Kushiel's Mercy (6 page)

The Whoremaster of Spies, his detractors called him. Anafiel Delaunay had adopted two children into his household, training them in the arts of covertcy, and later, courtesanship. He was long dead, and so was one of them; two more casualties of my mother’s plotting.

The other was Phèdre, who had kept all his promises and more.

I swallowed. “Who taught Anafiel Delaunay the arts of covertcy?”

Sidonie stared at me. “I never thought to wonder.”

“Well,” I said. “I did. And I found out.”

I told her then. The truth, the whole truth, of what had befallen me in Tiberium. How I’d made inquiries. How I’d been seduced by Claudia Fulvia, the wife of a Tiberian senator, seeking to recruit me for a secret organization she called the Unseen Guild. A consortium of spies, reporting to persons in places of power all across the world, capable of influencing great events. They had attempted to recruit Anafiel Delaunay when he was a young man in Tiberium, training him in the arts of covertcy.

In the end, he had refused them.

So had I.

“It was a choice,” I said hoarsely. “Swear allegiance, or refuse and keep their secrets.”

“And you chose the latter?” Sidonie asked.

“Yes.” I took a deep breath. “But there’s more. I told you about Canis?”

“The man who took a spear for you in Lucca.” Her eyes were dark and unreadable. “The one who said, ‘Your mother sends her love’ before he died.”

“Yes.” I told her the whole truth of that tale, too. How Canis, who had seemed only an odd philosopher-beggar, had given me a clay medallion with the image of a lamp on it. How I’d learned in the Temple of Asclepius that there were words etched around the edge in a code invented by a blind healer.
Do no harm
. And how, when at last I’d confronted Claudia Fulvia about it, she had admitted that it meant a member of the Unseen Guild had placed me under their protection.

“Your mother,” Sidonie said flatly.

“I think so,” I murmured.

Sidonie rose without comment. She went to the balcony doors, gazing out into the summer night, her arms wrapped around herself. She was wearing a dressing-robe of thin, cream-colored silk, so fine I could see the silhouette of her body through it. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Because you didn’t want to discuss the issue of finding my vanished mother until we had no choice,” I said. “And because you could get killed for knowing it.”

She turned. “I’m the heir to Terre d’Ange with a hand-picked personal guard, not some fainting flower to be coddled from the world’s dangers.”

“The Guild employs assassins,” I said. “If Canis had been one, he could have killed me in my sleep a half a dozen times.”

“Yes, well, you’re not particularly careful of your safety.” Sidonie studied me. “It’s a fanciful tale. Do you believe it?”

“Do you remember the medallion I wore on the Longest Night?” I asked. She nodded. “It was a replica of the one Canis gave me. I wanted to see if anyone at Court recognized it.”

“And did they?”

“No.” I shook my head. “But the Ephesian ambassador who was visiting did. Diokles Agallon. He offered an exchange of favors. He said if I told him where and how I got it, he might be able to tell me where it originated.”

“What did he want in return?” Sidonie asked.

I smiled slightly. “For me to push the Sultan’s suit for your hand.”

She didn’t smile. “I take it you declined.”

“Sidonie . . .” I spread my hands. “At that moment, I realized I didn’t want anything to do with it. All I wanted was you. All I could
think
about was you. And at the time, no, I hadn’t thought so far ahead as to reckon that one day, the price of it would be bringing my mother to justice.”

“Does my mother know about this?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “Phèdre didn’t reckon it worth the risk. Not with so little knowledge. She’s the only person I’ve told, and she’s said naught to anyone but Joscelin, and mayhap Hyacinthe. I left the choice to her. She’s been trying to learn more.”

“Well, I can’t
not
tell her, Imriel,” Sidonie said. “It’s a matter of state. I can’t withhold that from her.”

“I thought you might feel that way,” I said. “Sidonie, listen. I don’t know the extent of the Guild’s power and influence, but I do know they’re real. Enough to be dangerous. Do as you must. Only please, please bid your mother to tread lightly in this matter. I am truly afraid that if she shows her hand, they might act.”

She sighed. “Imriel, why does everything in your life have to be so infernally complicated?”

“I don’t know,” I said humbly. “I wish it wasn’t.”

“Gods!” Sidonie blew out an exasperated breath, casting her gaze toward the ceiling. “Blessed Elua, if there is some divine purpose in this union, I hope and pray that you will reveal it to me one day.”

