Kushiel's Mercy (51 page)

It didn’t matter. I could do it.

I carried her into the corridor, closing the door behind me, and made swiftly for the servants’ stair. It was narrow and winding, and the ends of the rolled carpet scraped harshly against the stone walls. I had to use both hands to keep my burden balanced, navigating the narrow steps awkwardly. By the time I reached the bottom, the guard posted on the lower floor was already looking curiously toward the stairwell. Keeping my head averted, I laid down the carpet and beckoned to him, moving as though to unroll the carpet and reveal somewhat of interest.

“What in the name of Ba’al—” he began, bending over to see.

In one swift motion, I unsheathed my dagger and drove it under his chin, angling for the brain. He made a choked sound, and I covered his mouth. His wide, terrified eyes met mine.

It was one of the Carthaginians, one I knew by sight. The guard who’d told me that Astegal was likely to move against Serafin, one of the more decent fellows. I wished it hadn’t been him. I remembered him grumbling about fighting a winter war. He must have thought himself lucky when he’d gotten this posting.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

His body went limp with death. Blood dripped onto the rolled carpet between us. I stepped over the carpet and wrestled him over to the wine cellar door. This one was unlocked; Astegal had preferred to set a guard on the wine-cellar rather than suffer any delays in his revels, and Bodeshmun hadn’t bothered to alter his order. I dragged the guard’s body into the dark cellar, then sprinted upstairs to retrieve Sidonie.

Still dead weight.

Once I closed the cellar door behind us, it was pitch black. I paused for a moment, willing my eyes to adjust, but there was simply no light. Step by step, I descended, balancing Sidonie and the carpet on my shoulder.

At the bottom, I stumbled over the guard’s legs. The carpet lurched. I caught myself and steadied my burden. Kratos hadn’t said where the outer delivery door was located, and I hadn’t thought to ask. I wished there had been more time to go over the details of our plan with Sidonie. With her practical mind, it would have occurred to her that I’d be mired in darkness here.

Gods, I hoped she wasn’t suffocating.

I began making my way blindly through the cellar, one hand steadying my burden, the other outstretched. I blundered into kegs, barked my shins. I had to turn this way and that, losing all sense of direction.

No good.

I closed my eyes and breathed slowly. Darkness within darkness. I could do this. Leander Maignard could do it in his sleep. A child’s training game, nothing more. I lowered the heavy carpet to the cool stones of the floor, turning it in such a manner that Sidonie’s face was sideways—or at least so I hoped.

“Love,” I whispered. “I have to leave you for a moment. But I’ll be back.”

Without the burden, I was able to move more swiftly, both hands extended. Five paces forward, and my way was blocked by a wall of wine-kegs. I turned to the left. Seven paces, another wall of kegs. Right, and then right again. Step by step, I negotiated the mundane labyrinth until my hands encountered cool stone. I sidled along the wall until I felt wood beneath my fingertips.

A door.

I threw the bar and wrenched it open, feeling a blast of cool night air on my veiled face. Elua, it felt good!

There was no moon, but there were hazy stars. What light there was was faint, not nearly enough to illuminate the cellar, but I could make my way to it. All I had to do was retrace my steps in darkness. I sidled back along the wall. Twelve swift steps; I’d counted. Left, then left again. Right, seven paces. Five paces forward. I stooped, feeling along the floor.

No carpet.

I closed my eyes again and fought off a wave of panic. What was wrong? I’d been cautious on the outward journey. I’d hurried back. I’d taken bigger steps. Somehow, I’d reached a wrong aisle.

I made my way back to the open door and tried again, taking careful little steps. When my reaching fingers brushed the rolled carpet, I nearly wept with relief. Once more, I shouldered my burden.

Outside, the air tasted so sweet, I had to loosen my scarf for a moment and breathe it deeply. I thought about laying Sidonie down, unrolling the carpet to make certain she was alive. But then I heard Carthaginian voices muttering in the gardens—some of Astegal’s guards, making their rounds. So instead, I retucked my scarf and set out at a brisk walk.

The carpet was still dead weight.

It wasn’t long before my left shoulder began to ache. I shifted my burden to the other shoulder, heaving and ducking. Heavy, so heavy! I’d carried Sidonie in my arms a dozen times, a hundred times. But this was the one that mattered.

Blessed Elua, please let her live.

