Kushiel's Mercy (77 page)

I entered, Kratos padding behind me. “How bad is it, Sun Princess?” I asked when the door closed behind us.

“Bad.” She sat hunched on the couch, hands gripping opposite elbows. The hollows of her eyes looked sunken and bruised. “It hurts. It hurts all the time, and I’m afraid to sleep. Afraid I’ll tear away the bindings all unwitting. I have to think about it every minute of every day.”

“You can do this,” I said steadily. “You
can
, Sidonie.”

She shivered. “I can feel it. It’s out there. But it feels like it’s everywhere in the City. Nowhere more than anywhere else. It’s there and it’s here. In my head, buzzing like a beehive. It keeps telling me it would be so much easier to let go and believe.”

“It lies,” I said.

“I know.” Sidonie took my hands, pressed them to her face. Her tears were hot on my skin. “But I can’t help it. At least I feel myself starting to believe
our
lies, and not some skewed version of my own memories. Elua! How can we fail after all we’ve tried? After all who’ve died for our efforts?”

I held her while she wept. “We won’t.”

Over the crown of her head, I could see Kratos watching us. For the first time, there was doubt and fear on his broad features.

I fought against despair.

“Sidonie,” I whispered. “We will
not
fail.”

She lifted her head and kissed me, clinging to me, her mouth hot and desperate. “I love you,” she murmured. “I do. I
know
it.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “No magic so dire.”

“None,” Sidonie echoed.

But there was. Bodeshmun had crafted his spell with care and hidden the demon-stone with consummate skill. Day by day, its influence ate away at Sidonie’s resolve, even as it ate away at the foundations of the City of Elua. In the end, Ysandre was forced to declare an end to the search and command the Royal Army to restore order.

“I’m sorry,” Ysandre said to Sidonie when we dined that evening. House Courcel, seemingly united, tolerating the presence of poor mad Prince Imriel. “I know you placed a great deal of hope in Astegal’s kinsman. But we cannot afford to have the City at its own throat. Not on the eve of war.”

Sidonie leaned her brow against steepled fingers. “I understand. But . . .”

“You cannot afford to be soft, child.” There was sympathy in Drustan’s voice. “I too wish that we had found Bodeshmun’s charm. But we must deal with that which is, not that which we wish might be. In these final days, the army must be free to prepare for battle, knowing that we leave the City calm behind us when we go.”

“Has there been word?” she asked him.

Drustan and Ysandre exchanged a glance. “Yes.” It was Ysandre who answered. “Reports of a considerable force amassing on the plains east of Turnone. It seems our threat worked. Alais and L’Envers mean to make a stand.”

“Did you . . .” I hesitated. “Did you truly mean it, Ysandre? Would you have put innocent villages to the sword?” I knew I shouldn’t ask, but I couldn’t help myself. If there was any chance the answer was no, mayhap this looming tragedy could still be averted.

Ysandre looked at me with pity and sorrow. “That is not a threat one makes in idleness, Imriel. Of course I meant it. No village conspiring to give aid to traitors is innocent. It would have been a grievous measure, but a necessary one.”

But you can’t win!
I wanted to cry the words aloud. I didn’t. It wouldn’t do any good. “What if Sidonie and I attempted to treat with them?” I asked instead. “Alais might listen to her sister, and you know we’ve always been close.”

On the other side of the long table, Sidonie lifted her head, following my thoughts. If the search for Bodeshmun’s gem was a loss, that would at least serve to get her out of the City of Elua, away from the spell’s malign influence.

“Why on earth would Alais listen to either of you over the orders of her own mother and father?” Ysandre’s eyes narrowed. I could see the suspicion rising in her, abrupt and overwhelming. “Or is there some other scheme behind this, hmm? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? A chance to spirit Sidonie away for yourself. I daresay it’s exactly what you’ve been waiting for.”

“Mother!” Sidonie said sharply. “He’s only trying to help.”

Ysandre pointed at her. “You’re overtrusting. If you’d learned nothing else from your sister’s betrayal and that which befell your husband’s kinsman in New Carthage, I’d expect you to be on guard against
that
particular weakness.”

“I was only trying to help,” I murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Drustan regarded me, his face impassive behind its woad markings. “Imriel, you did a great service to Alba after Dorelei’s death, and I will always hold your memory in honor. But I fear so long as this delusion grips you, you’re not to be trusted. Your words today prove it.” His gaze shifted to Sidonie. “And I fear it might be best if you were to avoid his company unless matters of state dictate otherwise.”

