, the scion of my deepest enemy, my darkest desire. Who could have guessed it? Not even Elua's priests, I think. My proud and wounded boy, his heart as vast as the plains of Jebe-Barkal and twice as fierce. I loved him so much it made me dizzy, and if I'd had to defy Ysandre twice-over for him, I would have done it.

Blessed Elua was kind.

The fête, my fête, continued in the City of Elua.

I touched the bare hollow of my throat, and smiled, remembering.

Love as thou wilt.