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

Kushiel's Mercy (Imriel's Trilogy #3) Page 52

And Terre d’Ange in chaos.

I made it the rest of the way without event. In my chambers, I found Sunjata had already departed, and Kratos was all smiles.

“Good news, my lord,” he said in greeting. “I think I’ve found your passage. Will you see it?”

“Later.” I sat heavily on the couch and shrugged out of my shirt. A damp wad of bloodstained rags fell out.

Kratos’ eyes bulged. “What in the name of all the gods have you been up to?”

I yawned. “’Tis a long story. My thanks for your good work, though.” I pried off my boots. “Let me sleep a few hours and I’ll tell you everything,” I promised, peeling off my stockings. “My head hurts, and I’m perishing tired.”

Kratos didn’t answer.

I glanced up at him and cursed myself. Kratos simply stared at me, his lips working soundlessly. I’d taken off Leander’s shirt, boots, and stockings. His rings, ruby eardrops, and the ties that bound his braids were in the pocket of my breeches. My breeches. I’d pocketed the items without thinking, more worried about cleaning the bloody mess in Sidonie’s chamber.

“You’re . . .” Kratos stammered at last. “You’re . . .”

“Imriel de la Courcel,” I said quietly, rising. “Well met. Forgive me, Kratos. That was careless of me, very careless.”

He stared blankly past the hand I extended. “I know what the eunuch said, but . . .”

I nodded. “It’s a shock. I know. I apologize.”

Kratos shook himself all over like a wet dog. “You understate the case considerably, my lord.” He did clasp my hand then, peering at my face in wonder. “You do have a bit of the look of him. Leander. Only . . . different. A lot different, somehow.” He gave a short laugh. “I’ll wager you’re a fellow knows how to wrestle. Bears, by the look of it.”

“That, my friend, is truer than you know.” I released his hand. “Give me a few hours, and we’ll talk.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Kratos said with uncommon deference in his voice.

I took to my bed and dreamed of Sidonie.

Fourty-Eight

Kratos gave a subtle nod as we strolled past the heavy wooden door to the cellar where kegs of wine and ale were stored. The guard posted at the corner of the corridor stared straight ahead, incurious. I glanced to my left and saw the narrow servants’ stair that led to the second floor. We kept walking, circling around and returning to our chambers.

“So,” I said. “One guard.”

“Not bad, eh?” Kratos grinned.

“Not bad at all, my friend,” I said. “Are you sure the outer door to the wine cellar isn’t guarded?”

“Oh, aye.” He nodded. “Except when they’re taking deliveries, it’s kept locked tight from the inside.”

There was no outer defense wall around the palace in New Carthage, only roving patrols of Astegal’s men tasked with keeping order in the streets of the city. The guards at the palace doors might question a lone Amazigh leaving in the small hours of the night with a rolled carpet slung over his shoulder. But out on the street, it would be a different matter. Elua knows what manner of errand Bodeshmun might have devised.

“Well done.” I clapped Kratos on the shoulder. “Does anyone suspect you?”

He grinned again. “Only of being a wine-sot looking to steal a way into the cellar.”

It could be done, I thought. And it would be a hell of a lot easier if Sidonie simply coaxed her guards into drinking another drugged toast. Then all I’d have to do was wait for them to fall asleep and spirit her out of her chambers. There was still the guard in the hallway to dispatch, but I’d be able to take him by surprise. Once I got Sidonie safely away, we could flee to Terre d’Ange to seek aid from whatever army Barquiel L’Envers had mustered. And there was Alba, too. Surely our combined forces would suffice to join Serafin’s Aragonian rebels and defeat Carthage. Then we could deal with the spell.

That night, I proposed the idea to Sidonie.

She looked at me like I was mad. “No.”

“Love, consider it!” I pleaded. “It’s a lot less dangerous.”

“For who?” Her brows shot up. “Us, yes. But how many hundreds or thousands of men would have to die before we got this close to Bodeshmun again? And who knows what manner of dire spell he might devise in the meantime? No.” Sidonie shook her head. “Believe me, I don’t harbor any romantic ideas about sacrificing myself for the good of the realm. But I couldn’t live with myself if we didn’t try, Imriel.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that,” I murmured. “All right. Tomorrow, then. It’s only going to get more dangerous the longer we wait. Go to Bodeshmun as late as possible. I’ll have Kratos keep watch after the dinner hour. It would help if you can convince the guards only one needs escort you.”

