One day I took my courage in both hands and marched into her study.
"I have a question," I announced.
"Imriel." Phèdre looked up from the strange alphabet she was studying—somewhat that Hyacinthe had sent her some time ago. She wore her faraway look, and focused slowly on me. "Yes? What is it?"
"Are you going to return to Naamah's Service?" The question came out abruptly. "It's just…" I sighed. "I'm tired of being the last to know."
"I see," Phèdre said. "Are you angry because of Nicola?"
"No." I looked away. "Yes, a little."
"She is a friend of long standing," Phèdre said gravely. "And I am very fond of her."
"I know that now!" I heard my own voice rise, petulant.
"Come here." Phèdre beckoned. I went with reluctance, then gave myself over with a certain relief, sinking to my knees and laying my head in her lap, letting her stroke the hair from my brow. "Imri, I'm sorry. I should have told you."
"You know why," I whispered.
"I know," Phèdre murmured. "But, love, I promise you, this is nothing like Daršanga. Do you know about the signaled"
I did, only because I had read the Trois Milles Joies. It was the password established when violent pleasure was in play, overriding all false protestations. It meant, on pain of heresy, stop. "Yes," I said. "I know it."
"It exists here," she said. "There, it didn't."
"Ill thoughts," I said, remembering. "Ill words, ill deeds."
"Yes." Phèdre's hands went still. "I would have spoken it were there ears to hear."
I raised my head from her lap, peering at her. "So?"
"So." She smiled, one of those irresistible smiles, filled with all the impossible, enduring love and unlikely merriment that was part and parcel of her nature. Once again, it made my heart overbrim with feeling. How could anyone endure what we had known and still be capable of so much goodness? "There weren't. And now I am home, in Terre d'Ange, where matters differ. And now I am given to choose, as I have done, but the answer, love, is no; most probably, no."
"What answer?" I asked.
"To your question." Phèdre stroked my hair. "Do you remember how I made the pilgrimage to Naamah's river shrine in Namarre last fall?"
I nodded.
"I may be called," she said gently. "Such a possibility ever exists. But if I am not…" Phèdre shrugged. "I will not answer. I have received Naamah's blessing and her gratitude for my service. Nothing more is needful."
I was glad, fiercely glad. "And Nicola?"
"That is different." Her touch lingered on my brow. "It was a different choice, and one I do not regret. It is Elua's business. But the others…" Phèdre shook her head. "No. Not unless I am impelled. And if I am," she added. "I will tell you. All right?"
"Yes," I said. "Why don't you let it be known at Court, then? It would put an end to the guessing and wondering."
"Ah." Phèdre raised her eyebrows. "But I am Naamah's Servant, still, and guessing and wondering is part of our stock-in-trade. If I am ever called, I will draw upon years of speculation for my asking price. Does it trouble you so much?"
"Not as much as the Lady Nicola," I said truthfully.
She laughed. "You would like her, you know, if you gave her half a chance."
"I'll try," I muttered.
"Ah, love." Phèdre cupped my face in her hands. "I don't mean to make your life harder. I'm sorry if I have handled this poorly. I should have spoken to you before."
"I wouldn't have listened." I turned my head, resting my cheek against one cool palm. Something in my heart ached, sensing that one day, this, too, would be lost to me. "And I will try harder, I promise."
After that, I did.
In a rare moment of whimsy—one that was prompted by the Lady Nicola—Queen Ysandre decreed a Celebration of the Harvest in the royal apple orchard that year. It is a small orchard of no more than twenty trees, contained within the Palace walls, but the trees were lovingly tended and bore an abundance of fruit.
I will own, it was a pleasant affair. After a cold spell threatened to blight the last apples of the season with frost, the weather relented, and autumn flung out one last, glorious gasp of warmth. Everyone was clad in rustic attire; rustic, by Court standards. I wore a simple white shirt and laced breeches; but the shirt was sewn of the finest white cambric and the breeches were fawnskin, soft as a glove. They had been made to measure by Favrielle nó Eglantine's chief apprentice.
