Kushiel's Mercy (56 page)

“My lady, you might remind them . . .” Sidonie searched briefly, then came up with the book I’d procured for her yesterday. She flipped through it and found the place she wanted, passing the volume to Nicola. “Some centuries ago, Alfonso the Second sought to gain control of Euskerri territory,” she said. “His army outnumbered theirs ten to one, but the Euskerri harried his forces and drew them into the mountains where they suffered a terrible rate of attrition. The war went on for years and ended in a negotiated truce. But if there were a force ready to fall on the rearguard, as in Amílcar, the same tactics might be used to more immediate effect.”

“I’ll do that.” Nicola sounded a trifle startled.

“I didn’t know you’d such a head for battle,” I said to Sidonie.

She raked an impatient hand through her hair. “My mother assumed the throne and inherited a war. She never wanted either of her daughters to be utterly reliant on the wisdom of others.”

Gods, I loved her.

“I’ll do what I can.” Nicola rose, gazing at both of us, her expression complicated and unreadable. She gave her head a little shake. “Blessed Elua have mercy! Astegal of Carthage truly grasped the tiger by the tail when he sought to divide the two of you, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” I reached for Sidonie’s hand without thinking.

Her fingers tightened on mine. “This is for all of us, my lady. Aragonia and Terre d’Ange, too.”

“Even if Liberio agrees, there will be others to be swayed,” Nicola warned her.

Sidonie nodded. “I know. Will they give me leave to address them again as an emissary of Terre d’Ange?”

“I believe so,” Nicola said. “But I’m not sure how much weight your words will carry, my dear. With Terre d’Ange divided against itself, you’re not in a position to promise anything with certitude.”

“Then I’ll have to be eloquent,” Sidonie said calmly.

“Very,” Nicola agreed.

The balance of the day passed without incident or further news. An assortment of clothing arrived for Sidonie, resolving the garment crisis. I accompanied her to the courtyard, where she sat in the sun for an hour, the stays of her bodice undone to expose her healing wound. She was quiet and withdrawn, thinking. I said nothing to disturb her thoughts. Diplomacy was her strong suit, not mine. If the council was to be swayed, the burden rested on her slender shoulders.

Afterward, she sent me on a quest to find a detailed map of Aragonia and paper, pen, and ink.

“Would you mind leaving me for a few hours, Imriel?” she asked apologetically when I’d returned with the items. “I need to compose my thoughts.”

“Of course.” I grinned. “Are you saying I’m a distraction?”

Sidonie eyed me. “Thoughts of unfinished business between us, yes.”

I laughed and kissed her. “I’ll go see how Kratos fares. I need to speak to Lady Nicola about making more permanent arrangements for him, and for Deimos and his men.”

I left her sitting cross-legged on the bed, her head bowed over a writing tablet, her back bare in obedience to the chirurgeon’s orders.

In the infirmary, I found Kratos in good spirits. His ribs were swathed in bandages, but he reported that he was able to move around a little and there was less pain when he breathed. It made me hopeful.

“So what’s to become of us, my lord?” Kratos asked.

I told him what we were hoping to accomplish with the council and the Euskerri. He listened sagely, nodding.

“They’d be fools not to agree,” he said when I’d finished. “All of ’em. Wrestling’s a good way to take a man’s measure, and Astegal’s ruthless. If they don’t stand together, he’ll take them down one by one.”

“I know,” I said. “I pray we can convince them.”

“You will.” Kratos took a deep experimental breath. “So we’re bound for Euskerri territory, eh?”

“We?” I shook my head at him. “Oh, no. Elua willing, Sidonie and I, yes; and then on to Terre d’Ange. But you, my friend, are staying in Amílcar to recover.”

“My lord!” he protested. “Put me astride a horse and I’ll be fine. You can’t abandon me here. I don’t even speak the language.”

“No.” I laid a hand on his arm. “Kratos, I’ve been responsible for too many good men losing their lives in quarrels not their own. I’m not risking yours again.”

His jaw tightened. “You gave me my freedom. It’s not your choice.”

I gazed at his face: the blunt, worn features, the squashed nose. There was pride there, pride and courage and a canny intellect. Kratos had found hope and purpose long after he’d thought it lost. It would be cruel to take it from him.

So be it.

