Kushiel's Mercy (58 page)

I spent a good deal of time telling the hours in the palace courtyard, honing the skills that had been neglected during my tenure as Leander Maignard. I was keenly aware that in the days to come, I would be Sidonie’s sole protector. And that was the one area of the Cassiline discipline that Joscelin had neglected to teach me—the sphere of defending one’s ward. He’d taught me everything I needed to know to ward
my
life. Neither of us had dreamed that one day I’d be playing such a role.

At least I’d learned how to fight from the saddle. Gods, it seemed like a long time ago that I’d advised Claude de Monluc to trick Barquiel L’Envers into lending his own Akkadian-trained Captain of the Guard to teach the Dauphine’s Guard. It hadn’t been much more than a whim that had led me to train with them, posing as an anonymous guard among guardsmen. Now I was glad of it. With Liberio’s permission, I visited the armory and appropriated a small buckler, a leather hauberk with metal scales, a helmet with a peaked crest, and a short bow and quiver.

For her part, Sidonie spent long hours in the palace’s library, reading everything she could find on the Euskerri. Whether or not it would prove of use, I couldn’t say, but it helped pass the interminable waiting.

Blessed Elua be thanked, her wound continued to heal cleanly. At her insistence, some days after the council met, I took her to see Kratos. With Lady Nicola’s assistance, he’d been lodged in a boarding-room where a good-natured Aragonian widow was paid to look after him.

“Your highness!” Kratos looked thunderstruck when he answered our knock. “You came to see
me
?”

Sidonie laughed at his expression. “How are your burns, Kratos?”

“Healing.” He peered over his shoulder as though he could see through his tunic. “And your injury? You were passing feverish, my lady. I worried.”

She gave me a sidelong look. “Much, much improved.”

“What about the ribs?” I asked Kratos.

He took a deep breath, his chest swelling. “Better.”

I was glad.

We passed a pleasant hour talking with Kratos. Somewhere in the back of my thoughts, I’d hoped he’d have some clever perspective on our plan for escape that no one had conceived; but he didn’t. He merely shook his heavy head, running one hand over his cropped, greying hair.

“You were right, my lord,” Kratos said soberly. “I’d only slow you down. It’s dicey, but I don’t see another way.”

“Pray for us?” I asked.

“To all the gods I know,” he affirmed.

Sidonie stooped and kissed his cheek. “Remember your promise.”

A blush suffused his homely face. “To dance at your wedding?”

She smiled. “To dance with
me
at my wedding, Kratos. I mean to make it a point not to forget those who’ve saved my life. And the other thing, too. The word I taught you. Keep the knowledge quiet, but don’t forget.”

“Emmenghanom,”
Kratos said softly.

Sidonie nodded. “Exactly right.”

We didn’t spread the word throughout the entire city. At this point, it was dangerous. Blockaded, besieged Amílcar was a hotbed of gossip. If it were to fall in our absence or failure, if word were to leak that we’d disseminated the key to undoing Carthage’s spell far and wide . . . well, it was Sidonie’s fear that Astegal would have every man, woman, and child put to the sword rather than risk word carrying to Terre d’Ange. And with that, I agreed.

But we made sure it wouldn’t be lost.

General Liberio agreed in a bemused fashion that those soldiers serving as couriers carrying word of Amílcar’s plan to neighboring cities would carry it. I’m not sure he believed, not entirely. He was a pragmatic fellow. Still, he agreed. And Sidonie and I taught the word to half a dozen bright-eyed, impassioned young men. If any of them survived, the word would be passed onward.

Emmenghanom
.

Beholden.

We taught the word to Captain Deimos, lodged in a harbor inn, posing as the captain of a fishing vessel. He didn’t want to hear it, not really, but he’d been Ptolemy Solon’s man too long. In the end, the desire for knowledge won out.

“Emmenghanom,”
he whispered, closing his eyes.

“If all else fails, the Wise Ape of Cythera will know what to do with it,” I said. “And if we succeed, I will keep my promise. Terre d’Ange will reward you.”

Deimos shuddered. “Goddess save me from wisdom. I hope to be an ignorant man in my next life.”

We gave the word unto the safekeeping of Nicola L’Envers y Aragon. To her, I showed the talisman; the scrap of lacquered leather filched from an inner pocket of Bodeshmun’s robes. A whirlwind sprouting horns and claws, a word inscribed in Punic.