I kept silent.

“Are you harboring any other secrets?” she asked me.

“No,” I murmured. “Not a one. Have I lost your trust?”

“No.” Sidonie’s mouth quirked. She crossed the room lightly, climbed on the bed, and knelt astride my lap. “No.” She took my face in her hands. “May Blessed Elua and his Companions have mercy on me, I do trust you. As I love you, I trust you.”

I slid my hands up her warm, silk-covered back. “Promise?”

“Yes.” Sidonie kissed me. “I do. Irrationally, maddeningly, utterly.”

“Always?” I whispered.

“Always and always.” She kissed me again, her tongue darting between my lips, then sat back on her heels to regard me, a complicated mixture of sorrow and love in her dark eyes. “I promise.”

On the morrow, Sidonie requested a private audience with her mother. They met for a long time, long enough that my relief was mingled with apprehension. I spent the better part of the day drafting my appeal to the Master of the Straits, trying not to worry.

In the afternoon, one of her guards came to fetch me—Alfonse, the one who’d come before. I hoped he brought word from Sidonie, but I was wrong. “Captain de Monluc wonders if you’d pay him the courtesy of a visit, Prince Imriel,” he announced.

“Is aught amiss?” I asked.

He looked surprised. “I don’t believe so, your highness. Should there be?”

“No.” I shook my head. “And please, call me Imriel.”

“Imriel.” Alfonse tasted the word, then grinned. “All right.”

I’d never been comfortable standing on ceremony. I wasn’t raised to be a Prince of the Blood. I’d obey the protocols when I had to, but I preferred to dispense with them whenever possible.

Alfonse led me to the wing of the Palace that housed the barracks of the Dauphine’s Guard, which in truth were generous and comfortable. Most members of the Palace Guard came from the ranks of the lesser nobility—younger scions unlikely to inherit lands of their own, hoping to make names for themselves in the service of the throne and earn a reward, or mayhap make a wealthy love-match.

The captain of Sidonie’s guard, Claude de Monluc, was one such—although he’d fallen in love with a chambermaid, not an heiress. I knew that much about him and little else, except that he seemed serious and competent, and he’d cared enough for the chambermaid to wed her.

The full complement of the Palace Guard numbered five hundred, but only fifty of them were personally attached to Sidonie’s service. That day, it seemed half of them were lounging in the common room of the barracks, tending to their equipment, playing games of chance, drinking and flirting with servants and sundry guests. There was a pause when I entered, the captain’s men watching curiously.

“Prince Imriel.” Claude de Monluc was seated on a hassock, running a whetstone down the edge of his sword. He rose, sheathed his blade, and gave me an exacting bow. “Thank you for coming, your highness.”

I inclined my head. “You’re welcome, my lord captain. Is there some danger I should be aware of? Your men seem sufficiently at ease.”

“No.” De Monluc hesitated, frowning. He was a tall fellow with blond hair and cool blue eyes, an expression that sought to keep its own counsel. “I thought we should talk, you and I. Will you join me in a tankard of ale?”

I shrugged. “Why not?”

We retired to a quiet corner with a pair of chairs drawn up to an unlit brazier. A barracks attendant brought over a pair of foaming tankards. I hadn’t seen them poured. I gazed at the ale, then at de Monluc’s face.

“Do you fear poison?” he asked in a dry tone.

“No,” I said thoughtfully. “No, you’re a man with a sense of honor, albeit a rigid one.” I took a healthy drink. “And anyway, ’tis you who mistrusts me.”

He gave a short laugh. “I cede the point, your highness.”

“I’m not interested in playing games,” I said mildly. “And I’d sooner have you call me Imriel.”

De Monluc’s lips tightened. “You’re blunt. Will you give me an honest answer to a blunt query?”

“I might,” I said. “It depends on the query.” I watched suspicion creep into his expression and rolled my eyes. “Elua’s Balls, man! I’ll not lie, if that’s what you’re asking.”

A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Do you seek my post?”

“Your post?” Whatever I’d expected, it wasn’t this. I stared blankly at him. “The captaincy of the Dauphine’s Guard? Why in the world would I want that?”

“Well, the last man to share her highness’ bed did,” de Monluc observed. “But I reckon you might have reasons of your own.” He studied me with his cool, blue gaze. “You’ve enemies at Court. Taking command of the Dauphine’s Guard and creating your own personal army would be a shrewd step. It would afford you a measure of protection.”

