Kushiel's Mercy (74 page)

Sidonie had witnessed violent death since she’d left her parents’ side. Her description of Bodeshmun’s end, his gasped words and dying rattle, rang horribly true. And through it all ran that raw thread of genuine anguish, giving the weight of truth to her lies.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Ysandre said when Sidonie finished. The unexpected gentleness in her voice brought a lump to my throat. Ysandre glanced at Drustan. “We didn’t mean to doubt you. It’s just . . .”

“I know.” Sidonie shivered. “Alais.”

“You’ve heard?” Drustan asked gravely.

She nodded. “But
why
? Why would she do it? I don’t understand.”

“No one does. There are theories. But we’ll talk about that on the morrow. You should rest. You must be weary to the bone and grief-stricken atop it.” Ysandre rested her hands on her daughter’s shoulders and gazed into her eyes. “Sidonie, I am so very, very sorry about Astegal’s death.”

“Thank you.” The words were choked. I had to look away as Ysandre enfolded her in a comforting embrace. I couldn’t bear to see Sidonie cling to what was left of her mother’s goodness.

Drustan, too, embraced his daughter. “This gem,” he said. “Do you truly think it might help?”

“I do.” Sidonie dashed the tears from her eyes. “You saw . . . we all saw what marvels Bodeshmun and his horologists were capable of achieving. I think he may have seen that the City of Elua would be in dire need of protection. I think it’s terribly important that we find it.”

“Then we’ll do so.” Drustan held her hands. He glanced downward and frowned. “Why are you wearing an
ollamh
’s charms?”

“To keep her safe,” I put in quickly and anxiously. “It was my idea.”

This question, we
had
anticipated.

Sidonie glanced over her shoulder at me. “I fear Imriel remembers,” she said softly. “Alban magic, my cousin Dorelei’s death. It’s all mixed up in his thoughts. He’s afraid. Afraid that’s what’s behind Alais’ and Talorcan’s rebellion. He thinks this will help keep me safe from it.”

“It won’t,” Drustan said shortly. “It’s ambition, not magic, at stake here.”

“I know.” Sidonie smiled through tears at her father. “But I don’t mind and it brings him peace. Can we not let it be and concentrate on finding Bodeshmun’s charm? For
that
I truly believe might prove effective.”

Drustan released her hands. “Of course.”

“Of course,” Ysandre echoed.

There was a discreet knock at the door. Ghislain nó Trevalion went to answer it. He returned, inclining his head. “Your majesties,” he said. “The Comtesse Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève and her consort Joscelin Verreuil wish to see their foster-son. They have received word of his return.”

My heart raced.

“Admit them,” Ysandre said.

Seventy-Four

T
he door opened.

I hadn’t had time to brace myself. Not against this. The sight of them was like a spear to the gut.

“Imriel.”
Phèdre breathed my name and my arms opened. She walked into them and I embraced her, willing myself to forget the vile things I’d said in my madness, wanting to believe for a few heartbeats that everything was well.

“Did he harm you?” Joscelin demanded. “
Did he harm you?
Because I swear to Elua, I will butcher him if he did!”

He meant L’Envers. “No.” I released Phèdre. “No, no one harmed me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t think straight.”

“Still?” Phèdre whispered.

I glanced at Sidonie and nodded. “Still.”

“When I heard you’d returned, I hoped . . .” Phèdre gathered herself and turned to Drustan and Ysandre. “Forgive us, your majesties,” she said in a formal tone. “I apologize for the impropriety.”

“Oh,
stop
,” Ysandre said irritably. “You know damnably well you don’t need to stand on protocol. These are dire times and Sidonie brings dire tidings. Astegal of Carthage is dead and his army has suffered a great defeat.”

“Name of Elua!” Phèdre gasped. “Oh, you poor child,” she said to Sidonie. “I’m so terribly sorry.”

Sidonie looked near tears again. “Thank you, my lady,” she murmured. “I’m sorry to bring such awful news.”

“You were in Carthage?” Joscelin asked me in bewilderment. I nodded. His right hand closed on my elbow, hard enough to hurt. He shook me roughly. “Why? Why did you flee? How could you do that to us? Do you have any idea how worried we were?”

I closed my eyes. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Take him home,” Drustan said brusquely. “We’ll hold a conference on the morrow.”

My eyes flew open. “No! I need to be near Sidonie.” I wasn’t playing a role; I was terrified that her bindings would break or fail. I didn’t know what I’d do if they did, but I knew I had to be there.

