Kushiel's Mercy (5 page)

Those who were seated rose, bowing or curtsying. The packed throngs toward the rear followed suit. Ysandre inclined her head.

“All be seated for her majesty Queen Ysandre de la Courcel!”

We sat.

Ysandre took the throne. She looked tired, shadows under the violet eyes that were nothing like her eldest daughter’s. A gold crown with delicate spires sat atop her fair hair. For all that it was finely wrought, it carried a visible weight. I felt an unwanted pang of guilt and sympathy. I couldn’t even imagine what Sidonie must feel.

“My lords and ladies, good folk of the realm.” The Queen’s clear voice carried in the stillness. “Even in the annals of Terre d’Ange, I imagine this is an unwarranted occurrence,” she continued more softly. There was an edge of sadness in it. “I daresay it is known why I have called this audience.”

There were nods and murmurs all around.

“So.” Ysandre gathered herself. “Sidonie de la Courcel, my eldest child and heir, the Dauphine of Terre d’Ange, desires to be united in love with her kinsman, Imriel nó Montrève de la Courcel. Is this still your claim?” she asked Sidonie.

Sidonie rose, according her mother a second curtsy. “It is, your majesty.”

“And is it also your stated desire?” Ysandre asked me.

I stood and bowed. “It is, your majesty.”

Ysandre nodded. “I am advised by the priesthood of Blessed Elua that your claim is worthy,” she said slowly. “And here before those assembled, I swear in Blessed Elua’s name that I will not forbid your union.”

There were gasps, hisses, and a few quickly stifled cheers.

Ysandre raised her hand. “However.” Her voice hardened. “I am advised by many others that this union is a dagger that cuts at the heart of Terre d’Ange. Let me say this.” She looked squarely at me. “Imriel de la Courcel has served the thrones of both Terre d’Ange and Alba with honor. I do not accuse him of sedition. But when I look upon the faces of those here assembled . . .” Her gaze drifted over the crowd. “I see a thousand anguished memories of lives lost on the fields of Troyes-le-Monte, memories you children cannot begin to compass. I see fear and suspicion, a canker eating at the heart of the realm. I see old hatreds roused, old wounds bleeding, and the seeds of discord being sown.”

There was a genuine ache behind her words, and I did not think she took any pleasure in the fierce nods of agreement from those assembled on the left of the hall. I’d had my differences with Ysandre, but I’d never doubted she loved Terre d’Ange.

“Blessed Elua cared naught for crowns and thrones,” she said quietly. “Those words, I am told, were spoken by Melisande Shahrizai.”

The mention of my mother’s name evoked another hiss.

Ysandre raised her hand for silence a second time. “It is true,” she said. “It is also true that Blessed Elua cared naught for the trappings of mortal society, the conventions and rules by which we bind ourselves.” She closed her eyes briefly. “
Love as thou wilt.
It suffices unto itself.” Opening her eyes, she gazed at Sidonie. “That I grant you, my love,” she murmured. “Love as you will. But if you declare him your consort, know that I will not acknowledge it. There will be no legal binding. And if you wed him . . .” The Queen’s jaw tightened as she forced the words out, sorrow in every syllable. “If you wed him, I will disinherit you.”

In silent acquiescence, Sidonie inclined her head.

“This I swear in Blessed Elua’s name before all here assembled.” Ysandre’s voice sharpened. “Do you hear and acknowledge it?”

“I do, your majesty.” Sidonie lifted her chin and gazed at her mother. “Is there aught that might make you recant this vow?”

“Need you ask?” Ysandre said wryly.

Sidonie held her gaze without blinking. “I would hear you say it before all here assembled.”

The hall was deathly silent. I felt Ysandre’s gaze shift, felt the weight of it fall upon me. Felt the unwanted burden settling on my shoulders.

“Yes,” she said gently. “Of course. Twenty-some years ago, on the blood-soaked battlefields of Troyes-le-Monte, Melisande Shahrizai was convicted of treason and sentenced to execution for conspiring with the Skaldi warlord Waldemar Selig to conquer Terre d’Ange. That death, she evaded.” Her throat worked. “Imriel de la Courcel, do you find your mother and bring her to justice, I will recant this vow and grant every blessing to your union.”

There it was, then.

The burden.

I bowed deeply for a third time, holding it. The silence in the hall persisted. I straightened and met the Queen’s eyes. “I hear and acknowledge your words, your majesty.”

Ysandre inclined her head. “That is all.”

