Kushiel's Mercy (8 page)

The Valerian adepts obeyed.

I felt Sidonie’s breathing quicken, her ribcage rising and falling beneath my encircling arms. I could tell by her subtle responses whether or not what she was viewing pleased and aroused her.

Most of the time, it did.

A few times, it didn’t.

I took note of everything. It was beautiful; it was all beautiful. These were Naamah’s Servants, reveling in their art—and it
was
an art. There was a calculated beauty to the arc of a Mandrake adept’s arm as she swung the flogger. There was a pattern to the emerging welts, a rhythm to the gasps and pleas. Every pose struck had its own beauty, its own internal tension. Every order, every plea was part of a ritual. Still, I took note. The blindfold, yes; the gag, mayhap not. The crack of the whip, the slap of the tawse, the smack of the paddle—yes. Even the keen whistle and sharp cut of the cane.

“Really?” I whispered in Sidonie’s ear.

“Mmm.” There was a smile in her voice. “We’ll see.”

One of Mandrake’s adepts tossed a rose, gave an order. A Valerian adept crawled on all fours, retrieved it in his mouth. He raised his head for approval, lips bleeding from the stem’s thorns. His mistress retrieved it, stroked his cheek with the rose’s petals. He bowed his head, kissing the tips of her boots. I felt Sidonie’s body tense.

“No?” I murmured.

“No.” She tilted her head back. “I’ll kneel for you, but I won’t crawl.”

I stroked her hair. “Good to know.”

When it was over, after I gave Mavros a purse to present to the adepts as a patron-gift, all three of us shared a cordial in the salon. For the first time, he looked at Sidonie with frank curiosity. She returned his regard with perfect equanimity.

“Did you enjoy the Showing, your highness?” Mavros inquired, studiously polite.

“Very much so, my lord Shahrizai,” she replied, echoing his tone exactly. Mavros narrowed his eyes at her, trying to decide if she was teasing him. Sidonie laughed and finished her cordial, then got to her feet. “Yes, Mavros,” she said in her own voice, bending down to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for arranging it. I’m glad Imriel has a kinsman he can trust.”

“Of course,” he said, bemused. “You’re welcome.”

We didn’t act on what we’d seen that night, nor for several nights. I wanted to approach this with a mind clear of other images, and a heart purged of fear. I made offerings at the temples of Blessed Elua and all his Companions. In the Temple of Kushiel, I stood for a long time, simply gazing at the effigy’s face. I had come once to offer penance, making expiation for the lives I’d taken in Lucca, for all my dead. I hadn’t been there since.

Kushiel’s marble arms were crossed on his breast, his rod and flail held in either hand. His gaze was fixed on the distance, his features stern and calm. There was a trace of sorrow in his marble eyes, hinting at a compassion beyond the mortal compass. I thought about Berlik of the Maghuin Dhonn, whom I had killed in Vralia. He had knelt beneath a barren tree, bowing his head as the snow swirled around us. After I’d killed him, I’d wept.

I hadn’t done penance for his death. I didn’t think it would be fitting. That one, I was meant to carry.

And I thought, too, about Sidonie. About her strength and determination, and the unexpected desires that accompanied them. About the wondrous gift of her trust, and what I needed to do to be worthy of it. Trusting her, trusting myself. That was the hardest part of all. The thought of engaging in violent play with her thrilled me to the very marrow of my bones, so deep it made me shudder, stirring echoes of my worst fears. It was a dark, surging desire, tinged with cruelty and laced with tenderness.

I wanted it.

Blessed Elua, I wanted it.

And I loved her.

Somehow it made all the difference in the world. There in Kushiel’s temple, I gathered up all my fear, took a deep breath, and let it go.

Sidonie knew. We had dined apart that evening. The Queen was entertaining an ambassador from Euskerria, a territory that lay betwixt Aragonia and the south of Terre d’Ange, and she wanted her heir present. The dinner ran late, and I was in her chambers before she returned, thoughtful and talkative.

“Imriel, you spent your childhood in Siovale,” she said in absent-minded greeting. “What do you know about . . .” Her voice trailed off as she glanced around the salon. It was ablaze with candles.

“The Euskerri?” I suggested.

Sidonie nodded.

“Not much,” I said. “In the south, they were made scapegoats in the same way the Tsingani were, blamed for goat stealing and the like. I daresay there’s as much truth to it. Do you want to talk about it now or later?”

Her throat moved as she swallowed. “Later.”