Phèdre fussed over me before we went, making sure my collar lay just so.
"Oh, Imriel!" She laid one hand over the soft deerhide laces that crisscrossed my breast. There were unexpected tears in her eyes. "Wearing that, you remind me of—" She caught herself, shaking her head. "Do you have to grow up so fast?"
I smiled down at her. "I'm going as slowly as I can."
We arrived in the early afternoon to find the fete in full resplendence. Tables set with sumptuous linens were set here and there, laden with savories. Rich carpets had been spread beneath the trees that the D'Angeline nobles might picnic upon them. Musicians strolled along the tree-lined aisles, pausing to serenade various parties. At the center of the orchard stood a great cider press, gleaming with gold inlay. It must have taken eight men to carry it there. It made me laugh aloud to see it, and I found myself wondering what Maslin of Lombelon would make of this courtly idea of a working orchard.
"Imri!" Alais' high voice greeted us. She ran into me, hard, wrapping both arms around my waist. "You came," she said, muffled.
"Of course." I hugged her back, bemused. The wolfhound pup Celeste circled us, frisking. "Why wouldn't I?"
"I don't know," Alais said. "I'm always afraid one day you won't."
"Are you afraid I'm going to run away with the man with two faces?" I teased her. "The one from your dream?"
"You might," she said gravely.
I ruffled her hair. "Not likely, villain!"
As befitted our status, we were seated on the Queen's carpet along with the other royal kindred. Fortunately for me, Duc Barquiel L'Envers was not in attendance. I kept my word and greeted the Lady Nicola and her son Raul with unforced courtesy. If no one else found the situation awkward, I had no intention of rendering it so.
Shortly after our arrival, Ysandre proclaimed a contest. She was in fine fettle that day, smiling and at ease, clad in a simple velvet gown the color of ripe chestnuts with a wreath of chrysanthemums and anemones adorning her fair hair. It made me realize how seldom I had seen my cousin the Queen happy.
"My lords and ladies!" she called. "I summon you to the harvest! In a quarter hour's time, let each of you gather as many apples as you may, and the victor may claim a forfeit of any of the losers!"
There were cheers and mock groans; the latter, mostly from the women, who were disadvantaged by their skirts. The lower limbs of the apple trees had been picked bare, and only the upper limbs remained full, dangling with tantalizing fruit. Servants began to circulate with wooden baskets and the Court horologer stepped forward officiously, consulting the small sundial he wore on a chain about his neck.
I noticed various lords and ladies flirting and striking bargains to work in tandem. Raul gave a courtly little bow to Sidonie. "With your permission, it would be my honor to assist you, your highness," he said to her in D'Angeline with a trace of a soft Aragonian accent.
"Thank you." She colored slightly. "And please, call me Sidonie."
"Sidonie." He smiled at her. "All right, Sidonie."
"Heartless child of mine!" Nicola laughed. "Will you leave me to fend for myself?"
"Are you willing to accept the aid of a humble chevalier, my lady?" Ti-Philippe asked promptly.
"A hero of the realm?" She laid a hand on his sleeve. "With pleasure."
Phèdre looked at Joscelin, who rolled his eyes. "You have to ask?" he said.
No one had spoken to Alais. She bowed her head, fidgeting with Celeste's collar. It was not easy on her, always being the youngest in Court gatherings. Although she was near to becoming a young woman in her own right and carried the burden of her birthright, she was treated like a child. I knew what it was like to be caught between both worlds.
I got to my feet and made her an absurd, sweeping bow. "Your highness," I said. "Shall we demonstrate the proper picking of apples to these fine people?"
Her face brightened as she looked up at me. "Yes, thank you."
"It is," I said solemnly, "my deepest pleasure."
At a nod from the horologist, Ysandre called the start. The strolling musicians came together in a neat band and struck up a lively tune. Everyone scattered, the men racing for trees, the women gathering their skirts and hurrying after them, trailed by servants bearing baskets.
With the speed of youth on our side, Alais and I got a good tree, still heavily laden on top. I clambered easily onto the lower limbs, then made the mistake of looking outward.