“Kratos—” she began.

“I don’t care about Kratos!” Drustan shouted. It was so out of character that Sidonie simply stared at him, shocked. He wrestled himself under control with a visible effort. “Kratos.” This time it was a summons. Kratos, posted by the door like a good bodyguard, came forward in answer to it. “Escort Prince Imriel to his quarters, or wherever it is he wishes to go,” Drustan said. “He is no longer permitted to call upon the Dauphine.”

Kratos hesitated, not entirely understanding the command. Sidonie repeated it for him in Hellene, her voice toneless. He bowed to her. “As my lady bids.”

I rose. “Take me to the townhouse, Kratos. I will place myself in Phèdre and Joscelin’s care and free you to return to Sidonie’s service. It’s her that Astegal bade you to protect, not me.” I glanced at Ysandre and Drustan. “I trust that will suffice?”

“It will,” Ysandre said curtly.

Gods, it had happened so quickly! After all our care, they’d turned on me for one ill-chosen suggestion. I left the dining hall feeling the weight of their hard stares, and Sidonie’s silent despair tugging at my heart.

I gathered a few things from my quarters at the Palace and sent for a carriage. We were on our way in short order, the carriage jolting over the torn-up streets of the City.

“What now, my lord?” Kratos asked soberly.

“Do your best to protect her.” I rested my aching head against the cushions. “The charm I wrought . . . it’s beginning to fail. And it hurts. She’s afraid to sleep for fear she’ll tear the bindings loose. You can watch over her, at least give her the solace of sleep. Her guard trusts you; they’ll not quibble at it. It might help.”

Kratos nodded. “I’ll tell her.”

“I think . . .” I rubbed my temples. “I think we have to begin to prepare for failure.”

“There’s a tight lock on the city,” he observed. “No one’s allowed to come or go without a thorough inspection.” Kratos met my gaze and shrugged. “I’ve been checking. It won’t be easy to get her out, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I don’t know what I’m thinking,” I said slowly. The image of Joscelin performing the
terminus
leapt unbidden into my mind. I’d never seen it done, but I’d heard it described. The graceful turn, the steady hands. One dagger hurled, the other slashing his own throat. I closed my eyes, willing it to be gone. Joscelin would do his duty and Phèdre would follow him into death. I knew that as surely as I knew the sun rose in the east. “It’s not just Sidonie.”

I wasn’t sure I could abandon them.

I wasn’t sure of anything.

“We can’t save them all, my lord,” Kratos said gently. “And mayhap none of them. I’m sorry. But we’re only mortal. You have to choose.”

“I know.” I buried my face in my hands and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Sidonie, then. The City’s defenses will be stretched thin once the army departs. If she can hold on long enough, at least there may be enough of
her
left to aid us. And mayhap . . . mayhap we can think of some way to help the others.”

“Mayhap,” Kratos said. “Mayhap, my lord.”

The kindness in his voice nearly undid me. “I’m not giving up, Kratos,” I said. “Not while there’s breath in my body.”

He smiled with sorrow. “I never thought you would, my lord. If it comes to it, I’d be proud to die trying beside you. ’Tis a far nobler death than I’d ever thought to earn these many years.”

We rode the rest of the way in silence.

Seventy-Eight

O
nce the Queen declared an official end to the search for Bodeshmun’s gem, a strange mood settled over the City: proud, defiant, hostile, despairing. All of these things at once.

War was coming.

The full moon was a week away.

Companies of the Royal Army patrolled the streets, keeping order. They drilled in the City gardens, trampling the new spring growth. Drustan mab Necthana and Ghislain nó Trevalion would be sharing command—the Cruarch of Alba and the Royal Commander of Terre d’Ange. Wherever they went, they were hailed with fierce shouts.

On an unofficial level, the search
did
continue. I took part in it, hoping against hope, desperate for the distraction. On the heels of Phèdre’s latest inspiration, I searched the river wharf with a company of Montrève’s retainers. Alas, to no avail. I prowled the City, muttering the word under my breath in the hopes that it might unexpectedly release a demon. Ptolemy Solon had said it was needful to take possession of the gem to break the spell, but mayhap he was wrong. Over and over, I whispered the word of unbinding.

Emmenghanom
.

Beholden.

And, ah, gods! I was beholden. Every day, rising under Phèdre and Joscelin’s roof, I was reminded of it. I owed them my life. Almost everything I was, I owed to them. The thought of abandoning them, of being unable to save them, hurt more than I could say.