“All right.” I put down the book I’d been reading. “Take off your clothes.”

“Here?” she asked.

“Here.” I cocked a brow at her. “The drapes are drawn, Sun Princess. There’s no one here. You’ve ridden me on this very couch. Are you suddenly overcome with modesty?”

“No.” Sidonie shook her head. Amber drops hanging from her ears shivered, catching the light. “It’s just . . . different.”

“Yes,” I said. “It is.”

I didn’t say anything else, only watched her. After a long moment, Sidonie began to disrobe, unlacing the bodice of her gown. Her fingers trembled a little and her breath was beginning to quicken. The air between us felt charged. “What . . . what do you want me to do with this?” she asked, the satin folds of her gown overflowing her arms.

“Put it there.” I nodded at the arm of the couch.

Sidonie obeyed. The candlelight gleamed on her bare skin as she returned to the center of the room, naked and vulnerable. I made myself breathe slowly, trying to rein in my desire.

“Kneel,” I said. She knelt, neat and composed, her hands folded in her lap. “Clasp your hands behind your neck.” She obeyed. The pose arched her back and thrust her breasts outward. I closed my eyes briefly. “Have you chosen a
signale
?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Think about it.” I picked up my book. “When I ask, you will tell me.”

The silence grew and stretched between us. I glanced up a few times to find her watching me, intent and wondering. Each time, I returned to my book. It was a treatise by a Hellene philosopher on the nature of love. I made myself read the words, but for all I grasped of their meaning, it might as well have been written in Ch’in. The candles burned steadily, wax dripping.

“Imriel.” Sidonie’s voice sounded small. “I’m bored and my arms are getting tired.”

I shot her a hard look. She returned it with a mixture of defiance and uncertainty. I closed my book, marking the page with one finger. “We can put a halt to this here and now.”

Her chin rose. “No.”

I smiled. “Good girl.”

I waited a long time. I could feel her watching me, the cord that bound us together drawn taut. But Sidonie didn’t speak again, not even when her arms began to quiver with the strain of keeping them raised, hands clasped as I’d ordered. At last I put down my book and crossed over to crouch before her.

“I love you,” I said to her. “You know that I would never harm you.”

Sidonie nodded, her eyes grave and unfathomable.

“Go into the bedroom,” I said. “There’s an item in the bedside cupboard that wasn’t there before. Bring it here.”

She lowered her arms and rose unsteadily. I caught her elbow. Desire flared at a single touch. I let her go. Sidonie gave me a quick, flickering smile, then went to obey. She returned with a short braided whip, kneeling without asking and laying it at my feet. The black leather shone dully. It was lambskin with a long, soft tassel at the tip. I stooped to pick up the whip, then circled her, letting the tassel trail over her bare skin and watching her shiver.

“What did Amarante tell you about seeking pleasure in haste?” I asked.

Her breasts rose and fell, breath quickening again. “If you rush too quickly through all the pleasures Naamah’s arts offer, they will lose their savor.”

“Even so.” I nodded. “If you’re good, once a month, I will add a new item to the cupboard. If you’re not . . .” I paused. “I’ll take one away.”

Sidonie made a sound that might have been acknowledgment or protest.

“I don’t want you growing jaded on me, Sun Princess.” I gave the whip the slightest flick, the soft tassels snapping against one rosy nipple. It didn’t hurt, but it provoked a startled gasp. “I want to keep you sated for a long, long time.” I thrust the braided haft of the whip through my belt and crouched in front of her again. “Out there, you belong to the realm and your duty. In here, you’re
mine.
Understand?”

Our gazes locked. “Yes.”

“Good.” One by one, I undid the pins that held her hair coiled atop her head. It fell in a honey-gold cascade over her shoulders. She looked younger and even more vulnerable. “Tell me your
signale
.”

Her voice was low, but steady. “Always.”

“Always.” I laughed softly. “Always and always.”

Sidonie nodded, the hint of a smile hovering at the corner of her mouth. There was nothing but trust in her eyes.

I put two fingers beneath her chin, raising it, and kissed her. Her lips parted for my tongue, her body straining toward mine. I wrenched my mouth away with an effort and stood, breathing hard.

“Stand over there,” I said roughly, pointing toward a low chair. “Bend over and grasp the arms.”

