Kushiel's Mercy (62 page)

I meant to tell her, but I was asleep before I could get the words out.

Sixty-One

O
n the morrow Euskerri from all across the mountains began pouring into Roncal.

I was surprised at how quickly the news had travelled. Paskal explained to us that the beating-staves used at the previous night’s celebration had carried word as far as two leagues. Dozens of messengers had departed at first light to spread the news farther, riding the swift Amazigh horses captured in the battle.

More and more Euskerri came.

They were all cut from a similar cloth, men and women alike. A dark-haired, dark-eyed folk, proud and rugged. Very few of them spoke aught but their own tongue. I wished I could understand them.

“I know,” Sidonie said ruefully when I voiced the thought. “’Tis frustrating. I understand only a little myself. I’ll have no way to gauge whether or not my words have swayed them, no way to gauge what they’re saying.”

“Do you think the outcome is in doubt?” I asked in surprise. “I have the sense they’re hell-bent on gaining sovereignty.”

“True.” She knit her brows. “I don’t know. Mayhap I’m overanxious. I can’t stop worrying over what’s happening at home. It goads me somewhat fierce to be so close.”

On the following day, the debate began.

It was held in the village square, crowded to overflowing. A small dais had been constructed at the base of the oak tree. Sidonie stood atop it, flanked by Paskal and me. In the midst of a sea of dark-haired folk, she stood out like a beacon, far more than I did. She told our tale in a strong, clear voice, pausing after every few sentences for Janpier Iturralde to translate her words into Euskerri.

There were no interruptions. We had been told that the debate would follow on the heels of her words. Sidonie talked and they listened.

She told the story well. There were no dramatic embellishments; it was compelling enough on its own merits and any clever twist of rhetoric or theatrical gesture would fail to translate. She expressed regret for leading the Amazigh to Roncal while making it clear that the situation in the south was growing desperate, and that if the Aragonians and the Euskerri didn’t stand together against Carthage at this juncture, they would fall separately. She enumerated Astegal’s forces in succinct terms.

I didn’t think the Euskerri doubted her, at least not in a broad sense. We might not have had a parlor trick to play to lend credence to our tale of ensorcelment, but the essential reality of the situation was self-evident. Terre d’Ange was in disarray to the north and Aragonia besieged to the south. The Amazigh had come in pursuit as Sidonie had said they would. Janpier Iturralde could vouch for her identity.

She presented Iturralde with the written charter of sovereignty that Serafin’s council had prepared and described it in clear detail for the benefit of the audience. She recited from memory the terms of the accord to which her mother had been willing to agree well over a year ago, detailing the D’Angeline territory to be ceded. She gave her word on behalf of Terre d’Ange that not only would the accord be kept if the Euskerri agreed to it, but that Terre d’Ange would use its sway to ensure that Aragonia didn’t break faith with Euskerria.

When Sidonie finished, a great roar arose, not cheers, but merely the sound of thousands of voices rising in simultaneous argument as the Euskerri turned to one another in the square, taking up their individual concerns and ignoring her presence. She blinked, taken aback.

Janpier Iturralde moved closer to us. “There will be debate for many hours,” he said frankly. “Perhaps for days, as others come to Roncal. There is nothing more you can do. Wait in the guest-house and I will send word if there is a decision or further questions.”

I glanced involuntarily toward the north. “My lord, is it not possible—”

Sidonie laid a hand on my arm. “We will await your word,
etxekojaun
,” she said calmly.

In the days that followed—and it
did
take days—the debate raged heatedly. If there was a system of governance in place among the Eus-kerri, I failed to grasp it. Of a surety, there was no single ruler. It didn’t appear that there was a formal parliament or governing council, either, nor any form of elected republic. As best I could determine, each village had its own headman or woman, but they were not allowed to represent the views of the village until concord was reached.

And once it was, the headmen and women of the villages argued the matter all over again amongst themselves. Only when they had come to agreement did they select spokespersons to carry out their will.

There was a certain fairness to it, but it was a messy process and a frustrating one. Like Sidonie, I chafed at our nearness to the D’Angeline border. Along with every other house in Roncal, the guest-house where we were lodged was now filled to overflowing, half a dozen women aiding Bixenta in cooking and cleaning for the contentious horde. Every night, I entertained thoughts of laying claim to a pair of swift horses and fleeing north.

