Kushiel's Mercy (75 page)

That was the last memory.

As I lay sleepless, I thought about Dorelei and our unborn son. Their spirits slept now beneath a green mound in Clunderry, Berlik’s skull buried at their feet. I prayed for their forgiveness and understanding.

And I thought about Sidonie.

Ah, gods! Was simple happiness truly so much to ask? Was it ambitious to dream of a future in which we spent our lives together, taking pleasure in each other, in the bright mirror and the dark? In the heady abandon of love-play, in the homely comfort of watching our children dandled on the loving knees of their grandparents?

“Kushiel,” I whispered into the darkness. “I have spent my life trying to be good. I pray you hear your scion’s prayers. There is no one here in need of your harsh justice, only your mercy.”

There was no answer. Outside my narrow window, the moon inched closer to fullness in the night sky.

Some time after dawn, I arose hollow-eyed for lack of sleep and donned the clothing that the maidservant Clory had laid out for me. Black breeches and a black doublet. Mourning attire. It must have belonged to Joscelin.

It fit surprisingly well.

I descended the stairs to find the rest of the household likewise attired in mourning garb. Joscelin eyed me critically. “You’re limping. I didn’t notice that yesterday.”

I opened my mouth to say that my healing wound stiffened when I slept, then caught myself. “I took a tumble on the ship in some rough waters and got a nasty bruise.”

Phèdre cocked her head at me. “Why didn’t Astegal’s ship continue up the Aviline? What made you decide to transfer to a barge?”

For the first time in my life, I had cause to curse her agile wits. “We thought it would be safer if no one knew Sidonie had returned,” I said. “We’d heard the rumors of impending war.”

She didn’t blink. “How did you know you could trust the barge-captain?”

“I don’t know.” I was too tired to invent a good lie. “Astegal had made plans for every contingency. You’d have to ask Kratos the details.”

It seemed to satisfy her, at least for the moment. I trusted Kratos would field the question with aplomb if Phèdre chose to pursue it. I hoped he’d slept better than I had.

Word came from the Palace before we’d finished breaking our fast; we were summoned to a funeral service in Astegal’s honor that afternoon. It would take place at the Temple of Elua, followed by a reception at the Palace. Ysandre and Drustan were moving swiftly; but then, there was precious little time to spare.

“I should attend as a member of House Courcel,” I said, rising from the table. “I’ll see you at the temple.”

Another glance exchanged.

“Imriel,” Phèdre said gently. “I think it’s best if you stay with us. I’m pleased that the physicians in Carthage were able to explain your situation in a way you could understand, but Sidonie’s in a great deal of pain right now. I fear worrying about your delusions is the last thing she needs.”

I gritted my teeth. “Actually, she said I was a solace. That it was a comfort to know that the last kinsman she expected had stayed loyal to the Crown.”

“I’m sure she did,” Phèdre said. “She’s always had a keen sense of propriety, even as a little girl. I never understood why you disliked her, any more than I can understand why your illness turned your feelings inside out.” She shook her head. “Nonetheless, give the poor child a moment’s peace.”

Joscelin’s hand closed on my shoulder. “Why don’t we spar? It will be like old times.”

I turned my head toward him. “Do you mean to keep me here forcibly?”

“Imri.” Joscelin’s grip tightened, then released. He caught my hand instead and raised it, baring my wrist to reveal the faint scars there. His eyes were grave. The vile threats I could never unsay, never forget I’d uttered, echoed in my memory. “We’re trying to help.”

I looked away. “I know. All right.”

I couldn’t begin to count the number of times I’d sparred with Joscelin: here in the inner courtyard of the townhouse, in the gardens of Montrève. The hilts of the wooden practice-swords we used were smooth and shiny with wear. He’d begun teaching me on the deck of a ship bound for Menekhet when I was ten years old. Betimes when I concentrated on my footwork, I could still remember the feel of the warm deck beneath my bare feet. I’d been so grateful for his attention, for his loving patience.

My heart wasn’t in it today.

My heart was in the Palace, agonizing for Sidonie as she prepared to hear Astegal of Carthage lovingly eulogized, worrying about the charm holding. It was with Alais and, gods help me, Barquiel L’Envers as they went about the terrible chore of raising an ever-larger army. I fought mechanically. My feet remembered the steps of their own accord. My thigh throbbed. My arms remembered the dull exhaustion I’d felt outside the gates of Amílcar, my muscles quivering with the aftermath of untold blows and parries.