“This is it?” Nicola inquired. “On
this
you pin your hopes?”

Sidonie and I nodded.

“Emmenghanom,”
Nicola murmured. “I’ll remember.”

“Write it down,” Sidonie said, fetching pen and paper. “Write it as it sounds when I speak it, my lady.” She knelt beside Nicola’s chair, her face earnest and pleading. “I know it sounds absurd. But if we fail—”

Nicole cut her off. “You won’t fail.”

Sidonie shrugged gracefully. “But if we do . . .”

“Emmenghanom,”
I echoed. “Beholden. We are beholden. We will all be beholden to you. Sidonie and I, Ysandre, Alais, Drustan, Phèdre and Joscelin, your son, Raul, the whole of Terre d’Ange . . .”

Nicola raised her hand. “I understand.”

She wrote the word, mouthing the syllables to herself.

There was little else we could do, save wait.

Fifty-Seven

S
lowly, slowly, the moon waxed. At its halfway point, it would have shed enough light to stage a sortie, but the weather was foul: cold, grey, and drizzling. The mood in the city grew tense and strained. When the weather showed no sign of breaking, Lady Nicola decided to hold a fête.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” I asked her. I couldn’t help but think of Gallus Tadius’ orders during the siege of Lucca. He’d have been apoplectic at the waste.

“People need something to keep their spirits up,” Nicola said pragmatically. “And my husband’s wine-cellar can withstand the blow. Besides, there’s someone who’d like to meet you, but he’s felt awkward about it. This will provide a nice opportunity.”

I was intrigued despite myself. “Who is it?”

She smiled. “You’ll see.”

It wasn’t an extravagant affair. With Carthage’s troops camped outside the walls and the spectre of death hanging over those who hoped to assail them, that would have felt unseemly or desperate or both. But it was a pleasant affair. The food that was served was modest and less than abundant, but the wine flowed freely. Skilled musicians played in a distinctly Aragonian style, rapid rhythms punctuated with clapping. An air of defiant gaiety permeated the great hall.

A young Aragonian lieutenant begged leave to teach Sidonie one of their national dances. I watched her try to follow his lead and master the quick, intricate steps, laughing when she tripped over his feet. He was flushed and nervous. She looked bright and beautiful, her color healthy. I thought about that last day on the ship, her skin fevered and hot to the touch, and I was filled with gratitude.

“So that’s Ysandre’s daughter,” a melodious voice beside me murmured.

I turned and blinked. For a moment, I thought I was seeing an older version of my cousin Mavros with lines at the corners of his twilight-blue eyes and his black hair threaded with silver. Then I realized who he must be and tensed. “Marmion,” I said. “Marmion Shahrizai.”

Many years ago, after Skaldia’s invasion, Marmion had placed country over family and betrayed my mother into the Queen’s custody. He in turn was betrayed by his sister, Persia, who placed family over country and helped my mother escape. In the end, Marmion’s men had unwittingly set fire to Persia’s manor house in a botched spying attempt. Marmion himself was stripped of his title and sent into exile. I wasn’t sure what to expect of him.

He read it in my face and smiled wryly. “I bear you no ill will, Prince Imriel. But I must confess myself terribly curious to meet Melisande’s infamous son.”

“Am I infamous?” I asked lightly.

Marmion’s gaze shifted back to Sidonie. “I thought so when I heard you’d seduced the Queen’s heir. Now it seems mayhap I was mistaken.” He shook his head. “Melisande’s son risking life and limb on behalf of Ysandre’s daughter. Who would have thought to see the day?”

“No one,” I said. “But mayhap the gods themselves have ways of redressing old wrongs.”

He turned a measuring look on me. “You look a lot like her, you know. You must hear it often.”

“Not so very often,” I said. “People seldom speak of my mother to me unless they’re telling me what horrors her actions visited on their families.”

Marmion laughed without mirth. “I suppose so. Is it true that you’ve seen her?”

I nodded. “On Cythera.”

“Melisande.” He was silent a moment. “Is it true that her sentence was commuted to exile in exchange for her aid?”

“Yes,” I said.

He shook his head again. “So after all she’s done, our sentences are the same.”

“I’m sorry, my lord,” I said quietly. “I understand that your sister’s death was an accident. It was a terrible tragedy.”

“Yes.” Marmion gathered himself. “Tell me, is she happy?”

“My mother?” I thought about it. “I think she has found a certain calm and acceptance. I wouldn’t call her
happy
.”