I returned his gaze. He looked away, taking a sip of ale. It didn’t matter. I could see the aching lines of pain and sorrow beneath the distrust. “You’re one of them,” I said. “You don’t wear the black armband, but you are, aren’t you? You lost family at the battle of Troyes-le-Mont.”

“It didn’t . . .” De Monluc paused. “My father. I was ten.”

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

He was silent a moment. I waited.

“I’m not one of them,” he said at length. “Not one to reckon a man should be judged by the deeds of his forebears. I talked to men who served under you in Alba, Urist and some of his fellows. They thought well of you.”

“I thought well of them,” I said.

Claude de Monluc glanced at me. “So do you want it or no?”

“Are you good at your job?” I asked.

He straightened, stung. “I am. I
earned
this post, my lord, and I am loyal to her highness. These men . . .” He gestured. “They’re off duty, your highness. We completed drills this morning. There is no license here, if that’s your thought. We know our duty. Any one of us would lay down our lives to protect the Dauphine.”

There were shouts of agreement from a few guardsmen within earshot who forgot to pretend they weren’t eavesdropping.

“Is he good at his job?” I asked them.

“Too good, my lord,” one called amid rumbles of laughter and agreement.

“A strict taskmaster?” I asked. “Willing to share every hardship? Given to painstaking measures of precaution when it comes to the Dauphine’s safety?”

“By the seven hells, is he ever!” Alfonse said fervently.

I raised my brows at Claude de Monluc. “Well, then. I have no interest in your post, Captain.”

He flushed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I said. “After Maslin de Lombelon’s ambitions, and with the gossip surrounding me, I don’t blame you for wondering . . .” A thought struck me. “Do you and your men drill on horseback?”

“What?” De Monluc looked startled. “No, only on foot. We’re guards, not cavalry.”

It was Maslin’s name had made me think of it. We had a long history. He had been the second in command of the Dauphine’s Guard, and, briefly, Sidonie’s lover. After they had quarrelled, he’d set out to find me in Vralia, determined to prove to her that he loved her more than I did. Instead, he’d found out a great deal about himself, including the fact that his feelings for Sidonie were a dubious mixture of yearning, ambition, and idealized romanticism.

And that I, on the other hand, truly did love her.

“You should,” I said. “The men who attacked me in Vralia were mounted. Maslin thought he could handle them, but good as he is with a sword, he doesn’t fight well in the saddle.”

“And yet he saved your life, did he not?” de Monluc asked in confusion. “Or so I heard.”

I hadn’t said any more than that publicly, reckoning it was true enough in its own way. “He did,” I said, lowering my voice. “Of a surety, I would likely have died if he’d not been there. But let us say I had more of a hand in my own salvation than Maslin would have liked.” I laughed at the memory. “He told me that he was hoping I’d have to spend the rest of my life knowing I owed every breath I drew to him.”

“He said that?” De Monluc stared. “And you think it’s funny?”

I shrugged. “In its own way, yes. Anyway, ’tis a serious weakness. What if Sidonie were attacked in the middle of a hunting party or riding from some pleasure jaunt?”

“Do you think there’s reason to fear such a thing?” he asked.

“Elua, I hope not!” I shuddered. “Still, people are capable of terrible things, my lord, and I daresay there are a few out there willing to blame Sidonie for the unspeakable sin of falling in love with Melisande Shahrizai’s son. Why not take every precaution?”

“You’ve a point,” de Monluc said.

Another thought struck me. “Ask Barquiel L’Envers for assistance,” I suggested. “Blessed Elua knows I can’t abide the man, but I’ve always heard he fielded an excellent light cavalry.” I laughed again. “Tell him it’s because you mistrust my intentions and you want Sidonie’s personal guard trained to deal with any possibility. He’ll leap at the chance.”

“I’ll do that.” Claude de Monluc drained his ale. “You’re not exactly what I expected, Prince Imriel de la Courcel.”

“Imriel,” I said.

He nodded. “Imriel.”

I finished my ale and rose. “I nearly lost my wits when my wife was slain. If anything like that were to happen to Sidonie . . .” It was so awful to contemplate, I couldn’t find words. “I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I couldn’t live through it twice. I’d die. And that’s really all you need to know about me, my lord de Monluc.”