Kushiel's Mercy (Imriel's Trilogy #3)

Kushiel's Mercy (Imriel's Trilogy #3) Page 50

I nodded. “Duly noted.”

Sunjata’s smile turned wistful. “I wish you luck.”

At that moment, Kratos’ voice came from the far chamber, informing me that the physician had sent for me to attend the princess.

“My thanks,” I said to Sunjata a second time. I rummaged in my trunk and found my gold-knotted ring, sliding it on my finger and turning it inward to hide it. My heart began beating faster with a mix of hope and fear. I sensed it would be a long time before it slowed. “I fear I’m going to need it.”

With that, I went to Sidonie.

Fourty-Six

In Sidonie’s bedchamber, we reenacted the same ritual as the previous evening, only with considerably less drama. She drank the sleeping draught without protest, seeming weary and defeated. It wasn’t until the physician Girom withdrew and closed the door that her demeanor changed.

“You can’t stay long,” she warned me.

“I know.” I took a deep breath. “I’ll do this as quickly as I can. Forgive me if it sounds—”

“No.” Her lips curved in a faint, tired smile. “I made the guards drink a toast to Astegal’s health when Girom went to fetch you. If his infernal draughts are half as effective as he claims, they’ll be sleeping in minutes. You’ve got to dispatch Girom before it happens.”

I stared at her. “You are a wonderment.”

Her slender shoulders moved in a shrug. “Desperation provides all manner of inspiration.”

So it was that I waited quietly for only a few moments before going to inform the physician that she slept.

“So soon?” Girom remarked in surprise.

I spread my hands. “Gods, man, can you blame the lass? She’s worn to the bone with fear and loneliness. My lord Astegal would have been kinder to leave her in Carthage until Aragonia was truly settled.”

He sighed. “Yes, well, Astegal wants his heir. I pray that’s the cause of her highness’ uncertain moods.”

One of the Amazigh was already blinking conspicuously. “Well, whatever it is, I pray her highness calms soon,” I said, sinking cross-legged to take up my post before her door. I forced a yawn. “I’ll sleep better in my own bed. Go on. I’ll send word if there’s any difficulty.”

Girom took his leave.

I waited.

After a muttered exchange, the blinking Amazigh stretched out on the couch. He was snoring within minutes. The other fellow was bigger. It took longer for the draught to affect him. I watched out of the corner of my eye, praying the draught Sidonie had poured into their wine had been large enough for both of them.

It had been. He paced for a while, shaking his head. Then he sat in a chair, as though thinking a few minutes’ rest would refresh him. It wasn’t long before his body grew slack and relaxed, head tilted back.

I got to my feet and crossed the room quietly. I shook first one, then the other of the Amazigh. Neither man woke.

I opened the door to Sidonie’s chamber. She was sitting on her bed, watching the door fixedly. I entered and closed it behind me.

“So,” she said. “Tell me about this spell.”

There was a mirror above a dressing table on the opposite wall. I glanced involuntarily at it and saw Leander Maignard’s face return my gaze. It gave me a shiver. I hadn’t known until that moment what I’d see; but of course, the semblance hadn’t been broken for me.

“There were three spells,” I began slowly. “The first one bound everyone in the City of Elua the night the Carthaginian horologists displayed their marvel, convincing them that Terre d’Ange and Carthage were allies, and that you had consented to wed Astegal. It binds them still, but only those who were in the city. The last I heard, Terre d’Ange was on the verge of civil war.”

Sidonie’s face paled. “And the second?”

“The first spell holds only on D’Angeline soil. The second one bound you to Astegal and convinced you that you were in love with him.” I twisted the ring on my finger and showed it to her. “This was half of it. It . . . you gave it to me, Sidonie. It was a love-token.” I saw doubt in her eyes and hurried onward. “It doesn’t matter. You do know the ring, yes?”

She nodded. “Astegal always wore it.”

“He still thinks he does,” I said. “But a few days ago, the day you took it into your head to call on Roderico de Aragon, I arranged to have it exchanged for a copy. And something changed in you that day, didn’t it?”