“The hell you do,” Ysandre muttered.

“It’s all right,” Sidonie said quietly. “It soothes his mind to know I’m close at hand. Imriel, go with your foster-parents, at least for the night. You can return in the morning.” She touched the croonie-stone at her throat, her eyes eloquent. “Kratos will stay with me to make sure I’m safe.”

I hesitated, misliking it.

“Imriel!” Phèdre gazed at me with reproach. “After all that we’ve done for you, after all that you’ve put us through, how could you possibly begrudge us a single night?”

It was true, of course; but in all the years I’d known them, they’d never once thrown it in my face. It wasn’t like Phèdre to do it now, believing me to be in the grip of madness as she did. As unkindness went, it was surpassing mild; still, it made me heartsick.

“Of course,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

And so I went with them, willing myself to be calm and docile. The truth was, there wasn’t anything I could do if Sidonie’s bindings failed and there was a chance that she’d turn on me if they did whether I was present or not. I felt frustrated and helpless. Mayhap she was right and I should have stayed out of the City, but it would have killed me to send her here alone with only Kratos to aid her. Quick-witted and loyal as he was, he barely spoke D’Angeline.

Above everything, there hovered the pervasive sense that she
needed
me, that I needed to be here. It was the same sense Sidonie had felt on the ship. Blessed Elua had joined us for a purpose. If there was aught we could do, it would require us both.

Once I’d willed myself to docility and we’d entered Montrève’s carriage, Phèdre and Joscelin seemed more themselves. Almost.

“So how was Carthage, love?” Phèdre asked gently, as though I were ten years old and I’d gone on a pleasure-jaunt.

“Fine.” I forced a smile. “They were very kind to me there.”

“Did you . . .” She hesitated. “Did Prince Astegal’s chirurgeons examine you?”

“Oh, yes.” I leaned my head back against the cushions. “They were able to help a little. They explained matters in a way I could understand. I know I’m not right in my wits. I do.”

“It’s all right, Imri.” Joscelin exchanged a glance with Phèdre. “We’ll take care of you. We’ll always take care of you.”

My eyes stung. “Thank you.”

Phèdre’s townhouse in the City had always been a place of warmth and joy. Every time I’d returned to it, I’d been received with open arms and tears of happiness. Not this time. Our driver had to give a password before the gate was opened. In the narrow courtyard, Montrève’s men-at-arms were arrayed to meet us, hands hovering over sword-hilts.

“Is all well?” Ti-Philippe called in a hard voice.

“As well as it gets,” Joscelin affirmed. “Bad news from afar.”

We descended from the carriage. There was no Eugènie waiting to fold me to her bosom and accuse me of being heartless, no joyous reunion. Only hard-eyed, watchful men. One of them gave me a terse smile.

“Prince Imriel.” Hugues inclined his head. “We’re pleased to see you safe.”

Hugues, sweet Hugues. He’d always been among my favorite retainers at House Montrève, the strapping shepherd-lad Ti-Philippe had seduced ages ago, long since grown into a beautiful, gentle man with a heart as vast as his shoulders were broad. He’d taught me to wrestle when I was a boy, taught me to wield a quarterstaff as effectively as a shepherd’s crook. When I’d wed Dorelei and gone away to Alba, Hugues had given me his treasured wooden flute as a parting gift. He should have been laughing with joy, concocting more bad poetry to declaim in his lovely voice.

He wasn’t.

“Thank you, Hugues,” I whispered.

Another curt nod. “Of course.”

Inside it was worse. The household staff was quiet and furtive—
here
, here in Phèdre nó Delaunay’s home, where it wasn’t unknown for a stablehand to dine with the Comtesse of Montrève.

“Where . . .” I cleared my throat. “Where’s Eugènie?”

Phèdre shot me a puzzled look. “In the kitchen, I imagine.”

There I found Eugènie up to her elbows in flour, kneading dough. She bobbed an awkward curtsy. “Prince Imriel,” she said in a careful tone. “We had word of your return. I’m making the quince tarts you like so much.”

I made myself smile at her. “Thank you, Eugènie.”

It was just all so
wrong
, as though I was caught in a waking dream where no one was quite themselves. I thought I’d be better prepared than Sidonie to deal with it, since I’d already experienced their madness. I was wrong. Matters had worsened, and I wasn’t recovering from my own bout of insanity this time, questioning my own memories. I had to fight the urge to shake them, shout at them to wake up, to come to their senses. Ptolemy Solon had warned me that any attempt to struggle against the spell would cause it to tighten like a snare. I had to keep reminding myself of it.