It was something to see, a handful of D'Angeline noblemen attempting to scale apple trees without soiling their rustic finery. They were spectacularly inept. I laughed so hard I nearly lost my perch.
"Imri!" Below, Alais danced from foot to foot. "Hurry, please!"
"I'm going." I climbed higher and began plucking apples. I tossed them down lightly, "Catch, cousin!"
It was an absurd scene, with most of the participants manifestly unsuited. Some acquitted themselves well; one, at least, was handicapped by his skill. I wrapped my legs around a sturdy limb and picked everything within reach, dropping apples one by one. Alais gathered them and put them into a wooden basket, aided surreptitously by the servant bearing it, while Celeste looked on in bewilderment at the inexplicable activities of humankind.
Elsewhere, I could hear the thud and squelch of ripe apples being hurled with unerring accuracy, and Phèdre's aggrieved voice rising. "Joscelin, stop throwing them so hard!"
"Sorry!" he called in an unrepentant tone.
There was no contest, in the end. Ti-Philippe had been a sailor under the command of the Royal Admiral Quintilius Rousse. He scaled the upper limbs of his tree as easily as a ship's rigging, and shook the limbs hard. Apples rained down like hailstones. When he had stripped it barren, he clambered back down and assisted the Lady Nicola in filling their baskets.
When a quarter hour had passed, the musicians' instruments fell quiet and a laughing Ysandre called an end to the contest. I descended, twigs catching at my hair.
"We didn't do too badly, did we?" Alais said complacently, eyeing our half-full basket.
"No," I said. "Quite well, I think."
The formal count was pointless; Ti-Philippe and Nicola had filled two baskets to brimming. No one else had filled even one.
"Will you claim your forfeit, chevalier?" Ysandre asked.
Ti-Philippe bowed to the Lady Nicola. "I cede it to you, my lady."
"Oh, do you, now?" Her face was alight with mirth. If I had not disliked her so, I would have owned, she was a lovely woman. "Well, then, I claim a kiss." She surveyed the orchard, taking in the assembled nobility. I saw her gaze linger on Phèdre.
I gritted my teeth.
Nicola turned to Ti-Philippe. "And since you were gallant enough to cede it," she said mischievously, "I shall do you the courtesy of returning it." It was prettily done, and she kissed him to cheers of approval.
For the remainder of the day, we ate and drank and played such games as the Queen decreed. Servants filled the cider press with apples, and everyone took a hand at turning the crank. A set of quoits inlaid with silver filigree was brought forth, and there was a roar of protest when Joscelin stepped up to take his turn. With good grace, he submitted to being blindfolded with a silk sash; even so, he acquitted himself well, pausing and listening for the sound of the discus hitting the pin. I daresay with enough practice he might have won. Although I am no Cassiline, I have good aim, and I came near to winning at quoits; but a few lucky tosses by a young lord named Hubert Arundel put me out of contention.
And somewhere in the course of the day, I realized I was enjoying myself.
As twilight settled over the orchard, servants moved around with tapers, hanging oil lamps of clear glass until it looked as though a shower of stars had fallen to adorn the stripped apple trees. The day's lively entertainment had given way to the tranquil pleasures of song and conversation. When it grew time to leave, I found, to my surprise, that I was sorry to see it end.
"Thank you, your majesty," I said to Ysandre. "It has been a rare pleasure."
"Too rare." Ysandre smiled. She put out a hand as though to touch me, then halted. A shadow of distant sorrow surfaced in her gaze. "You know it has ever been my wish that you feel a welcome and beloved member of House Courcel, Imriel."
I wondered if it had wounded her that I had to be compelled to Court, yet had freely invited my mother's kin to Montrève. I had not given it a thought; now I saw the discourtesy in it. Once again, absorbed by my own private agonies, I had been thoughtless.
"I know, my lady," I said softly. "And for that, too, I am grateful."
Ysandre shook her head, her wreath of crysanthemums rustling. "I seek no gratitude," she said. "But I am pleased that you enjoyed this day."