At least it was downhill. We entered the streets of New Carthage. There were no Aragonians abroad at this hour, only Astegal’s patrols. I strode past them, acknowledging their curious greetings with curt nods. I was a veiled Amazigh bent on some unspeakable errand.

I was a ghost.

An aching ghost.

I carried Sidonie. I carried my guilt—
our
guilt. The murdered guards. My slain wife, Dorelei. Our lost son. All of it. I carried all of it, tired and terrified. I kept going. I thought about the night that Phèdre, Joscelin, and I had rowed to Kapporeth. Joscelin, his bleeding hands on the oars. We had both known failure once. In Skaldia, he’d surrendered to despair. In Vralia, so had I.

Not there.

Not here.

I prayed to Blessed Elua and his Companions, making every step a word in my litany. And as I neared the harbor, with the night sky dimming, I felt the burden on my right shoulder stir feebly. I hurried my steps, hurried to the wharf.

“Hey!” I shouted at Captain Deimos’ ship. “Lend a hand!”

Kratos hustled down the plank, blessed Kratos, his blunt-featured face suffused with alarm. He eased the carpet from my shoulder, carried it in both arms aboard the ship. I followed. Deimos was waiting, watchful, arms folded. On the deck of his ship, Kratos and I unrolled the carpet with reverent hands. I knelt beside it, anxious.

A very tousled Sidonie blinked sleepily at me. “Imriel?”

My eyes stung. “Yes, love.”

She blinked again, touching my veiled face. “Look at you. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to drink, but Bodeshmun was suspicious. I had to do it. Are we aboard the ship? Why aren’t we fleeing?”

I nodded at Captain Deimos. “Tell him.”

Deimos leaned over her. “Your highness?”

Her eyes flashed. “Name of Elua,
go
!”

Fifty

P
tolemy Solon had chosen well in Captain Deimos. He was in truth a man of his word, and he knew a royal command when he heard one. By the time I escorted Sidonie down to the ship’s hold, where we’d both be out of sight until we passed the harbor patrol, the oars were out and the ship was moving.

Safe at last, at least for the moment, we held one another for a long, long time.

“How’s your back?” I murmured at length.

“I don’t know. It hurts.” She gazed up at me. “How’s your head?”

I laughed. “Fine. I’d nearly forgotten about it. Let me send Kratos to fetch my things. I brought salve and clean bandages.”

Sidonie glanced around the hold and wrinkled her nose. “It can wait until we’ve cleared the harbor. I daresay it’s cleaner above-deck. Imriel . . .” She hesitated, almost afraid to ask. “Did you get the talisman?”

“Yes.” I fished the piece of lacquered leather out of my purse and showed it to her.

She perched on a water barrel, studying it. “Such an insignificant scrap of a thing,” she mused. “’Tis hard to believe it’s the key for undoing a spell that put the entire City of Elua under its sway.”

“Like as not it’s far more complicated and disgusting than it looks,” I observed. “Hide tanned from the skin of a stillborn babe or somewhat. At any rate, according to Solon, it’s the word of binding that matters. Can you read it?”

“Elua, I hope so. I can speak more than a little, but I can’t read much. I was only just beginning to learn the Punic alphabet.” Her lips moved as she studied the Punic script. “Emmen . . . emmenghanom.
Emmenghanom
.” Sidonie looked up in triumph. “It means beholden.”

I cupped her face and kissed her. “Gods be thanked that you’re not one to suffer tedium in idleness, love. I told Bodeshmun you’d know.”

“Is he dead?” she asked.

I nodded. “Very.”

There was somewhat adamant in her expression. “Tell me how. Tell me everything.”

I told her all that had transpired. When I told her how Bodeshmun had died and what I’d said to him at the end, she smiled with grim satisfaction. “Good. How did you know what he was going to do?”

“He killed a young Aragonian lord the same way.” I kept forgetting there were gaps in her knowledge. “In front of an entire hall full of people.”

Sidonie shuddered. “Elua! No wonder they hated me so, thinking I’d betrayed Aragonia to subject them to
that
.”

“You didn’t,” I said.

“They didn’t know that. And I didn’t give them any reason to think otherwise.” She gazed into the distance, and I knew she was thinking of things she’d rather not remember. I kept my silence, waiting until her gaze returned to me. The familiar spark leapt between us. Sidonie took my hand and kissed it. “Thank you. I’m sorry for what you had to do.”

“And I for what you endured,” I said.

“Ah, well, my end of it was easy.” A little of her humor returned. “After all, I slept through most of it.”

