Kushiel's Mercy (73 page)

“No.” I shook my head. “Only preparing for what lies ahead. Leave her be.”

I passed the day helping Kratos acquire a few more words of D’Angeline. All along the banks of the Aviline, there were signs of spring’s return: trees bursting into green-leafed glory, flowers blooming. Any other time the sight would have gladdened my heart, but it didn’t. Last night’s false promises tasted like ashes in my mouth. I was frightened, too. Elua knows, I’d known fear before, but not the kind of fear that accompanied having the fates of so many people I loved riding on my shoulders.

And my role was easier than Sidonie’s. She had to convince the entire City she was mourning a man who had violated her very will, had to convince them to believe an intricate web of lies and truth. All I had to do was let them go on believing I was disordered in my wits. We’d considered telling them I’d been cured in Carthage, but that raised in turn the problem of explaining why the rest of the realm couldn’t be cured of their own apparent madness. In the end we had decided that the simplest, safest course was to let them continue believing as they did.

When the sun was sinking low on the horizon, Sidonie rose. She paused briefly to address us. “I’ll be retiring for the night. Kratos, would you be kind enough to bring me something to eat?”

He rose. “At once, my lady.”

Her gaze shifted to meet mine. She gave me a quick, sad smile that broke my heart. “I’ll see you on the morrow.”

“On the morrow,” I agreed.

That night I made my bed belowdeck on a narrow bunk, surrounded by the snores and wheezes of men deep in slumber. And if I’d let myself, I could have lain awake all night in futile thought or desperate prayer, but there was no merit in it. My thoughts would only turn in helpless circles, and if Blessed Elua hadn’t heard our prayers by now, he never would. So instead, like a soldier preparing for battle, I forced myself to sleep.

By the time I rose and made myself break my fast, the City was in sight.

Like spring, the sight of those white walls shining in the distance had always been cause for gladness. Not today. I remembered all too well watching them recede as this very barge had carried me away. It had been summer then. Three seasons had passed since I’d left. The spell that gripped the City was malevolent at its core.

How much worse had it gotten?

Some distance from the City, Gilbert Dumel ordered his oarsmen to cease progress. We waited until Sidonie emerged into the sunlight. She looked pale and hollow-eyed. I didn’t think she’d slept like a soldier. She gazed toward the City, expressionless.

“We’ll not be able to enter unchallenged, your highness,” Gilbert informed her. “They’ll raise the chain and insist on searching the barge before we’re allowed to enter the harbor.”

“I’ll speak to them,” Sidonie said.

Gilbert gave a curt nod. “We’ll take our lead from you, highness.”

The oarsmen resumed their stroke. Before long, we could see that the massive chain used to protect the harbor from invasion was already raised. A swift, sleek galley with a ballista mounted on its prow hailed us.

“State your business!” came the shout.

Sidonie was silent.

We followed her lead.

The galley bore down on us fast. As it drew nigh, I saw there were additional ballistae mounted on the sides and aft. Every one was manned, and there was a sizable contingent of armed men aboard, a thicket of crossbows pointing at us.

“Halt the barge,” Sidonie said quietly. Gilbert gave the order. As we drifted slowly to a halt, the galley turned broadside to us.

“State your business,” the galley’s captain repeated. He had a hard face. They all had hard faces. Sidonie stood in the prow without moving, Kratos and I a few paces behind. Although the captain didn’t notice me, I watched his face as he recognized her. It only got more grim. “Your highness.”

“My business is the business of Terre d’Ange.” There was a raw edge to Sidonie’s voice, but it held a note of command, too. “And I will state it only to her majesty the Queen.”

The captain gestured and his men lowered their crossbows. “You bring tidings out of Carthage?”

“I bring tidings of woe,” Sidonie said, low and savage. “Tidings of death and defeat and bitter betrayal. But I will not deliver them to you, messire. Lower the chain and let us pass, or you may go join my
sister
and her rebel army.”

If the captain harbored any doubts, those words erased them—that, and the unfeigned emotion behind them. She didn’t have to pretend. All of the very real grief and fury at what had befallen Terre d’Ange was there.

“Lower the chain!” the captain shouted. “Send to the Palace! Tell them the Dauphine has returned!
Now
!”

Unseen gears ground somewhere ashore. The mammoth chain sank beneath the waters. Our would-be adversary became our escort as the galley swung back around to precede us into the harbor. As our progress resumed, Sidonie stood motionless, her black cloak hanging in folds around her. The garment that had served as a tool of concealment now appeared a badge of mourning.