Whether or not the answer pleased him, I couldn’t say. Marmion studied me. “I see a good deal of House Courcel in you, too. It’s not as obvious, but it’s there. You’ve a look of Prince Rolande, Ysandre’s father. I remember him from when I was a boy. Too impetuous for his own good, but he had a streak of high nobility.” He touched my arm, light and unexpected. “I wish you well, of course. All of us pray you succeed. But it would please me to know you restored honor to House Shahrizai’s name. That’s all I desired.”

It touched me. “I’ll do my best.”

“Imriel!” Sidonie joined us, eyes sparkling. She greeted my exiled kinsman. “You must be Lord Marmion. Well met, my lord.”

He bowed. “Just Marmion, your highness.”

“Then I will be just Sidonie,” she said. “Since it is my hope that we will be near-kin one day.”

Marmion smiled. “I do believe that would please me, too. Blessed Elua hold and keep you, Sidonie. And when you see your mother . . . tell Ysandre that I think fondly of her.”

“I will,” Sidonie promised.

With that, he took his leave of us. I gazed thoughtfully after him. “Do you suppose he was ever your mother’s . . . ?”

“No.” Sidonie shook her head. “No, I actually asked her about that one of the few times we spoke about you without acrimony. I remembered hearing that he was one of her favorite courtiers before he was exiled. She was fond of Marmion. He made her laugh. But she never took him as a lover.” She gave me one of her quick, flickering smiles. “’Tis a pity. She might have been more sympathetic toward us if she had.”

I slid one arm around her waist, pulling her against me. “Do you suspect your mother of harboring perverse desires?”

Sidonie looped her arms around my neck. “Doesn’t everyone?”

All in all, Lady Nicola’s fête was a considerable success. We were all strung tighter than overtuned harps, and we needed the distraction. None of us forgot about Carthage’s army camped outside Amílcar’s walls. None of us forgot that come the first clear night, we would attempt a desperate venture. But for now, we were alive and free, and we celebrated that fact, Aragonian and D’Angeline alike.

If the food was scant and the great hall dim and a trifle cool for a scarcity of lamp-oil and hearth-wood, it didn’t matter. Keg after keg of wine was breached, and Ramiro Zornín de Aragon urged folk to drink with mournful enthusiasm, making everyone laugh and Lady Nicola smile with fond indulgence. The musicians played until sweat dripped from their brows.

We were alive.

We were free.

And at the end of the night, I got to retire with my beloved.

“Imriel.” In our darkened bedchamber, Sidonie breathed my name. I found her mouth and kissed her. She tasted like wine and honey on my tongue.

“What’s your desire, Sun Princess?” I whispered.

“You.” She sank to her knees, her hands gliding over my chest. I felt her fingers undoing my breeches. I felt my taut phallus spring free. I groaned as she licked the underside, swirling her tongue around the crown like a child with a sweet. Groaned louder when she took me into her mouth, sinking my hands into her hair and freeing its coils, feeling her nails digging into my buttocks.

“Stop!” I gasped.

Sidonie’s eyes gleamed in the faint light. “Is that a
signale
?”

“No.” The word emerged as a growl deep in my throat. “Come here, Princess.”

Beneath her gown, Sidonie was still bandaged, clean strips of white linen laced across her shoulders, crisscrossing her breasts. For the first time since I’d wounded her, I ignored her injury. I laid her on her back and spread her thighs, fitting myself between them, propped on one arm. I teased her, taking my phallus in my hand and rubbing its swollen crown against her slick cleft until she gasped and begged, her back arching, hips thrusting helplessly.

Then I took her.

Deep.

Hard.

“Elua!”
Sidonie’s last ragged gasp burst in my ear, her inner muscles milking my shaft. I burst in her, spending myself, seeing a sparkling darkness behind my closed eyelids. Good, so good. Where did Sidonie begin and Imriel end? I couldn’t even tell anymore. This could be the last time. I didn’t know.

I never wanted to know.

Our bodies quieted in the aftermath of pleasure.

“Your back?” I murmured.

“I think it’s all right.” Her voice was low and different. It always was after love-making. “If it’s not, it was worth it.”

I rolled off her, sliding my arm beneath her. “Sleep, love.”

Sidonie lay in the crook of my arm. “Look at the window. It’s almost dawn.” We watched the light seep through the shuttered window. “It looks as though the weather might have cleared.”

“Mayhap,” I agreed.