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

Kushiel's Mercy (Imriel's Trilogy #3) Page 51

Sidonie tugged at my hair. “Come here.”

I rose and shed my breeches. There was a trace of uncertainty in her eyes, a lingering fear.

“Imriel,” she said hesitantly. “Does it trouble you . . . ?”

“No.” I took her hand and guided it to my erect, aching phallus, curving her fingers around it. “I’m yours, Sidonie. I love you. You belong to me, and I to you. Every part of me. I won’t let anyone take that from us. Not Bodeshmun, not Astegal. No one.”

The last uncertainty vanished.

And . . . oh, gods.

It was everything, everything. All at once. Sidonie shook her head impatiently, straddling my lap with an inarticulate sound. My phallus throbbing in her fist. She fitted me to her.

Everything.

I felt the impossibly glorious glide of entering her, slick and tight. And I felt . . . ah, Elua! I felt everything. All of it. I felt myself entering her, a wanted invasion. Full and stretched and welcome.

“Name of Elua!” I whispered in awe.

There was no end to it.

It went on and on, pleasure doubled and redoubled. Mirrors reflecting mirrors. Bright, dark. Which was which? It didn’t matter. Sidonie rocked atop me, rising and falling, her breasts pressed hard against my chest. I clutched her shoulder blades, struggling to be mindful of the wound between them. I captured her mouth with mine, my tongue seeking hers. I felt her pleasure rise and spiral, felt her breathe my breath. I felt the core of her. I felt myself inside her. Fullness. Opening, opening, convulsing. Over and over.

So good.

I cried aloud at the end. Sidonie’s eyes widened. What I felt, she felt. The drive, the need, the acute, prolonged spasm of release. Still, she had the presence of mind to clamp one hand over my mouth.

I collapsed onto my back.

“Imriel.” Still straddling me, Sidonie leaned on my chest. Her black eyes gazed intently into mine. “How do we save Terre d’Ange?”

I started laughing.

“I’m not jesting,” she said.

“No, I know.” I sank my hands into her hair. “It’s just . . . I was afraid. Afraid of how you’d react once you knew. Afraid of the damage done.” I stroked her hair, winding it around my fingers. “Heart of my heart, I didn’t expect you to emerge from this ready to kill Astegal, make love to me, and rescue the realm.”

Sidonie smiled ruefully. “I may well fall to pieces later. If I do, I pray you’ll be there to gather them. But for now—”

“Talk fast?” I suggested.

She nodded. “Please.”

Fourty-Seven

I sat on the bed cutting Sidonie’s shift into a long strip of bandage and told her everything I knew that had passed since the night of Carthage’s spell, including my month of madness. She listened in horrified wonder, but she didn’t comment until I mentioned seeking Barquiel L’Envers’ aid.

“And he gave it?” she asked in amazement.

“Seems he loves Terre d’Ange more than he hates me.” I told her the rest, tearing the linen carefully. Cythera, my mother. Ptolemy Solon. The details of the spell—the ghafrid-gebla and Bodeshmun’s talisman.

“Your mother and my uncle,” she mused. “Elua have mercy, I never thought I’d have cause to be grateful to either of them, let alone both at once. You’ve no idea what’s happening in Terre d’Ange?”

“No.” I shook my head. “There’s been no word for weeks. I don’t know if L’Envers found the gem that holds the ghafrid. I don’t know if he got the rest of the country to rally behind Alais. I’ve no idea. Lift your arms.”

Sidonie obeyed. I wound the long strip around her body, covering the seeping gouge between her shoulders. I had to crisscross the bandage between her breasts, wrapping it around her twice before I tied it.

“It’s lucky you’re handy with knots,” she observed. I glanced up to see a faint spark of the old humor in her eyes.

“Indeed.” I finished and went to rummage in her clothes-press for another shift. “It’s going to be a problem hiding that from your attendants, love. And it really ought to be dressed by a proper chirurgeon.”

“I know.” She frowned in thought. “There’s nothing to be done for the latter, but I can hold my attendants off for a time. They’re fairly well convinced I’m deeply distraught. They’ll leave me to bathe and dress myself in peace if I insist on it.”