It got worse when we dined in the early evening. Shortly after we’d taken our seats at the table, there was a commotion in the courtyard. Joscelin went to attend to it and returned looking somber.

“Queen’s courier,” he said. “Ysandre’s declared a state of mourning. They’re announcing it throughout the City.”

“Just the City?” Phèdre inquired.

“They’d only make a mockery of it outside the City’s walls.” Joscelin frowned. “Elua! Would that we knew what Alais and L’Envers did to make them turn against the Crown itself.”

“Alais.” Phèdre shook her head. “I reckon myself a fair judge of character, but I’ll admit, I never expected this of her.” She glanced at me. “You were always close to her, Imri. Did you suspect she harbored such ambitions?”

I cleared my throat. “Not . . . not in Terre d’Ange.” I saw Alais’ weary face in my memory, heard her words.
I do not, want this responsibility
. “I knew she aspired to overturn the law of matrilineal succession in Alba. It surprised me.”

“It’s not just Alais and L’Envers,” Joscelin said grimly. “Talorcan’s backing them, the treacherous bastard. Somehow he’s managed to seize power in Alba. Drustan says he’s got seven hundred men in Turnone. If he sends more, this war’s truly going to be ugly.”

“Must it come to that?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. They both stared at me. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . if the whole country is against us, do we even stand a chance?”

“Yes, of course,” Phèdre said firmly. “I have every hope that the support for this rebellion is broad, but not deep. When the commonfolk see the cost of it, I believe they will come to their senses and beg Alais and Barquiel to surrender. And if they do not . . .” Her face took on an expression of stern dignity. “There are things in this world that are worth fighting and dying for, Imriel. Without respect for the rule of law, we are no better than the most savage of barbarians. What did we stand against Waldemar Selig for if not for this?”

I bit my tongue and nodded.

“You of all people should know that, Imriel.” Joscelin sounded disappointed in me. “Do you forget your own history?”

“No,” I murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Poor boy.” Phèdre’s face softened. “It’s not your fault. He’s not himself, Joscelin.”

“I blame those witches of the Maghuin Dhonn.” Joscelin’s jaw tightened. “He’s not been right since they sank their hooks into him. And Alais . . . I fear they got to her somehow. You recall, she seemed passing fond of that youngest son of the Lady of the Dalriada, the Maghuin Dhonn harpist’s get.”

Phèdre shivered. “And through her to Talorcan.”

Joscelin nodded. “I fear as much.”

The damnable thing was that they made it almost seem plausible. We’d come up with a similar tale ourselves. I licked my dry lips. “I thought so, too. I gave Sidonie the croonie-stone that the
ollamh
gave me to protect her. I tried to copy the charm he wrought.”

“Ah, love!” Phèdre gave me a sorrowful smile. “Your heart’s in the right place, no matter how misguided the object of its affection. It gives me hope.”

“There
is
one hope.” I told them about Bodeshmun’s gem and his death-bed charge to Sidonie.

Joscelin’s eyes brightened. “Do you really think it holds the power to protect the City?”

“I do,” I said, meaning it.

“I remember seeing it.” Phèdre gestured at her throat. “The Chief Horologist wore it on a chain around his neck. Every facet was inscribed. And there’s no denying that he was a man of surpassing gifts. The marvels he showed us . . .” She smiled at me, this time with gladness. “That
is
a piece of hope, love. Whatever happens outside these walls, if the City of Elua can hold, the heart of Terre d’Ange lives.”

“For no one, man, woman, nor child, may be rightfully crowned sovereign of Terre d’Ange anywhere but here,” Joscelin said.

“Nowhere,” Phèdre agreed.

They exchanged glances, remembering. I could guess at their memories. Ysandre de la Courcel riding fearlessly toward the City amidst a shower of silver coins, each one bearing her likeness. They believed they were fighting to preserve her legacy, their legacy.

And they were so very, very wrong.

Seventy-Five

I
endured the night.

It felt terribly strange to sleep beneath the low roof of my boyhood bedchamber. I’d not slept there for years. I’d outgrown it in ways I couldn’t even number. And yet it held so many memories. Long nights conversing with Eamonn when he had fostered with us. My own sickly reflection in the mirror as I’d sawed at my Shahrizai braids with a dagger the day after I’d visited Valerian House for the first time. Phèdre adjusting the collar of my doublet on the day I’d wed Dorelei mab Breidaia.