The Queen made her exit through the throne chamber, but it took a long time for the crowd to disperse, mingling excitedly to discuss the news. Sidonie’s guardsmen hovered close, mindful of the hostile element, and Joscelin took care to position himself at my side while we waited for the throng to thin. But there were no threats, only a long, bland stare from Barquiel L’Envers that didn’t disguise the seething dislike beneath it.

“What in Elua’s name is the matter with him?” I muttered.

“A lifetime of plans gone awry.” Sidonie watched him. “You missed the last one. He’d hoped to convince Mother that I should wed his youngest son.”

“What?”

“Oh, yes.” She nodded. “To forge a great alliance with Khebbel-im-Akkad. Truth be told, I don’t think the Lugal would consider sending one of his heirs to Terre d’Ange for aught less.”

“What did your mother say?” I asked.

Sidonie smiled faintly. “She told him he forged a great alliance with Khebbel-im-Akkad when he wed his only daughter to the Khalif’s son, and if he thought the realm would stand for her half-Cruithne heir wedding a half-Akkadian prince, he’d lost his wits.” She gave me a wry glance. “At least no one questions the purity of your bloodline.”

“Generations of incest,” Mavros said cheerfully, approaching us with our cousin Roshana beside him. “At least on House Shahrizai’s side. Nice to see you’re carrying on the tradition.”

“I’m glad you’re pleased,” I said.

In truth, Sidonie and I weren’t
all
that closely related. My father had been her great-granduncle, brother of King Ganelon de la Courcel. It made us first cousins, I supposed, but there were two generations between us.

Of course, it was also true that my father had gotten me late in life, embittered by a lifetime of intrigue in La Serenissima, obsessed with the idea of putting a pure-blooded D’Angeline on the throne, and seduced by my mother’s wiles. When I was a babe, he and my mother had been part of a plot to assassinate Ysandre. It very nearly worked, too; it would have, had it not been for Phèdre and Joscelin.

Strange to think, if it had worked, I would likely have inherited the throne by now. I would be the King of Terre d’Ange, and Sidonie would never have been born. The thought made me shiver.

Small wonder half the realm mistrusted me.

Sidonie touched my arm. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

I nodded. “I think that would be wise.”

The crowds had thinned enough for us to make our way out of the throne hall, escorted by guards and accompanied by a small entourage. We adjourned to one of the smaller salons in the Palace, used for private fêtes. Sidonie looked pale. I would rather have spent this moment alone with her, and I daresay she felt the same, but those who had supported us publicly risked the Queen’s displeasure. It would have been ungracious to dismiss them as mere props. I sent one of the Palace understewards to fetch wine and refreshments.

“So . . . are we celebrating?” Julien Trente asked uncertainly after the wine had been poured.

I shrugged. “We’re not lamenting.”

“What happens now?” Mavros perched on the arm of a couch, swinging one leg. “Do you pack your trunks and head off to La Serenissima to follow your vanished mother’s seven-year-old trail?”

“No.”
Sidonie’s voice was fierce. She drank half the contents of her winecup, her color returning. “Not now. Not yet. Not after two years of fear and uncertainty, wondering if Imriel was alive or dead.”

“What, then?” Roshana asked mildly.

“My thought is this.” I glanced at Phèdre. “I mean to write to the Master of the Straits and beseech his aid. He can search for her in his sea-mirror. If she is anywhere on D’Angeline or Alban soil, he will find her.”

Mavros blinked in surprise. “You think he’ll do it?”

“Oh, yes.” Phèdre answered his question, and well she might. The Master of the Straits, the waters that divided Alba and Terre d’Ange, could cause the waves to rise and lightning to strike at his command. He had also once been a Tsingano lad named Hyacinthe and her dearest friend. Like me, he owed her a debt he could never repay. “I am quite sure of it.”

“Do you think she
is
?” Roshana asked.

“It’s possible.” I smiled wistfully. “Alba, I doubt, but mayhap Terre d’Ange. Of a surety, it would make matters a great deal easier. And if she’s not, at least I’ll know where
not
to look.”

“In time,” Sidonie murmured. “Gods, I hate this.”

“So do we all, your highness,” Mavros said with a rare note of genuine sympathy in his tone. “Believe me, House Shahrizai does not relish its role in your plight.”

“Will they support me in this?” I asked him. “You know it means my mother’s death.”

“Yes,” he said without hesitating, and Roshana nodded in agreement. “There may be a few who are uncomfortable with it. It goes against the grain, turning on family. But what she did is unconscionable. Her sentence was just. No one likes it, but no one denies it.”