“We
can’t
,” Sidonie said irritably when I proposed the idea for a second time. “Imriel, I agreed to this. If we flee, it undermines all our credence. There will be no agreement, no alliance. The best we could hope is that Amílcar holds until we can send aid. And then we’re talking about sending D’Angelines to fight and die in the Euskerri’s stead. In the end, I’m accountable to
our
people.”

I groaned. “I know! It’s just—”

“I know.”
She blew out her breath in an impatient sigh. “Gods! I think about it every hour of every day. Do you think it’s not killing me, too?”

“No.” I grasped her shoulders hard, rubbing her collarbones with my thumbs. It calmed me. I could feel her body yielding beneath my touch, ceding what her determined sense of honor and propriety wouldn’t. “No, I know. I do. I’m sorry.”

Sidonie shook her head and reached for me.

We took out our frustrations on ourselves, on each other. In the midst of turmoil and uncertainty, we found surety. Helpless to rearrange the world to my liking, I was at least able to control
this
. Unable to relinquish her role, Sidonie was at least able to surrender in our bed. We made love like war. I pinned her wrists high above her head with one hand, feeling her arch beneath me. I plowed her relentlessly, driving her to climax after climax, until I had to release my grip and spend myself deep within her. I felt her nails score my back, her thighs tightening around hips.

“So Astegal didn’t take that from you,” I murmured into the crook of her neck.

“Astegal took
nothing
from us!” Sidonie whispered fiercely in my ear. “You promised me that.”

“And I meant it.” I propped myself on one arm. “Nothing he did could ever alter my love for you. But—”

“You wondered if having my innermost will perverted would curb my penchant for violent pleasure.” Her mouth twisted wryly as I nodded. “So did I, actually. But it seems I’m still reclaiming bits and pieces of myself.”

“I’m glad,” I said honestly.

“You were so gentle and beautiful when that was what I needed.” Sidonie wound a lock of my hair around her fingers. “Thank you.”

“Always,” I said.

She gave me one of her quick smiles. “Or not, as it happens.”

I laughed and planted a kiss on the inside of her wrist. “You’re going to have bruises.”

“Mmm.” Sidonie touched my cheek, her expression turning serious. “That’s a part of me Astegal never touched, Imriel. I don’t . . .” She hesitated. “I’d like to think that somewhere deep inside, I knew enough to withhold my trust from him, to keep the most vulnerable part of me safe. But in truth, I don’t know.” She lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. “It may simply be that he never knew me well enough to suspect it was there. Although in a way, I don’t suppose he could have when there was so much we could never discuss.”

It was the first time she’d spoken of what had passed between her and Astegal. “No?” I asked quietly.

“No. The first night . . .” Sidonie pulled away from me to sit upright, drawing her knees up and wrapping the sheet around them. “On the ship. I remember I asked him if he’d ever been in love before. He laughed and told some tale of a married woman he’d adored when he was little more than a youth. Then he told me that he wasn’t going to ask the same question. That as far as he was concerned, whatever lay in my past, it was all washed clean away the moment he laid eyes on me. That we were born anew for one another, and only the future mattered.”

“Very romantic,” I observed.

She shot a glance at me to see if I was mocking, but I wasn’t. “I thought so at the time. But it was just a means to keep me from discussing the past, lest I realize how much my memory was lacking.”

“So what did you talk about?” I asked.

“The future.” She gave another wry smile. “The glorious, peaceful, and just alliance of nations we would build. He laid out a bold, sweeping vision of the reforms he imagined for Carthage’s role in this empire, such as eliminating the slave-trade. Nothing that could be accomplished immediately, mind you, but things that would come in time if we were patient and diligent.”

“He played to the best in you,” I said softly.

“Mayhap.” Sidonie raked a hand through her disheveled hair. “Or mayhap to a strain of that L’Envers’ ambition I didn’t know I harbored. Noble aspirations are no excuse for conquest. I don’t know. It shames me to remember it.”

I didn’t say anything.