“Yes.” Sidonie looked away, frowning. “It was strange. It was as though I’d been startled out of a daydream. And I thought, why have I been waiting so obediently when I know I could be of use here? So I went to see Roderico . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“And he accused you of betraying Terre d’Ange’s alliance with Aragonia,” I said gently. “That’s when you knew somewhat was truly amiss.”

“Yes.” She looked back at me, her dark eyes wary. “And I was willing to trust you wholly until yesterday.”

“It was the third spell. One wrought by Ptolemy Solon to disguise me so well I didn’t know myself. It was the only way I could safely enter Carthage and find you. Bodeshmun would have seen through a mere semblance.” I licked my lips, which had gone dry. “Sidonie, this one I can prove to you.”

“Then do,” she said.

“I have to take off most of my clothes.” Gods, it sounded mad.

She raised her brows. “Find another method.”

“I can’t.” I shook my head. “The charm’s bound into Leander Maignard’s entire wardrobe. Everything, every stitch of clothing, every gem and bauble. And I think that’s what was done to you. I thought it was just one thing, like Astegal’s ring, but it’s everything. Just like it was with me. Let me show you.”

It seemed to take her forever to weigh the decision. “If you lay a hand on me, I swear to Elua, I’ll scream loud enough to wake the guards.”

“I promise,” I said fervently. “I’ll not move from this spot.”

Sidonie didn’t comment, only watched. I pulled off my boots and stockings, then removed the ruby eardrops and several gaudy rings. I unbraided my hair, dropping the ties atop the pile.

“The breeches are my own.” I undid Leander’s sword-belt and dropped it. “Sunjata had them, along with the rest of my things.”

“The gem-merchant’s assistant?” she inquired.

“Yes.” I untucked my shirt and smiled wryly. “That’s another story. There’s a part of it like to amuse you one day. At any rate, the shirt’s the last of it.”

“And when you remove it—” Sidonie began.

I did.

I didn’t need to look in the mirror. I saw it in her face, eyes wide and awestruck. Neither of us spoke. I kept my promise and stood where I was. It was Sidonie who rose and came to me, slowly and wonderingly.

“Imriel,” she said softly, as though hearing the word for the first time.

I nodded.

“I know you.” She splayed her hand on my chest. “I don’t . . . I don’t remember. But I know you.” She gazed at the pink furrows that raked my flesh. “There was a bear.”

“The bear that killed Alais’ dog.” I covered her hand with mine. “Yes. It did this to me. That’s why you can’t remember it clearly.”

She raised her gaze to mine. “And this spell . . . you think what’s stolen my memories is the same? That it’s bound into everything I possess?”

“I do,” I said.

Ah, Elua! I wanted to hold her so badly, but I didn’t dare. I stood there, watching the thoughts flit across her features, watching her come to a decision.

“Very well.” Sidonie pulled away from me and began untying the sash of her robe. “Let’s find out.” Beneath the robe, she wore only a thin shift of sheer linen. She’d already prepared for bed. Her hair was loose, all her jewels removed for the evening. I held my breath as she pulled the shift over her head and dropped it atop the robe.

“Sidonie?” I whispered.

Her jaw tightened. She shook her head in wordless denial, embarrassment and despair in her face. My heart sank. Sidonie averted her face, then bent over to pick up her discarded clothing, her hair falling forward over her bare shoulders.

That was when I saw it.

“Oh, gods!” I blurted.

Her head came up fast. “What?”

I closed my eyes briefly and swallowed hard. “Oh, love. I’m so sorry.” Moving gently and carefully, I touched her arm and turned her, then gathered her hair and tucked it over one shoulder. Lightly, lightly, I touched the spot between her shoulder blades where the falcon insignia of the House of Sarkal had been tattooed indelibly onto her fair skin. “It’s here.”

Sidonie shot me a single stricken glance, then crossed over to the mirror, craning her head to peer over her shoulder. When she looked back at me, her expression was adamant. “Cut it out of me.”

“I’m not sure—” I began.

Her eyes flashed. “Cut it out of me.” She scrabbled on the top of the dressing table and came up with a sharp little knife for paring nails. “Now.”

