(no subject)
Midwinter came upon us, and with it an invitation to the Masque at the Palace. It was one of those rare things that showed up the divide between Phedre and Joscelin. I hated to see them argue; but over this, they did.
"Will you not accompany me?" she asked. "Surely, Blessed Elua can spare you."
He shook his head. "It is the Longest Night, Phedre. I ask for little. If nothing else, let me keep his vigil."
"Even now?" she said. "What of Imriel?"
It was the first year I had been invited to attend; a courtesy of Ysandre's, recognizing that I was no longer a child. There was a part of me that yearned to do so. Long ago, before Darsanga, the idea of a grand fete with fancy dress would have delighted me. Even afterward, I'd held a fondness for it. I still remembered plotting with Favrielle no Eglantine to make Joscelin splendid, wearing the lion's mane that had been a Jebean queen's gift. But, too, there was a part of me that abhorred the idea, yearning for something simpler, clean and pure.
"What of Imriel?" Joscelin retorted. "Have you asked him?"
Both of them looked at me then. I squirmed under their scrutiny.
"What will you, love?" Phedre asked gently.
I opened my mouth and blurted, "I want to go with Joscelin."
Phedre raised her brows. "Are you certain?"
I wasn't, not at all. And yet Joscelin looked surprised and pleased; and proud, too. I imagined the two of us, kneeling side by side in the Temple of Elua, stern and disciplined. It was a picture I very much relished.
"Yes," I said. "I'm certain."
That got me one of Phedre's deep, searching looks; one of those that owed nothing to the arts of covertcy, and everything to the fact that she had held the Name of God in her mind, and there was little or nothing in the human soul that could be concealed from her.
"As you will, love," she said simply.
"What of you?" Joscelin asked her, and there was an edge to his voice. "You know there is … speculation."
Somehow, word had gotten out that Phedre had made the pilgrimage to Naamah's shrine. Ysandre's Court, which was not overly concerned with the disposition of my holdings, was keenly interested in whether or not the most famous courtesan in Terre d'Ange would return to Naamah's Service.
"I know." Phedre smiled, touching the bare hollow of her throat. "Let them wonder. You keep your vigil in your way, and I in mine."
What it meant, I could not say; but Joscelin seemed satisfied with it.
And so it was that on the Longest Night, when all of Terre d'Ange celebrated the sun's return and the lengthening days to come with a riot of love and libation, that I found myself in the Temple of Elua, shivering and miserable.
We rode there alone, Joscelin and I, while the setting sun threw long streaks of red fire in the western skies. Elsewhere in the City, the revelry had already begun…
The streets were crowded with early revelers; most on foot, making way for the carriages that forged a path through them. Overhead, the sky grew dark, stars emerging. I marvelled at Joscelin's composure. He sat at ease in the saddle, starlight glinting on his steel vambraces, the hilt of his sword jutting over one shoulder. Everyone who passed gave us a wide berth.
I wanted to be like that.
It was cold. Our horses snorted, their breath frosting in the cold air. Near the Temple of Elua, the streets grew quiet. We dismounted, giving our mounts to the ostler, then passed through the gate into the vestibule. There we were met by blue-robed priests and priestesses. They welcomed us, smiling, giving us the kiss of greeting.
"Cassiel's child," said one, old and venerable, laying his hands on Joscelin's shoulders. "You have ever chosen truly. Be welcome on this Longest Night."
Joscelin smiled. "Thank you, my lord priest."
…Before us was the effigy of Blessed Elua on his altar, carved from a massive piece of marble. It is one of the oldest ones in existence. The workmanship is crude by today's standards, and yet there is a raw power in it. Elua stands, smiling, gazing downward, both his hands open in offering. The left bears the mark of Cassiel's dagger, the wound with which Blessed Elua answered the summons of the One God.
My grandfather's Heaven is bloodless, and I am not.
We approached, soundless on bare feet. The ground was frozen hard beneath our soles, so cold it burned. There were already two others maintaining vigils, kneeling on the cold earth; Cassiline Brothers, both of them. They wore the ash-grey garb of their order, the vambraces and twin daggers, hair bound into a club at the nape of their necks. No swords, though. Cassiline Brothers are no longer allowed to carry swords in the City. Both of them lifted their heads at our approach and favored Joscelin with long, silent stares.
He ignored them. For a long moment, he stood before the altar, gazing on Blessed Elua's face. I stood behind him, shivering in the still, frosty air, and wondered what he thought. Although Cassiel's order declared him anathema, Joscelin has always honoured the one vow that mattered, his loyalty unwavering as Cassiel's devotion to Elua himself. Drawing a swift breath, he stooped to kiss the effigy's feet, then stepped away. Finding an open space to one side, he knelt and composed himself, arms over his breast.
…No one spoke. In the distance, we could hear the City rejoicing, but within the Temple walls, all was quiet and still. I glanced sidelong at Joscelin. He knelt, head slightly bowed, motionless as the effigy. His expression was calm and grave in the starlight.
I tried my best to emulate him.
…My knees were beginning to ache. I shifted, trying to find a more comfortable patch of ground. I wondered how Joscelin could bear it. Surely his old wounds must ache in the cold. He has earned enough of them in his lifetime -- the shattered bones of his arm, the long scar that curves around his ribcage, the myriad lesser gashes he has sustained. But if they did, he gave no sign of it. No sign that his joints were stiffening. No sign that the cold was leaching all the warmth from his body, leaving him shivering to the core.
The others did. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see them move from time to time. I could hear them rustle, and the occasional cough. Only Joscelin had gone so deep inside himself that he scarce seemed to breathe.
Once, Phedre told me, he sat cross-legged in the snow all night long. That was in Skaldia, where my mother betrayed them into slavery. And yet Joscelin says it is Phedre whose will sustained them there; who goaded him into hope when he despaired.
-- Kushiel's Scion, by Jacqueline Carey. Chapter 7.