“It
is
my choice,” I said in a hard tone. “I’m responsible for Sidonie’s safety. And I’m sorry, Kratos, but you’re not fit for travel. You might be able to ride, but could you mount in a hurry? Could you scramble over rocks if we had to flee on foot? No. You’re staying here.”

Kratos bowed his head. “As you will.”

I felt bad for him, but not as badly as I would have felt if he’d died like Gilot. “We’d never have gotten this far without you, my friend,” I said more gently. “Think on that while you heal.”

He grunted. “I’ll try.”

I took my leave of Kratos and found Captain Deimos. His men were restless and concerned, trapped in a besieged city with the threat of Carthaginian reprisal hanging over them if Amílcar should fall. I promised to speak to Lady Nicola about dispersing them throughout the city so that they might not collectively be identified as the crew of the Cytheran ship that assisted in abducting Astegal’s bride. Beyond that, there wasn’t much else I could do.

When I returned to the palace, Lady Nicola was in conference with several Aragonian lords’ wives, doing her best to persuade them to sway their husbands, I reckoned. Since I gauged it too early to interrupt Sidonie, I went to the palace stables and begged the loan of a horse.

Ever since we’d arrived, I’d wanted to get a look at Astegal’s forces. I rode to the northwestern edge of the city.

Over the course of a day, word had spread of Sidonie’s and my initial address to the council, and I found myself greeted with curiosity and wonder more than hostility. The squadron of guards posted in the northwest tower were glad enough to introduce me to their captain, who took me out onto the walls himself.

“There the bastard sits, your highness,” the captain announced with a wave of his arm.

I gazed at the scene before me. There was the army we’d sent off with fanfare from New Carthage, spread out across the plain at the base of the foothills. Amílcar was situated between two rivers, and Astegal’s army occupied the ground between them, fortified by defensive trenches and earthworks. Soldiers bustled about, digging the trenches deeper and building the earthworks higher.

“No siege engines?” I asked.

The captain, whose name was Aureliano, shook his head. “Thus far he’s not bothered. I reckon he thinks he can wait us out.”

“Do you?”

Aureliano pursed his lips. “Unless something gives, aye. Are the rumors true? Are you and the princess able to put an end to the madness in Terre d’Ange and send aid?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “If we could get there, yes. But we’re trapped here as surely as you are.” I paused. “What would you think of aid coming from another quarter? Euskerria, say?”

He shrugged. “Better the devil you know than the one you don’t. I’d welcome the Euskerri if they could deal with Astegal.”

I peered at the forces arrayed against us. “Is he here?”

Aureliano laughed. “Himself? No, not today.” He pointed toward the south. “We heard he’s taken the palace of Montero for himself. Most days, he’s there, living the good life while his men work and toil.”

“Careless,” I murmured.

“He was here the day you arrived, though,” Aureliano added. “And the day after. Storming around on a big black horse, looking a fury.”

“Good,” I said.

The sun was growing low on the horizon, so I thanked Aureliano for his kindness and rode back to the palace. This time I found Lady Nicola free. There was no word yet regarding General Liberio’s decision, but at least she readily agreed to send someone to ensure that Kratos, Deimos, and the others were taken care of to the best of Amílcar’s ability. In a few days, I’d come to depend so heavily on her generosity and competence, I felt guilty that I’d ever thought ill of her.

That done, I returned to find Sidonie, still in her pensive mood.

“Finished, love?” I asked.

“I think so.” She moved a sheaf of paper. “Elua willing, there’ll be an opportunity to address them again. Is there news?”

“Not yet.” I sat beside her. “Would you like to rehearse your words? Shall I play the audience for you?”

Sidonie hesitated. “I think not. What I’m planning . . . Imriel, I’m afraid I’ll lose my nerve if I tell you ahead of time. Afraid it will sound foolish once I say it aloud.”

“You?” I tilted her chin up and kissed her. “Never.”

She smiled ruefully. “Well, I’ve done a number of things I would never have thought I’d do. Fall in love with you. Defy my mother. Wed Astegal.”

“The latter doesn’t count,” I said.

“There’s just so much at stake.” Sidonie shivered. “Elua! I’ve addressed ambassadors and statesmen before, but there was never anything like this at stake. And I was always a representative of my mother. If they thought I was too young and inexperienced to listen to, she was always there to intercede. It’s just so much damned responsibility. And I don’t know what we’ll do if I fail. Do you?”