I took the knife, feeling sick. “Do you have any idea how much this is going to hurt?”

“Yes,” she said shortly, retrieving her robe and tugging the sash loose. She folded the sash into a thick wad. “Just do it. Please.”

I nodded, willing my hands to stop shaking. “Brace yourself against the table and try not to move.” Sidonie shoved the wadded sash into her mouth and obeyed. I tried to swallow, but my whole mouth had gone dry. “Arch your back,” I said thickly, and she did. “All right,” I whispered. “I’ll do this as quickly as I can. And please don’t ask me to stop, because I’m not sure I’ll have the nerve to try it twice.”

She made a muffled sound of assent.

My stomach roiled.

The tattoo wasn’t very large, not much bigger than the engraving on Astegal’s signet ring. It was stark and black against her skin. I laid the blade alongside it, breathing slowly and deeply. I could do this. I had to do this. Before I was born, the Skaldi warlord Waldemar Selig had attempted to skin Phèdre alive on the battlefield of Troyes-le-Mont. If a man could do such a thing for spite, I could do it for love.

I cut into Sidonie’s flesh.

Her entire body jerked and she uttered a stifled cry that brought tears to my eyes. Blood flowed, making the hilt of the little blade slippery. Cutting and cutting, all the way around it, shaking my head to clear my eyes of the tears that blurred my vision. Gods, it was awful. It was the most awful thing I’d ever done.

But I did it.

I set the paring knife and the bloody disk of skin and flesh on the table. “It’s done.”

Sidonie spat out the sash, but her hands remained braced on the table, knuckles white. For a long moment, she didn’t move or speak, only breathed hard, her ribcage heaving. Blood trickled down her spine.

“I’m going to kill him,” she said at last in a low, savage voice. “Kushiel bear witness, I swear, I’m going to kill him myself!” She straightened and turned so quickly I had to step back. I saw the full helpless fury of the knowledge of what had been done to her written in her face. Everything, every violation.

Every night in Astegal’s bed.

And then her expression changed.

“Imriel,” Sidonie breathed, tears welling in her eyes. “Oh, Blessed Elua! How could I forget you? In a thousand years, how could I forget you?”

“You didn’t,” I said, my heart aching for her. “Neither of us did. Sidonie, you found me inside Leander when I didn’t even know myself. And I fell in love with you all over again. All the magic in Carthage couldn’t stop us from loving one another, any more than all the politics of Terre d’Ange could. You were right when you said Blessed Elua must have some purpose for joining us, because here I am—”

She reached up to me and stopped my mouth with a kiss, with a dozen kisses. I groaned aloud and gathered her to me, sinking one hand into her hair, wrapping my arm around her waist.

“Erase him from me,” Sidonie whispered against my lips.

“You’re hurt,” I murmured.

“I don’t care.” She shook her head. “I need you.”

I slid both hands down to grasp her buttocks and lifted her gently. She clung to me, legs wrapped around my waist, arms twined around my neck, kissing my face as I carried her to the bed. I found clean towels by the washbasin.

“Every trace,” I promised, bathing the blood from her skin while she knelt on the bed. The wound was still seeping, but slowly. I’d made the cut as shallow as I could. “Every trace of him, gone.”

“You promise?” Sidonie whispered.

“Always.” My throat was tight, my heart overflowing. “Always and always.”

There was no part of her I didn’t touch that night. I kissed the top of her head, the nape of her neck. Behind her ears, and every inch of her face. I laid a trail of kisses down her spine, blowing softly on the raw wound where Astegal had laid his mark on her. I kissed her throat, her arms. The insides of her wrists, the palms of her hands, every fingertip.

With every kiss, I willed her to be whole.

I kissed her breasts, and the valley between them. I kissed her belly. I knelt beside the bed and kissed her feet, her calves. Her inner thighs. Whole and healed.

All of her.

It hadn’t begun as desire, not truly. It was a more complicated need. But with every kiss, it grew simpler and simpler. Kneeling between her thighs, I tasted her desire, feeling it echo through my own body, sweet and insistent.