“The other will grow suspicious when we don’t return,” Sidonie observed.

“I know.” I nodded. “I’ll take care of him, too. But it will be easier to take them one at a time.”

“Can you?” she asked.

I understood the question. I’d killed men before in self-defense. This would be different. If I were quick and lucky, it would be outright murder. “Yes.”

“Good.” She was pale, but her face was resolute. “You’d best go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I nodded again. “If things go awry—”

“Just know I love you,” Sidonie finished the thought for me. “Always.”

There wasn’t anything else to say. I kissed her quickly and left to take up my post outside her door, fearful that if I lingered, it would be too agonizing to part. I didn’t have to explain it to Sidonie. She understood.

That night, it was I who dozed under the watchful eyes of her Amazigh guards, my head propped against Sidonie’s door. I’d kept their secret, so I reckoned they’d keep mine. And I would need every ounce of energy I could hoard to make it through the following night.

In the morning, Sidonie and I went through our cordial routine, both of us achingly aware that it could be the last time we saw one another alive. And then I took my leave of her once more, feeling lightheaded and hollow, as though I’d left the better part of myself in her keeping.

I went to the harbor to inform Captain Deimos that we would be sailing on the morrow, as early as was humanly possible. He heard me out in laconic silence until I finished. “Care to tell me what this is about?”

I glanced over at Kratos, who was keeping watch. No one else was in earshot. Even so, I lowered my voice further. “Rescuing the heir to Terre d’Ange.”

Deimos stared at me, a muscle in his cheek twitching. “From what I hear, the lady in question has no wish to be rescued.”

“Your information is wrong,” I said. “Ptolemy Solon sent me to break the spell that bound her to Astegal. It’s done. Now we’re both in danger. So I will ask you one last time, will you do this or not?”

His look turned hard. “I told you, I’m no oath-breaker. But I won’t sail until I hear it from her own lips.”

I nodded. “Done.”

After that, there wasn’t much to be done except wait. I sent Kratos to procure clean bandages and a healing salve at an out-of-the-way chirurgeon’s shop, worried about Sidonie’s injury. I mixed grease and ashes from the hearth, testing it on the skin of my hands, until I had obtained a mixture that darkened my skin enough to permit me to pass as Amazigh, at least on brief, dimly lit inspection. I practiced tying the head-scarf and swathing my features. I practiced telling the hours. I packed the few items that mattered to me into a single trunk. I tried to sleep, and failed.

Waiting was always maddening, and this time it was compounded by a sense of helplessness. That day dragged onward like no other I could remember. But at last the daylight began to fade. Kratos and I dined in our quarters. I hadn’t dared risk a meal in the great hall since I’d known myself. Astegal, with his eternal revels, would have noticed my absence; luckily, Bodeshmun hadn’t cared to continue the tradition.

Once we’d finished, I dispatched Kratos to keep an eye on Sidonie’s door. This was the first step in our end of the plan, and the most dangerous one for him. Her quarters and Bodeshmun’s were both on the second story of the palace; ours were on the ground floor. There was no reason for Kratos to be lingering upstairs, but he had assured me he could manage it, and I had to trust him. I simply couldn’t do everything myself.

I darkened my face and hands, donned my Amazigh garb over enough of Leander Maignard’s clothing to maintain both guises.

An hour passed, and then another.

I was beginning to feel a quiet sense of panic rising when Kratos finally returned, red-faced and panting so hard he could barely speak.

“What’s wrong?” I asked sharply.

“Nothing,” he wheezed, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees. I let him catch his breath, swallowing my impatience. At last Kratos straightened. “Sorry. I started to get suspicious looks. Had to pretend I was running the stairs to work out leg cramps. Good cure, you know.”

I made a concerted effort not to shake him. “Sidonie?”

“Gone to see Bodeshmun,” he confirmed. “One guard. He stayed posted outside Blackbeard’s door. Gods, you look just like one of them!”