I rubbed her shoulders, bare beneath the unlaced gown. “Spread the word
emmenghanom
until it’s on the lips of every man, woman, and child in Amílcar, trusting that someone will carry it to Terre d’Ange and Alais and L’Envers to complete what we’ve begun. And then lock the door and make love until Amílcar falls and Astegal comes to reclaim you. At which point I will take your life and my own, and we will die in a final flourish of terrible, wonderful romance about which the poets will sing for centuries.”

Sidonie laughed, tears in her eyes. “I’d much rather live a long and blessedly uneventful life with you. Although the part about the love-making sounds good.”

“In that, I can oblige.” I took her hands. “Sidonie, if you’re given the chance, you won’t fail. You won’t.”

She searched my face for signs of doubt, but there weren’t any.

I believed in her.

“Thank you.” Sidonie touched my lips. “Always.”

“Always and always,” I echoed.

Fifty-Five

L
ady Nicola was brief and to the point. “Liberio agreed.”

I closed my eyes, a wave of relief washing over me. That was the one hurdle that
had
been cleared. I offered a silent prayer of thanks to Blessed Elua.

“And the council?” Sidonie asked.

“Several of the remaining five are opposed. But they’re willing to hear the argument. There will be an open audience this afternoon.” Nicola studied her. “Have you taken a turn for the worse? You look pale.”

“No,” Sidonie murmured. “Merely anxious. My lady, can you spare a chambermaid to assist me this afternoon?”

“Of course,” Nicola said gently.

We waited out the long, dragging hours until the council met. Lady Nicola’s chambermaid arrived and I was temporarily banished from our quarters while she helped Sidonie dress and arrange her hair. Sidonie emerged just as a courtier came to fetch us. She wore a dark green Aragonian gown with a square neckline that had belonged to Nicola, a shawl of rich golden silk over her shoulders.

“Those are nearly Montrève’s colors,” I commented. “A good omen.”

Sidonie gave me a brief smile. “Let’s hope.”

The council met at the same long table in the great hall, but this was an open meeting with the hall filled with onlookers, murmurs rising to the rafters. Serafin motioned for us to be seated facing the council, our backs to the throng.

“My lords, ladies, and gentlefolk,” he announced. “I am Serafin L’Envers y Aragon. In the abdication of Roderico de Aragon, the absence of ranking nobility and with the blessing of my father, I have assumed command here. Does anyone wish to gainsay this?”

No one did.

“Very good.” Serafin laid both hands on the table. “We are here to debate the merits of two grave issues. One is the possibility of assisting our kinswoman, the Dauphine Sidonie de la Courcel, in escaping Amíl-car and fleeing to Terre d’Ange. The other is the prospect of seeking an alliance with the Euskerri with her aid. I believe both issues possess the potential for desirable outcomes that outweigh the risks and costs. Here is my reasoning.”

Serafin made his case in strong, calm terms, better than I would have reckoned, explaining that unless the balance of power tipped, Amílcar would eventually be forced to surrender. That this was a long chance, but it was a chance. I’d called him intemperate, but he had some of his mother’s cool-headed competence in him. The crowd listened to him in silence.

After he spoke, one of the opposing members was given a chance to address the council and the crowd: Rafael de Barbara. He was an older Aragonian lord with a dignified bearing and a tutored rhetorical style. He spoke of Sidonie’s youth and lack of experience in terms that were at once disparaging and sympathetic, reminding everyone that with Terre d’Ange in disarray, its heir was in no position to negotiate with the Eus-kerri for safe passage over the border, let alone a major treaty.

“So send your own ambassador,” I muttered. Sidonie hushed me.

Rafael de Barbara held the floor for a long time, recounting the long history of animosity between the Euskerri and Aragonia, culminating in recent battles. He reminded them that when the most recent skirmishes had erupted, Terre d’Ange’s only concern was that it not spill over the border into Siovale. And he finished by urging them not to undertake a desperate measure that would destroy the very realm in the process of attempting to save it. At that, there was scattered applause.

When he had finished, Serafin’s father, Ramiro Zornín de Aragon spoke out in support of the plan, confirming his belief that other cities would seize the opportunity to rise up against Astegal. He wasn’t eloquent, but he was precise, with names and facts and figures at his disposal. I saw Lady Nicola smile with quiet pride.