Our oarsmen bent their backs. The barge slid past the white walls.

We entered the City of Elua.

I couldn’t sense any immediate change, but I saw Sidonie’s shoulders tighten and I knew the pain had gotten worse. I prayed that was all it was. “Are you all right?” I asked under my breath.

She nodded without turning. “Thus far.”

Gods, it was hard not to go to her, to offer the simple comfort of my presence. To share the burden. But I couldn’t, or at least Sidonie couldn’t accept it if I did. Not with the eyes of the City watching.

So I didn’t.

The response to the galley captain’s order had been swift. By the time we were docked at the wharf, there was a royal escort awaiting us: a company of soldiers led by Ghislain nó Trevalion himself. His broad, good-natured face was set in harsh lines. And unlike the galley captain, Ghislain noticed me immediately as we disembarked, his eyes widening in shock.
“You!”

“Have no fear, my lord,” Sidonie said. “He’s no danger.”

Ghislain’s face darkened, but he proffered a bow. “We will see, your highness. I would welcome you home, but I fear your return portends ill.”

“Yes.” She met his gaze squarely. “I need to speak to my mother. Immediately. Is my father in residence?”

“He is.”

She nodded. “So much the better. Take me to them, please.”

There was a carriage with the insignia of House Courcel waiting. When I made to follow Sidonie into it, Ghislain caught my arm. “I think it best if you ride, Prince Imriel.”

“My lord Ghislain!” Sidonie’s voice was sharp. “I tell you, it’s fine. Imriel labors under the delusion that he’s enamored of me. It is inconvenient, but he poses no threat.” She pointed to Kratos. “And Kratos here is . . . was . . . my lord Astegal’s most trusted and loyal bodyguard. No harm will come to me while he is present.”

Kratos folded his arms and looked impassive.

Ghislain hesitated, then shrugged. “As you will.”

Inside the carriage, we sat in silence for most of the ride. Unlike the rest of Terre d’Ange, the City of Elua was abuzz. People thronged the streets, staring as our entourage passed. But there were no greetings shouted, only a rising tide of speculation. It held an edge of anger that made my skin prickle.

“Feels like a hornets’ nest,” Kratos muttered. “This isn’t how I imagined one of the great cities of Terre d’Ange.”

“It’s
not
how it is.” Sidonie glanced at him, pain in her eyes. “All that you will see and hear in these days . . . it’s a lie, a foul lie wrought by Bodeshmun’s magic. I beg you to believe me.”

“I do,” he said gently.

And then there was no more time for talk. We clattered into the courtyard of the Palace. There were more guards on duty than I ever remembered seeing, and the ostlers who came to attend to mounts and carriage-horses worked with martial efficiency.

“This way.” Ghislain snapped his fingers and his men formed a cordon around us, ushering us into the Palace.

It was another moment come around full circle. Members of the Court turned out to stare, wondering at Sidonie’s unexpected return, wondering at my unexpected presence. There were hard-eyed guards posted everywhere. When we passed the Hall of Games, there was a scuffle taking place. A woman’s voice rose to a shriek, haranguing some unseen companion with accusations of cheating. It should have been a shocking breach of decorum, but no one batted an eye.

Sidonie was right.

This was
not
our City.

We halted outside the door of one of Ysandre’s private salons while Ghislain exchanged a word with the guards. I watched Sidonie’s shoulders rise and fall as she took a deep breath, bracing herself. Kratos placed himself at her side, unbidden. She gave him a look of gratitude. Good. That was all right. No one had cause to believe he was aught but Astegal’s loyal man. He could lend her the support I couldn’t, and no one would think twice at it.

The door was opened.

We were ushered into the salon.

Ysandre and Drustan were awaiting us. They stood side by side: the Queen of Terre d’Ange and the Cruarch of Alba, united. I saw Ysandre take in my presence, and I saw suspicion dawn on her features. Drustan’s expression was unreadable behind his woad tattoos. Ghislain and a dozen of his men remained as the door was closed behind us.

“Sidonie.” Ysandre uttered her daughter’s name without a trace of warmth. Drustan said nothing, only watched his eldest, the black eyes she’d inherited hard and appraising. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Your majesties.” Sidonie curtsied deeply and held it. She spoke without lifting her head. “My husband Astegal, Prince of the House of Sarkal, General of Carthage, is dead.”