And, ah, gods and goddesses! She did. I stood behind her, my heart hammering in my breast. My mouth was dry with desire, my palms sweating as I clutched the whip. Her loose hair hung about her face in tumbled locks of gold. The tips of her breasts brushed the chair’s cushion. I flicked the whip, lightly, lightly. Once, twice, three times. The soft tasseled end kissed her buttocks, light and teasing. Sidonie caught her breath.

The air between us crackled.

“You like that.” I drew near and trailed the tassel down the length of her spine, the cleft of her buttocks. I slid one hand between her thighs, fingering her. Gods, she was wet! “Spread your legs. Wider.”

She did.

I shuddered, struggling for control. “That’s how much you want this.” I withdrew my hand, found her mouth, slid my fingers over her lips. She turned her head, sucking obediently. “Isn’t it?”

She made a muffled sound of agreement.

It nearly sent me over the edge.

I pulled away. “I’m going to whip you in earnest now,” I said, my voice sounding hoarse and strange to my ears. “Until you beg me to stop. And when you do, I’m going to take you where you stand, hard. Understand?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

I did.

Elua have mercy, there are no words for such a thing. Sidonie bore it for a long time, longer than I would have expected, legs spread and arms braced, head lowered, shuddering in the throes of violent pleasure. I took it slowly, plying the whip gently, taking it to the edge of pain and backing away, over and over. A flush spread over her creamy skin. I pushed her harder, farther. Over the threshold, into the realm of pain. The whip cracked, laying harsh kisses on her vulnerable flesh. Red welts rose on her flushed skin. I wanted to lave them with my tongue, easing her pain. I wanted to skewer her and split her open.

She began to cry.

She begged.

And I took her as I’d promised—hard.
I
was hard; ah, gods! I’d never been harder in my life. I could barely get my breeches down. Wet, so wet. I pushed into her; I
slammed
into her. I buried myself in her. Her cheek scraped the chair’s cushion. Her nails dug into its wooden arms. I felt her flesh convulse around me, over and over. I didn’t care. I drove into her, groaning aloud, until I spent myself in one long, excruciating spasm of pleasure, filling her with my seed.

I barely caught her as she sagged, easing her to the carpeted floor. There I held her, panting, waiting for my hammering heart to slow.

“Are you all right?” I asked when I could talk.

“Yes.” Sidonie lifted her face toward mine, slowly returning from a faraway place. “I’m fine.” She wound a lock of my hair around her fingers and gave it a sharp yank. “A little sore. Very sated. Are you?”

“Yes.” I laughed. “Gods, yes.”

“Good.” She drew a long, shuddering breath, brushing absently at the tear stains on her face. “How odd. I didn’t expect to cry. It didn’t hurt
that
much.”

“It’s not about the pain,” I said.

“No.” She was quiet a moment. “No, it’s not, is it?”

“No,” I agreed.

Sidonie glanced down at our entangled limbs. “Imriel, are you still wearing your boots?”

I pried them off, kicking off my breeches. “I was in a hurry.”

Her quick smile came and went. “So I noticed.”

“I love you.” I tightened my arms around her. “Elua help me, I love you so much it hurts.”

“I know.” Sidonie kissed my throat. “I do, too.” She shuddered again, a latent tremor of pleasure running through her. “Gods! That’s a sharp spice. I’m not sure I’m ready for a steady diet of it.”

“Occasional cravings?” I suggested.

“Oh, yes.” She gave me a look that set my heart to hammering again. “Definitely.”

I slid one arm under her knees and scooped her into my arms, rising and heading for the bedchamber. Sidonie laughed softly, kissing my face, her fingers working at the buttons of my shirt. I hadn’t bothered to take that off, either. Her body was naked and warm in my arms, nestled contently against mine. I could have carried her forever, except for the urgent, rising need to be inside her again.

“I thought you were sated,” she said.

I tossed her onto the bed. “So did I.”

Six

S
ummer gave way to autumn.

Drustan returned to Alba, where matters were still unsettled in the wake of Dorelei’s death. It was uncertain whether or not Sidonie’s younger sister, Alais, would wed Talorcan, Drustan’s heir.

A lot of things were uncertain.

Aragonia was uncertain, fraught with rumors of a Carthaginian invasion. Euskerria was uncertain, fraught with rumors that the House of Aragon meant to press the Euskerri into battle to defend against a possible Carthaginian incursion, struggling to establish their territory as a sovereign state. Queen Ysandre, trying to negotiate between the two, worried about the succession in Alba, worried about her own recalcitrant heir, was uncertain.