Too many memories.

The dead; thousands of dead. Dead Amazigh, dead Carthaginians, dead Nubians . . . and, ah, Elua have mercy! Thousands of dead Euskerri. The flower of a generation.

“Not bad.” We were both breathing hard when Joscelin called for a halt. He smiled at me, his summer-blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’ve kept up your training.”

“Yes.” I forced the word past the tightness in my throat. “I’ve tried.”

Joscelin clapped my back. “Good man.”

When the hour arrived to depart for the Temple of Elua, it was almost a relief. Our carriage was draped with swags of black mourning-cloth and the headstalls of the horses had been dyed black. Our escort of outriders wore the forest-green and gold livery of House Montrève, but each man sported a black armband. We proceeded somberly through the streets of the City. Black cloth, black paint, black armbands. I remembered entering the City with Sidonie . . . how long ago? Almost two years. The black armbands, the down-turned thumbs.

This was different.

That had been a bitter reminder of my mother’s legacy. This was a city in mourning. Mourning Astegal of Carthage, who had stolen away the love of my life, whose ambition had turned all those I loved against all they held dear. On the streets, men and women wept openly. I gazed out the window at their faces, my heart aching. And I allowed myself the fierce consolation of remembering the quiver that had run the length of my blade when Astegal had died, of Sidonie’s hand firm atop mine on the hilt and her unflinching courage.

And Astegal’s damned head on a pike, his slack jaw gaping.

The Temple of Elua was thronged with mourners and guards. In the vestibule, I pried off my boots quickly and slipped through the crowd in the inner garden sanctum to find Sidonie. She was with Drustan and Ysandre and Brother Thomas Jubert at the base of Elua’s effigy, Kratos at her side. I saw her head turn as I made my way toward her. The quick flair of relief in her eyes eased a tight knot inside me.

“Imriel.” Sidonie greeted me carefully. “I thought to see you at the Palace this morning.”

I gave her a brief bow. “Forgive me. Are you well?”

Her shoulders twitched. “I’m enduring.”

“Imri!” Phèdre’s voice behind me held a note of despairing reproach. “I’m sorry, your highness. I asked him not to trouble you.”

“He’s no trouble, my lady.” Sidonie smiled at her with a mixture of sweetness and sorrow. “I quite missed his presence this morning. In a strange way, I feel I’ve lost a sister and gained a brother.” She laid her hand on my arm. That irrepressible spark leapt between us, giving the lie to her words, but we’d had long practice in dissembling. “I know you’ve missed him, but I hope you’ll spare me his company from time to time.”

“Of course,” Phèdre said without hesitation. “For as long as you like.”

“He doesn’t think of
you
as a sister,” Ysandre noted suspiciously.

“I’m trying,” I said humbly.

Drustan gave me a hard look. “See that your man Kratos keeps an eye on him,” he said to Sidonie.

She inclined her head. “Of course, Father. I only wish to have the comfort of family around me on this dark day.”

Brother Thomas cleared his throat. “Speaking of which, we should begin, child.” He took Sidonie’s hands. “Are you prepared?”

“I am, my lord.”

The priest released her hands and took his place before the plinth on which Elua’s effigy stood. He spread his arms, echoing the pose of the massive effigy behind him. The crowd ceased its murmuring and fell silent. Brother Thomas was a big man. I remembered how he’d reminded me of Berlik when I’d first seen him, with his black hair and light grey eyes. I remembered how I’d spoken to Brother Thomas and an assembly representing all the priesthoods of Elua’s Companions in an effort to convince them that my love for Sidonie was genuine. In the end, all of them had acknowledged the validity of our claim.

And now he gave her husband’s eulogy.

“We are gathered here today to honor the passing of Astegal, Prince of the House of Sarkal, General of Carthage, husband of the Dauphine of Terre d’Ange, her highness Sidonie de la Courcel,” Brother Thomas began. The crowd gave a collective sigh. “Astegal of Carthage was a man of great and daring vision,” the priest continued. “He came courting Terre d’Ange with his arms laden with gifts and his mind brimming with ideas. He captured our imagination and he captured the heart of our young Dauphine . . .”

It went on at considerable length. I daresay it was well done. I did my best not to listen, concentrating instead on the beating of the blood in my veins. I stood behind Sidonie, near enough for her to feel my presence, not so close that it aroused suspicion. I couldn’t see her face, but I could feel the pain radiating from her as surely as though it were my own.