“Girom thinks you might be with child,” I said softly, holding out the garment. “Lift your arms again.”

She didn’t protest, letting me help her on with the shift. “What if I am?”

I sat back on the bed and looked into her eyes. “I had to answer that question for someone else, once. Lucius Tadius, you remember? Sidonie, I’m the child of two traitors, and I’m the man I am because Phèdre and Joscelin loved me despite it. Any child of your blood, I will love.” I paused. “Are you?”

“No.” Sidonie smiled wryly. “I married Astegal in Carthage. The rites were all Carthaginian. There was no invocation beseeching Eisheth for fertility.” Her expression turned quizzical. “And I never said a word about it. I must have known, somewhere deep inside me, that I didn’t love him.”

I laughed humorlessly. “So Astegal’s efforts to get an heir were all in vain?”

“Mm-hmm.” She nodded with bitter satisfaction. “Though considerable.”

I took her hands in mine. “Did he harm you? Because I swear in Kushiel’s name, if he did, it means the difference between Astegal dying and Astegal dying slowly.”

“No.” Sidonie gave her head a little shake, her gaze sliding away from mine. “No, he wasn’t cruel and he didn’t force me. He didn’t have to. I was willing.” Her throat worked as she swallowed. “That’s what sickens me the most.”

“You weren’t willing.” I squeezed her hands. “Sidonie, they took your will away and turned you against yourself. It’s not your fault. None of it.”

She glanced back at me. “I can get to Bodeshmun.”

I opened my mouth to say it was too dangerous, then thought better of it. “How?”

“The same way I dealt with the guards.” Sidonie nodded at the door.

I did say it then. “It’s too dangerous, love. The Amazigh are going to be on alert after tonight. And Bodeshmun’s twice as suspicious as any desert tribesman.”

“The guards won’t talk,” she said. “After the incident in the gardens, Bodeshmun put the fear of whatever gods they worship into them. I wouldn’t risk it twice, not with them, but I’d wager anything that they’ll cover for one another rather than admit to Bodeshmun that they fell asleep on duty.”

“What if he sees that the spell’s broken?” I asked. “Ptolemy Solon told me he’d see through a mere semblance.”

Sidonie shrugged. “He didn’t notice when you broke the first half. Mayhap it’s not the same. After all, I’m still myself. I was all along. And Bodeshmun doesn’t look at me, Imriel. I’m just a necessary nuisance to him. I was a bored, pestering nuisance, and now I’m a dithering nuisance.”

I considered it. “And you actually believe he’d drink a toast at the request of a dithering nuisance?”

“I do,” she said. “If I brought him the great good news that I was carrying Astegal’s heir, and that in the absence of the father, it was D’Angeline custom that his nearest kinsman drink a toast to the health of the babe . . . yes. Particularly if I threatened to get hysterical if he refused.”

“Let me think on it for a day,” I said. “If you’re sure of it, then I believe you. But I still need to find a way to get you safely out of the palace and onto Deimos’ ship. You’re a bit hard to disguise.”

“So are you,” Sidonie noted.

“I’m free to come and go.” I twined my fingers with hers, thinking. “Is it always at least four Amazigh who escort you?”

“Inside the palace, betimes it’s only one. But outside, yes.” She tilted her head. “Why?” I told her about the Amazigh garb that Ghanim had obtained for me. “It won’t work. Not outside the palace, not after the attack. We’d be stopped.” Sidonie got up and paced the room restlessly, grimacing at the pain of her wounded back. I glanced out the darkened window. Once again, time was dwindling. Soon I’d have to take up my post outside her door. I rose and began cleaning up the mess at the dressing table, gathering the bloodstained rags and ringing them out in the basin. I’d have to take them with me, hidden under my shirt.

“What do you suppose we should do with this?” I asked, reluctantly picking up the ragged disk of skin and flesh marked with the Sarkal insignia.

“Burn it,” Sidonie said briefly.