“Our kinsman Marmion Shahrizai
did
turn on her years ago,” Roshana reminded him. “And Duc Faragon sent him into exile for it.”

“Duc Faragon sent Marmion into exile because he caused the death of his sister Persia,” Phèdre said thoughtfully. “Not for trying to bring Melisande to justice.” She was silent a moment. She had known my mother very, very well. I tried not to think about that. “You know, I wouldn’t put it past her to contact Marmion.”

“Seeking vengeance?” I asked.

Phèdre shook her head. “No. He was always terrified she would, of course. But Melisande’s too cool-headed for vengeance. That’s part of what made her so damnably deadly. If anything, she’d use his guilt and regret to turn him back into an ally.” She glanced at Raul L’Envers y Aragon. “Is Marmion still in Aragonia?”

“Oh, yes.” Raul nodded. “He’s among the King’s favorite drinking companions.”

“Mayhap your mother will make some discreet inquiries.” Phèdre smiled. “Lady Nicola had a certain fondness for him once upon a time.”

“My mother is a woman of varied tastes,” Raul said diplomatically. “I will ask. I am told that matters are uneasy in Aragonia these days and tongues are wagging in all directions.”

“Uneasy?” I asked.

“Carthage,” he said briefly. “The Council of Thirty has elected a new general, young and ambitious. There are rumors that he means to move against Aragonia and reclaim it for Carthage.” He smiled sardonically. “All the Carthaginian ambassadors deny it, of course, and I am told the King accepts their gifts and believes their smooth lies. But my brother, Serafin, is worried.”

“Terre d’Ange stands with Aragonia,” Sidonie assured him. “We have not forgotten that when Skaldia invaded, Aragonia came to our aid.”

Raul gave her a brief bow. “Aragonia knows no better ally than Terre d’Ange.”

I shuddered. “Let’s not discuss Carthage further today.”

He gave me an apologetic look. “Of course.”

It was unreasonable to hold an entire nation to blame for the actions of two men; nor did I. Still, I could not forget that the men who had abducted me and sold me into slavery were Carthaginian. It is not the sort of thing one ever forgets.

We spoke for a while longer, speculating and planning. Although I’d rather have been elsewhere, alone with Sidonie, there was a comfort in knowing we had friends and allies. And, too, what was said here today would be carried forth as rumor and gossip. Terre d’Ange would know that I was not sitting idle, that foreign dignitaries and the Master of the Straits himself were assisting me.

I hoped Hyacinthe’s search would be lengthy.

I hoped against hope that he might find her.

In my heart, I didn’t believe he would. But it would buy us time to enjoy this brief respite, Sidonie and I, before the suspicion grew that I was merely biding my time, going through the motions of looking into the mystery with no intention of actually searching for Melisande, let alone bringing her to justice.

When it came to that point . . . ah, Elua.

I knew what had to be done. It was the one secret I’d kept from Sidonie. Not a-purpose, not really. It was the sort of secret that got people killed. Before I wouldn’t have dared risk it. We were too young and uncertain. Now it was different. She’d stood up to her mother and defied half the realm for my sake. There could be nothing less than complete honesty between us, dangerous or no. I owed her nothing less.

I would have to tell her about the Unseen Guild.

Four

I
told her that night.

I could have waited. Elua knows, I wanted to. We’d won a victory of sorts that day, albeit a bitter one. By the time we retired to her chambers, Sidonie was tired and drained. I wanted nothing more than to hold her in my arms and safeguard her sleep.

Instead, I laid a burden on her.

“Sidonie,” I said softly when we were alone together. “There’s somewhat I never told you about my time in Tiberium.”

She paused in the act of brushing her hair. “Oh?”

I sat cross-legged on her bed, turning the knotted gold ring on my finger. The ring had been her gift, a symbol of the ties that bound us, and of other ties, too. On the night of her seventeenth birthday, I’d lashed her wrists to the bedposts with a golden cord and tormented her with pleasure until she begged me to take her. I suspected there would be no such love-play tonight. “You know the tale of Anafiel Delaunay?”

“Yes, of course.” She frowned. “Why?”

Anafiel Delaunay, born Anafiel de Montrève, had been her grandfather’s lover and a poet of some renown. Long before any of us were born, they had studied together in Tiberium. There had been a falling out between them when Prince Rolande’s betrothed was killed and Delaunay wrote a satire implicating Rolande’s new bride in the death, none of which particularly mattered anymore. What mattered was that Delaunay had sworn an oath to protect Rolande’s daughter, the infant Ysandre. And he had kept it, long after Rolande’s death in battle.