At last he ended. “. . . pray that if Blessed Elua is merciful, they will find one another again in another life and live to see their dreams brought to fruition.” Brother Thomas bent his head to Sidonie. “You may speak now, my child.”

“Thank you.” Sidonie took his place before the plinth. Her face was streaked with tears. “I will not . . .” Her voice shook. She clasped her hands together hard and willed it to steadiness. “I will not attempt to elaborate on the eloquent words Brother Thomas spoke. I can but thank him for bringing to life so beautifully the memory of the man with whom I fell in love and for whom I grieve today.”

The sentence was delivered with seemingly perfect sincerity, and I knew in the marrow of my bones that those were the hardest words Sidonie had ever spoken. A few of the mourners sobbed aloud.

She paused, collecting herself. “Astegal gave me many gifts during our too-short time together. He was as generous to me as he was to Terre d’Ange. But there is one gift he gave in secret—his greatest gift to me, to us, to the City of Elua. And it is of that gift I would speak on this fearful day, on the eve of a darker tomorrow.”

In a clear, steady voice, with tears drying on her cheeks, Sidonie repeated the tale of Bodeshmun’s death and the hidden gem.

She had inspired hope in Turnone and she inspired it here. I could feel the mood shift, hearts lifting. I watched Ysandre’s eyes shine with pride, Drustan rest his hand on his wife’s shoulder, nodding in approval. Ah, gods! They had every right to be proud of their heir. I prayed one day they would know why.

“I beseech you.” Sidonie opened her arms, echoing the priest, echoing Blessed Elua himself. “All of you in Elua’s blessed City. Take up this search, leave no stone unturned. Amidst the tragedy of his death, let us lay claim to this last, best gift of my Astegal and snatch hope from despair, honor from treason.”

They roared.

It went on and on; promises and vows and pledges shouted with ferocious determination. The denizens of the City of Elua would raze the very foundations of the City to find Bodeshmun’s gem. Sidonie lowered her arms and stepped away from the plinth, stumbling a little. Kratos caught her, but it was my gaze she sought.

“My Astegal,”
Sidonie whispered beneath the roar, her voice catching in her throat, barely audible. “I feel sick.”

“I know,” I murmured.

That was all the comfort I could offer. As in Turnone, the throng pressed forward, offering their sympathies, offering their fierce vows. The guards beat them back, restoring order. I was pushed to the side, unheeded. I found Phèdre and Joscelin beside me once more, Joscelin shoving at the guardsmen with an unwonted curse as they crowded us.

It didn’t matter.

All that mattered was that Sidonie had succeeded. She’d been right; she had a role to play here. She had swayed them as no one else could have done: Ysandre’s very well trained heir, Astegal’s grieving widow.

I prayed it was enough.

And I prayed it was in time.

Seventy-Six

L
ook,” Phèdre said in wonderment, gazing out the window of the carriage as we rode to the reception following the service. “They’re tearing up the city.”

It was true.

Word had spread like wildfire. By the time we emerged from the Temple of Elua, it was already racing ahead of us. Men and women thronged the streets, worrying their fingertips bloody as they pried at paving-stones, clamoring to search the premises of merchants and wineshops and threatening violence to any who might forbid them entry.

“Good,” Joscelin said briefly.

Phèdre glanced at him. “Surely there must be a more logical way to approach this.”

He shrugged. “You’re good at figuring out that sort of thing.”

“Well, we know Bodeshmun had the gem the night of the fête when the delegation first arrived,” Phèdre said pragmatically. “That’s when I noticed it.”

“He had it the day of the marvel,” I added. I was just as glad to have her mind working on this puzzle and not picking out inconsistencies in our story. “Sid—” I caught myself. Elua, this was hard. “I went to watch the preparations in Elua’s Square earlier in the day and I saw it then.”

“So if Bodeshmun hid it himself, all we need to do is retrace his steps between the last sighting and the day he departed to limit the possibilities,” Phèdre mused. “Unless of course he handed it off to someone else.”

“He had runners going back and forth to adjust the mirrors on the walls.” I pictured Bodeshmun pacing in his study, absentmindedly touching his chest where the painted leather talisman that held the key to unlocking the demon-stone was hidden. “But I don’t think he was the sort to hand off so powerful a charm.”