The brazier was burning low, but the coals flared when I blew on them. I laid the piece of flesh carefully atop them. It seared and sizzled, smelling disconcertingly edible. Sidonie shuddered with disgust, watching it blacken and shrink, her fingers unconsciously rolling and unrolling the sash of her robe.

It gave me an idea.

“Sidonie, did you ever hear the tale of the deposed Menekhetan queen who had herself smuggled before a Tiberian general rolled in a carpet?” I asked.

She stopped and stared at me. “You’re brilliant.”

“No.” I grinned at her. “But between the two of us, we manage to shine fairly brightly, love. If Kratos can find a discreet way out of the palace, I’m willing to sling you over my shoulder and carry you to the harbor.”

“When?” she asked simply.

“Give me a day,” I repeated. “Send for me tomorrow like you did tonight. Don’t risk drugging the guards. A few moments will be long enough to confer.” I glanced at the window. “And I don’t think I ought to stay any longer. The second team of guards will be arriving soon.”

“Tomorrow, then.” Sidonie took a deep breath. “Will you hold me first?” I gathered her into my arms, wishing I never had to let her go. She clung to me, pressing herself hard against me. “I wish you didn’t have to go,” she whispered against my chest. “Imriel, once this is over, I never, ever want us to be parted again.”

“I know,” I murmured against her hair. “Believe me, love, I know.”

Leaving her that night was one of the hardest things I’d done. It felt like I was tearing my heart out of my chest. I had mad fantasies of staying and barricading the door, holding the world at bay; or seizing Sidonie and trying to fight our way clear of New Carthage.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I forced myself to let her go. She clung to me for a few heartbeats longer, then released me. I turned away reluctantly and left.

Outside her bedchamber, the Amazigh were snoring and the fire was burning low in the hearth. I stirred the fire back to life and laid another log on it, then took up my post outside Sidonie’s door. There I sat, trying to contain the storms of emotion churning in my heart, trying to remember how to be Leander Maignard.

It wasn’t long before fresh guards came to relieve the others. They startled at the sight of their sleeping fellows, then shook them awake after a hushed exchange and several darting glances my way. The Amazigh woke groggily, but they awoke. There was another hushed conference, this one with a furious undertone, and more anxious looks in my direction.

“You’ve naught to fear on my account, lads.” I shifted and stretched as though my limbs were stiff from a long night’s inaction. “Believe me, I’ve been on the receiving end of Lord Bodeshmun’s threats.” I yawned, covering my mouth. “And I do believe I caught a few winks myself. My silence for yours, good fellows?”

“It will not happen again,” one of the new guards said curtly, his Hellene heavily accented.

“I’m sure it won’t,” I agreed.

Well and good, Sidonie was right. The Amazigh might be fiercely loyal, but their personal loyalty was to Astegal. They obeyed Bodeshmun for his sake, but they didn’t do it gladly.

As before, I waited until the chambermaid arrived a little after dawn with her breakfast tray. This time, I knocked on the door for her. Sidonie opened it. Our eyes met, a silent spark passing between us. But if nothing else, we’d had a good deal of practice dissembling together in public.

“Good morning, my lady,” I said. “Did you rest well?”

“Well enough,” she said. “Once again, I thank you for your kindness, Messire Maignard.”

I bowed. “It is an honor, your highness.”

I lingered long enough to watch her turn and walk back into her chamber. I’d carved a divot of flesh out of her back, and I knew she was hurting badly. It didn’t show, not in the slightest.

That was my girl.

After what was surely the longest night of my life, I made my way to my own chambers. I was so exhausted as I was descending the tower stairs, I barely heard the deep rumble of Bodeshmun’s voice in time. My pulse leapt like a startled hare, and I plastered myself against the inner wall of the stairwell. There I froze, praying like hell that Bodeshmun wasn’t headed for the stairs.

He wasn’t.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pass below me, his black robes swirling as he addressed Lord Gillimas. And for the first time, the thought occurred to me that it would be infinitely easier to get Sidonie out of New Carthage if we ignored the business of Bodeshmun and the talisman altogether.

Of course, that would leave a dangerous enemy at our backs.