“Good.” I didn’t relax, but my panic and frustration ebbed, my thoughts slipping into a cool, calculating mode. I nodded at the trunk. “Can you make it to the ship with that? You look knackered.”

Kratos snorted. “I’ll manage.”

“Be careful.” I paused. “Kratos, I mean to be there well before dawn. If I’m not there by the time the sun’s clear of the horizon, it means this has gone very, very wrong. Tell Deimos to sail, and go with him.”

“Where?” he asked briefly.

“Marsilikos,” I said. “Find Jeanne de Mereliot, daughter of the Lady of Marsilikos. Tell her everything you know, everything we’ve discussed.”

“You imagine she’ll believe me?” Kratos asked in a dubious tone.

“Tell her Imriel de la Courcel said to tell her that he was grateful for the offer she made him before he sailed for Cythera,” I said softly. “Even though I refused it, I was grateful for her kindness and Eisheth’s mercy.”

“Ah.” Kratos nodded and put out his hand. “Gods be with you, my lord.”

I clasped it. “And you.”

With that, Kratos shouldered my trunk and exited our quarters. He paused in the hallway, glancing to make sure it was clear, then gave me a brief gesture of affirmation. I slipped through the door, clad in my Amazigh garb. Kratos strode toward the front of the palace without looking back.

I went in the opposite direction.

There weren’t as many guards as there had been when Astegal was here. Bodeshmun had increased their number after Sidonie was attacked, but they were still spread thin. Mostly, he’d settled for purging the palace staff of any Aragonians, having uncovered no organized conspiracy, but a deep vein of seething resentment when he put them to questioning.

None of the guards I passed gave me a second glance. If they had, they might have noticed small details amiss. The ash-dark hue of my skin, the color of my eyes. The cut of my sword-belt, the hilts of my blades. But they didn’t. The guards were accustomed to letting Astegal’s Amazigh pass without question. They saw what they expected to see, and I passed them like an indigo ghost and climbed the stairs.

I’d decided to take care of the guard waiting in Sidonie’s quarters first. He would be the safer kill, and the less I needed to move about the palace, the better. And too, I needed to allow time for the sleeping draught to take effect. Outside her door, I drew my dagger and held it reversed, the blade hidden under the flowing sleeve of my robe.

I knocked on the door.

There was a shuffling sound within, and then one of the Amazigh opened it. He asked me somewhat in his own tongue or in Punic; I couldn’t have said. I shook my head and pressed a finger to the fabric muffling my mouth. He shrugged and admitted me, closing the door behind me.

He did take a second look.

I saw his eyes widen in the narrow strip of visible face, and didn’t hesitate. I whipped my arm up, sleeve falling to bare the hidden blade. Plunged the dagger hilt-deep in his chest, one hand smothering his muffled mouth.

Quick.

I’d always been quick.

The Amazigh died almost without a sound, his expression of alarm still fixed around the eyes. Somewhere far away, I felt a little sickened at the discovery that I’d make a skilled and effective assassin. I pushed the thought farther away and concentrated on doing what needed to be done, dragging his body into Sidonie’s bedchamber and hiding it on the far side of the bed where it was unlikely to be spotted at a careless glance. If anyone raised an alarm, every moment could be precious.

Once that was done, I yanked the dagger from his chest. His heart had long since stopped, and the wound didn’t even bleed much. I cleaned my blade on his robes and gave it a quick whetting.

By now, the sleeping draught should have worked.

If it had worked.

I took a moment to gather myself, breathing slowly. The second guard, the one posted outside Bodeshmun’s door, would be harder. I let myself into the corridor, listening. It was late and the palace was quiet. Downstairs, I could hear a few murmurs, but it seemed quiet upstairs. I soft-footed my way to Bodeshmun’s quarters, holding the dagger low and hidden at my side.

I didn’t give the second Amazigh guard time to react. I simply walked right up to him and pressed him against the door, shoving the dagger under his ribs, angling upward for his heart, clamping my left hand over his veiled mouth. He struggled briefly. I shoved the dagger harder, until I felt him shudder and go limp. With my left hand, I felt for the handle of the door and tried it.