“I believed him, though,” she said. “In him, in his vision. And there’s a part of me that wonders . . . in the beginning, when it was all new and fresh, it truly seemed Astegal believed it, too.”

“When did it change?” I asked.

“I suppose it started in Carthage.” She hugged her knees. “On the ship, he’d led me to believe I’d be involved in matters of import once we were there. That I’d have a voice, responsibilities as I’d had in Terre d’Ange. But once we arrived, he kept telling me that the Council wasn’t ready, that it wasn’t Carthage’s way. That I had to be patient, and everything would change after Aragonia fell. So I was. Dumb, patient, and obedient.”

“Not to hear Bodeshmun tell it,” I said.

“It got worse after Astegal left,” Sidonie said. “That was when I became restless and bored. But I didn’t begin to doubt until you entered my life.” She smiled wistfully. “Or at least Leander Maignard did, reeking of pomade, beating me at chess and stirring strange thoughts and yearnings in me.”

“Not to mention gazing at you like a lovelorn pup,” I added.

“Yes.” She glanced at me, tears in her eyes. “That too. And I’m so grateful that you came for me, but . . . oh, gods! I wish none of it had ever happened. I wish I could forget it. And I can’t.”

I slid behind Sidonie and embraced her, holding her while she wept, her body shaking with an anguish she’d not let herself feel until now. My heart ached for her and I wished there were words I could say that would ease the pain, but there weren’t. That was one truth I knew all too well. Hurting was part of the healing.

“It gets better, love,” I said. “That, I promise.”

She laughed through her tears, sniffling. “Good. Because I hate this.”

I smiled against her hair. “I know.”

Afterward, Sidonie slept. I stayed awake for a time, watching her and thinking a thousand thoughts. But at length, I slept, too.

In the morning there was word.

The Euskerri wished to meet with us in the hall of the guest-house.

Sixty-Two

W
hat?”
Sidonie’s voice cracked with outrage when she heard the Euskerri’s terms. A few of them flinched. There was no sign of last night’s wounded young woman in her. This was Ysandre de la Courcel’s heir in a rare fury. “Why in Blessed Elua’s name would you insist on such a thing?”

The Euskerri were demanding that she accompany them to Amílcar.

And that I join them in battle.

“You said you would ensure that the Aragonians keep their word,” Janpier Iturralde reminded her. “We do not trust them. If we are victorious over Carthage, the agreement with Aragonia must be witnessed. As the arbiter of this accord, it is your duty.”

She struggled for control. “I pledged my word, not my person. I have a duty to my country. And Terre d’Ange’s role in this will be meaningless if we’re not able to free her from the spell that binds it.”

Janpier translated her words. There was a rapid spate of argumentative Euskerri, resulting eventually in nods. “Terre d’Ange’s role may be meaningless anyway,” Janpier said calmly. “We do not believe that you have the authority to speak on behalf of Terre d’Ange, not with your country divided against itself. It is Aragonia that concerns us. What passes for leadership in Aragonia has granted you authority on their behalf. Your presence is our surety.”

“My presence,” Sidonie said. “As your hostage.”

He colored slightly. “I would not use that word.”

“I would,” I said grimly.

There was another long exchange in Euskerri. “It is not so simple,” Janpier said. “Aragonia seeks this bargain because they are desperate, but they have betrayed us in the past. We long for our freedom, but the price is very high.” There was sympathy in his face. “It will take a very great gesture of good faith for us to accept this offer. That is what is required of you. Without it, we must decline.”

I rose from the table. “Then decline. We will be on our way and wish you well.” A pair of brawny men moved to block the door to the hall. I stared at Janpier. “You would refuse to grant us passage to Terre d’Ange?”

He shrugged in apology. “We
do
long for freedom.”

Sidonie made a strangled sound. “Ah, gods! Do I understand this aright? If we agree to accompany you, the Euskerri will take arms against Carthage’s army? And if we refuse, you will turn us away in spite? Despite the fact that it’s in your own best interests to let us pass?”

“Yes.” Janpier’s face hardened. “Who are you to tell us what is in our best interests? You led an army to our doorstep, highness. In the minds of my people, if you are not willing to do this thing, you have acted in bad faith and we would rather take our chances with Carthage.”