Kratos came regularly to the townhouse. When we could snatch a private moment, he reported on Sidonie’s condition, his homely face grave, dark circles under his eyes. He was giving up his own sleep to safeguard hers, catching naps during the day.

At first it helped.

And then it didn’t.

“We’re losing her, my lord,” Kratos said simply. “Bit by bit.”

I fought down a welling surge of helplessness. “Does she still trust you?”

“Aye. Sometimes she forgets for a moment and addresses me as though I truly were Astegal’s man. Either way, she trusts me.” He withdrew a flask from the inner pocket of his doublet—new livery in Courcel blue, freshly tailored to fit his broad frame. “She’s stubborn. She’s fighting it as best she can. This is a sleeping draught she had the Palace chirurgeon prepare.” Kratos smiled ruefully. “She bade me use it on her if need be. Use her own tactics against her. She reckons she won’t remember them by the time it’s needful.”

“Sidonie.” I sighed. “Kratos, do me a kindness. Have you run of the City unheeded?”

He nodded. “As far as anyone’s concerned, I’m General Astegal’s right-hand man. No one tells me what to do but her highness.”

I handed him a letter. “Deliver this to Lieutenant Faucon. He and his men are lodging at the Jolly Whistler near the wharf. Tell him to get it to Alais as quickly as possible.”

“What’s in it?” Kratos asked.

“Everything we know,” I said grimly. “Our failure to find the gem, all the places that I know for a surety have been thoroughly searched. The fact that Sidonie’s bindings are failing. The fact that Queen Ysandre has pledged herself to a death-pact if Alais and L’Envers take the City. Is there aught I’ve forgotten?”

Kratos shook his head. “Do you reckon any of it will help?”

“I don’t know.” I raked a hand through my hair. “If they know about the death-pact, they can hold off on entering the City. But what then? Do they remain camped outside its walls while day by day, week by week, month by month, the madness grows? You saw the way the violence has escalated. How long until those trapped within the City begin to turn on one another?”

He didn’t answer.

I shrugged. “We do what we can, my friend, and pray.”

Kratos delivered the letter and reported back to me to say it was safely done, and that Marc Faucon believed he could get it to Alais without trouble. Their guise as barge-hands had proved effective; indeed, the men who’d ferried Sidonie up the Aviline were reckoned heroes by the City Guard. Captain Gilbert would carry Faucon and his men to Yvens, from whence they would make haste to Turnone.

I wished to Blessed Elua I could think of a way to get Sidonie back aboard that barge. I couldn’t. All vessels, incoming or outgoing, were being searched with ruthless thoroughness. I thought Marc Faucon stood a good chance of getting away with hiding a letter on his person. I didn’t think there was a chance of hiding the Dauphine of Terre d’Ange on an outgoing barge.

Long ago, Phèdre had been smuggled into the city of La Serenissima aboard a ship, hidden in a chest with a false bottom large enough to conceal her. I’d mulled over the possibility. But fate hadn’t seen fit to place such an item at my disposal, and I could only imagine the suspicion it would provoke if mad Prince Imriel sought to commission a carpenter to build him one.

Of course, if I was wrong about Faucon’s chances, it was all moot. That letter would damn me for a traitor if it was found.

The following day, Kratos strolled the wharf and came to report that to all appearances, the barge had departed without incident. I breathed an inward sigh of relief. For the moment, at least, I was safe, safe in the knowledge that I’d done all I could think of to do, and safe from the accusation of treason.

Then the Caerdicci idiot came.

His name was Antonio Peruggi, a name that became etched in my memory for its eternal association with sheer stupidity. The details of his story, I learned later; he was a merchant-captain trapped by the blockade in Amílcar with a cargo of silk he was unable to sell during war-time. When the blockade lifted, he decided his cargo would fetch better prices in Terre d’Ange.

And so he sailed to Marsilikos carrying silk and news out of Amílcar.

Barquiel L’Envers had been right; he and Alais had done an outstanding job of keeping the news from the City of Elua. They held the river and they held the roads, and no one they deemed unworthy of absolute trust had been allowed to pass. Unfortunately, Peruggi had heard the rumors in Marsilikos and gotten it into his head that Ysandre would surely reward him for being the first to deliver the news. He’d purchased a horse and hired a guide to lead him to the City of Elua across the countryside, avoiding all of L’Envers’ checkpoints.