As before, there was a world of grief behind the words, not for Astegal, but for the City of Elua, for her mother and father, and all who dwelled in the City. It didn’t matter. It was real. It sufficed.

Ysandre paled. “How?”

Sidonie straightened. “It was the Euskerri. Serafin L’Envers y Aragon made a treaty with them. Together they defeated Astegal’s army outside Amílcar. Astegal . . .” She paused. “I am told . . . I am told he was captured and executed. He had left orders for me to flee for my own safety. And there is more—”

“House L’Envers!” Ysandre hissed the word, nails digging into her own forearms. “I should have known it. This conspiracy grows vaster by the day. I swear to Blessed Elua, I could claw that cursed blood from my own veins if I could!”

“Hold.” Drustan lifted one hand. “You said there was more,” he said to Sidonie. “Speak.”

“A ray of hope.” She gazed at her father. “One last gift of my lord’s kinsman Bodeshmun. It is why I was sent swiftly and in secret.”

Ysandre and Drustan exchanged a glance. “Then let us hear this tale in its entirety,” Ysandre said. She pointed at me. “And you may begin with how and why Melisande Shahrizai’s oft-vanished son comes to reappear in your company.”

There were nods and mutters of agreement among Ghislain’s men.

Sidonie inclined her head and began to speak.

In the end, I daresay it was Barquiel L’Envers’ long-standing and well-known dislike of me that sold my end of the tale. They knew he’d helped me get out of the City. When Sidonie stated her belief that he’d done it to get me out of the way for good, it struck a chord. We already knew Joscelin believed it to be true.

“No doubt Uncle Barquiel believed Astegal would be swift to dispatch Imriel when he showed up in Carthage with this mad fantasy of rescuing me.” Sidonie’s voice softened. “But he didn’t know my husband. Astegal took pity on Imriel and had his physicians treat him as best they could. He was kind that way. He had a generous, noble heart.”

Everyone nodded.

I swallowed my bile and tried to look humble.

“And what do you believe
now
, Imriel de la Courcel?” Drustan asked in an implacable tone.

I spread my hands. “I believe whatever Sidonie tells me. I know there are thoughts in my head that are wrong. I know Sidonie doesn’t love me. I saw that in Carthage. But I believe whatever she tells me, and I would never do anything to harm her or any of you. I just don’t want to be sent away again.”

I sounded like a simpleton to my own ears, but they seemed willing to accept it.

“This is Kratos.” Sidonie switched to Hellene, laying a hand on Kratos’ arm. “He was my lord’s most trusted bodyguard, the companion of his childhood. At Astegal’s command, he has seen me safe these long weeks. Now that we are here, he has agreed to keep watch over poor Imriel.”

Kratos bowed.

Ysandre eyed him coolly and spoke in fluent Hellene. “I do not recall seeing this man when General Astegal’s delegation was here, and he has a rather memorable face.”

Beads of sweat broke out on my brow. It wasn’t a challenge any of us had anticipated. Gods, this was hard! They might have been in the grip of madness and paranoia and easily misled in some ways, but neither Drustan nor Ysandre had lost their faculties.

“No, your majesty.” Kratos offered another bow. “I was a wedding gift.”

Her brows rose. “A wedding gift?”

“My service was to the greater House of Sarkal.” Kratos pressed a fist to his chest. “My lord Astegal’s mother released me into the service of her son’s household that he might have one retainer he trusted beyond all doubt to watch over that which was most precious to him.”

If I hadn’t known better, I would have believed he spoke with absolute sincerity and conviction. Ysandre relaxed, and I thanked the gods for Kratos and his quick wits.

“And a wise woman my lord’s mother proved to be,” Sidonie murmured in D’Angeline. “For in the end, the House of Sarkal
was
betrayed.”

Although the rest of the tale was almost entirely a skein of lies, Sidonie spun it artfully, telling them how when word of Astegal’s death reached New Carthage, the city devolved into bitter factions grasping for power. That was a familiar notion that fell on willing ears. She told them that on Astegal’s orders, she was to flee with his kinsman Bodeshmun back to Carthage proper; but before it could be arranged, Bodeshmun was slain by the treachery of Gillimas of Hiram, who bribed the Amazigh guards. He’d told her of the protective gem, bade her to flee to the City of Elua instead of Carthage, to find the gem and renew its charm.