Free Kushiel's Justice by Jacqueline Carey Page B

them.”
    “The
ollamh
refused to, but the Cruarch spoke of them,” I said. “To Talorcan.”
    They exchanged another round of glances. “The Cruarch has a country to rule,” Urist said firmly, “and Talorcan is his heir. There are matters that must be addressed. But among ourselves, we do not speak of them.”
    “The bear-witches still have the power to curse,” Kinadius muttered. “At least the women do. Shrivel your loins, they will.”
    “Or make ’em burn,” another offered. Someone laughed.
    “Aye, and change shape in the middle of the act and devour you whole!” Deordivus poked a finger at me. “Starting with your manhood. You stay away from ’em, Prince.”
    Another jug of ale arrived, and with it came Emile to ply me to tell him about the siege of Lucca. So the conversation turned, and I was obliged to tell the tale. The Cruithne had not heard it—I had not spoken overmuch of it in public—and they listened with interest as I told of arriving in the city of Lucca to celebrate the wedding of my friend Lucius Tadius, only to find the bride kidnapped and, within a day, the city besieged by her captor.
    They nodded when I described how Lucius came to be inhabited by the spirit of his dead great-grandfather, the warlord Gallus Tadius, who organized the defense of the city. Such tales were not strange in Alba, where a woman might eat of a salmon and give birth to a bard.
    When it came to the battle, I made much of Eamonn’s role. In truth, it needed no exaggeration—Gallus Tadius had appointed him the captain of our squadron, and Eamonn had acquitted himself with honor. But he was a prince of the Dalriada, of the folk of the Fhalair Bàn, and it pleased the Cruithne to hear it. The Dalriada were a sovereign folk unto themselves, immigrants from the island of Eire who maintained a foothold on the far western shores of Alba, but there was a long history of alliance between the Cruithne and the Dalriada.
    They were pleased by my deeds, too. “You’re not so green as I reckoned!” Deordivus slapped my shoulder. “You’re owed your first warrior’s markings, Prince. Or at least once you’re wed and dedicated as one of us.”
    “Oh?” I said.
    “Right here.” Kinadius touched the center of his brow, which bore an elaborate design of an inverted crescent containing trefoil circles, pierced from below by a V-shaped symbol. “The warrior’s shield and spear.”
    “Ah, no!” I gazed at him in dismay.
    “Do you not wish to declare kinship with the Cullach Gorrym?” He grinned. “They’ll look a treat with your big blue eyes.”
    “You
are
jesting?” I asked.
    They laughed. “Not really,” Urist added.
    “I’ll think on it,” I muttered, and beckoned for more ale.
    At any rate, the evening ended amicably and they seemed to like me better for it by the time it was over. We rode back toward the Palace together, and Deordivus began teaching me the rudiments of a Cruithne drinking-song. When I made to part company with them and head for the townhouse, Kinadius insisted on escorting me.
    “Drustan would expect us to do it for Talorcan,” he said to Urist. “If Imriel is to be a Prince of Alba, should we not treat him as one?”
    The older man’s face was unreadable in the starlight. “As you will.”
    “Come, then.” Kinadius blew out his breath in a plume of frost and gave me a sidelong look. “Let’s race. Unless you’re scared?”
    “Care to wager?” I asked.
    It wasn’t a wild race. I’d done that once with Gilot and nearly run down a party of merry-makers, and it was early enough that folk were still abroad, torch-escorted carriages clopping along the streets. We rode vigorously, though, weaving in and out among them. I kept the Bastard well in hand. He was quick and surefooted and fearless, and I’d ridden him almost blind in the darkest nights of Lucca. I could have won handily, but I was mindful of what Phèdre had taught me of diplomacy, and I let Kinadius draw abreast of