“So I noticed.” I kissed her.

She returned my kiss. “Do you know, I even love you covered in . . . Imriel, what are you covered in?”

I rubbed at my face with one flowing sleeve. “Pork grease and ashes.” I glanced down at my Amazigh robe. The dark indigo hid the stains, but the second guard had bled freely on me. “And a fair amount of blood.”

“Ashes and blood.” Sidonie traced a line down my face. “I pray this is the last of it.”

“I too,” I murmured.

“My lord?” Kratos poked his head into the hold. “We’re well under way; it’s safe now.” He cleared his throat. “Captain Deimos wants a word with you.”

We emerged from the hold to find the sails full and the ship moving briskly. The Cytheran sailors went about their business, casting curious glances at us, or more accurately, at Sidonie. Deimos was pacing the foredeck, his hands clasped behind his back. He fetched up before us, offering Sidonie a bow.

“Your highness,” he said briefly. “Welcome. I am Deimos Stanakides, in the service of his eminence Ptolemy Solon, the Governor of Cythera. I presume you are Sidonie de la Courcel?”

“I am.” She inclined her head. “Well met, my lord captain. On behalf of Terre d’Ange, I extend our most profound gratitude to you and to Ptolemy Solon. The service you have rendered us today will never be forgotten.”

Deimos smiled tightly. “Save your gratitude. We’re not safe yet. And I’m not satisfied.” He fixed his intent gaze on me. “Solon doesn’t suffer fools, Leander Maignard. Why did the princess call you
Imriel
?”

I sighed.

“Because it’s my name,” I said simply. I unbuckled my sword-belt and let it fall. Dragged the Amazigh robes over my head. “Do you require proof of my words, my lord? Ptolemy Solon himself wrought this semblance with his magics, all the better to undo what Carthage has done.” I pried off Leander’s boots and stood barefooted on the deck. Undid the laces of Leander’s shirt and hauled it off me. Once again, I’d worn my own breeches. “There. See and believe.”

Deimos paled.

An excited murmur ran around the ship.

I bowed. “Imriel de la Courcel, my lord. Well met.”

“Her ladyship’s son,” Deimos whispered.

“For better or for worse, yes,” I said dryly.

He glanced at Sidonie. “And you . . . ?”

“Love him?” she suggested. “Yes, very much so. As much as I love my country and wish to save it from the same foul magics that bound me.” Her hand reached for mine, our fingers entwining. “My lord captain, I implore you. Make haste for Marsilikos. Lives beyond our own hang in the balance.”

Captain Deimos licked his lips. “I’ll do my best.”

Once Deimos was convinced, all seemed well. We sailed northward, hugging the Aragonian coast. Three days passed without incident.

Sidonie and I shared the master cabin. The first thing I did was scour myself with soap and fresh water, washing the guise of grease and ashes from my skin. The second was to inspect the wound I’d inflicted on her.

“Is it bad?” She craned her neck, trying to see.

“It’s not good.” The patch of raw flesh between her shoulder blades was red and angry, weeping clear liquid. I bathed it with unwatered wine, making her hiss between clenched teeth. I swabbed it with the salve Kratos had bought, bound it with clean bandages. “You need a proper chirurgeon.”

“Marsilikos,” Sidonie said. “I’ll live.”

I nodded. “You will.”

I made love to her at her insistence. Careful, always careful. Elua knows, it wasn’t that I didn’t want her, but I feared hurting her worse. I’d injured her badly a-purpose, and I never wanted to do it again. But she knew us better than I did. Knew what she needed, knew what I needed.

Her.

Us
.

Kratos was enchanted by her. It made me laugh. He’d grown tolerably fond of Leander and some of that had passed on to me, mixed with a measure of newfound respect; but Sidonie enthralled him.

“Imagine!” Kratos marveled. “Here I was thinking my best years were behind me, prepared to die a broken-down useless slave, and instead I helped rescue a princess who’s as brave as she is beautiful.”

Sidonie smiled at him with genuine warmth. “And you’re as gallant as you are clever, messire. Imriel told me you were the one conceived the plan to get Astegal’s ring. For that alone, I’m forever in your debt.”

He turned red. “It was an honor, my lady.”

“You never spoke that nicely to Leander Maignard,” I observed to Sidonie. “In fact, you teased him rather mercilessly.”

She gave me a sidelong glance. “Well, not at the end. But you must admit, that pomade made a rather absurd first impression.”