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

Kushiel's Mercy (Imriel's Trilogy #3) Page 53

Locked.

I cursed silently, then listened intently for a moment. There were no sounds beyond the door. I eased my dagger from the guard’s body, struggling to keep him braced upright. Worked the dagger in between the door and the frame, prying hard until I felt the latch give way with a brittle groan.

That done, I froze. If Bodeshmun wasn’t unconscious, he would have heard the sound, and like as not, the scuffle, too. He might well be waiting on the far side of the door for me, smiling into his beard, prepared to blow a handful of death into my lungs.

For a mercy, the door opened inward. Still holding the guard upright, I pushed the door open with one foot and heaved the guard’s body inside, jumping quickly backward.

The guard’s body fell heavily to the floor.

No Bodeshmun.

I glanced quickly around to confirm no one had come, then stepped inside, closing the door behind me. The narrow antechamber was empty but for the figure of the dead Amazigh. It was a dreadful thing to know how easily men died, fierce warriors or no. I didn’t doubt the Amazigh’s skills, but Bodeshmun had been right. They had no head for intrigue. I daresay Astegal had chosen them for their imposing and mysterious appearance, the very thing that had allowed me to deceive them.

There was a fire burning in the hearth beyond the antechamber, bright and merry. I thought about appearances and deception and drew my sword, approaching with care. A few paces before I reached the room, I paused and unwound my scarf.

I remembered Phèdre’s training.

Leander’s memories of my mother’s training were with me, too.

I could smell wood-smoke and beeswax. Traces of a familiar aroma, sweet and faintly spicy. Perry brandy, doctored with herbs. An unexpected smell of soap.

And a sour odor beneath it.

Vomit.

I stepped into the salon, the blade angled before me. The fire crackled. Two chairs had been drawn up before it, a table between them. An open flagon of perry brandy sat on the table, two empty cups.

Sidonie was slumped in one of the chairs, her head draped over one arm, a loose coil of hair dangling dangerously close to the fire. My heart leapt into my throat at the sight. I couldn’t even tell if she was breathing.

As Bodeshmun would have planned.

He was slumped in the other chair, his bearded chin resting on his chest. One hand lay loose on his knee. The other arm hung at his side, fingers curled. I took a sharp breath, my thoughts racing like quicksilver.

“Sidonie!” I whispered.

There was the merest sliver of a glint beneath Bodeshmun’s eyelids.

I hurried to her side, stooped over her, and tucked the fire-heated lock of hair behind one ear. Felt at her throat for a pulse and sighed with genuine relief when I found it. Only then did I take a deep, surreptitious breath and hold it, turning toward Bodeshmun.

He was already rising from his chair, one palm cupped and raised, eyes glittering with triumph.

Lungs full, lips pursed.

But I was ready, and I blew first.

I’d always been quick.

Dust and ashes, a handful of gritty grey matter. What it was, I couldn’t have said. Ptolemy Solon would have known. Bones of an innocent man hanged for a crime he didn’t commit, mayhap. Gathered under a full moon, burned in a furnace fueled by heartwood, ground to dust by virgins with a mortar and pestle. It didn’t matter. Bodeshmun expelled his breath in shock and gasped for air.

One gasp.

I didn’t. I stepped backward with alacrity, wrenching Sidonie’s chair out of the way. I held my breath until the dust settled, and then I watched Bodeshmun die.

He knew me.

Even dying, he saw through the semblance. I watched his face darken with recognition, fury, the onset of death. I waited, sword at the ready, until I was certain he carried no antidote to his own poison. Then I smiled.

“You know me, don’t you?” I said to him. “You know who I am.”

Bodeshmun glared, his chest heaving impotently.

I stooped over him, rummaging in his robes. I found it. It. The talisman, hidden in an inner pocket of his robes. A stiff piece of lacquered leather, wrought with an image. A whirlwind sprouting horns and claws. A word inscribed beneath it in Punic script.

A word I couldn’t read.

Bodeshmun saw it; Bodeshmun knew. I read the bitter satisfaction in his dying face. I leaned down close to him.

“Don’t worry,” I whispered. “As it happens, Sidonie’s been studying Punic. You’ve only yourself to thank for it. And in case you wonder as you die, she was the architect of your downfall, not me.” I settled onto my knees, my Amazigh robes puddling around me. “If you take no other thought into your next life, my lord, take this. It is not wise to meddle with D’Angelines in matters of love.”

Bodeshmun’s eyes rolled into his head.

Bodeshmun’s heels drummed.

Bodeshmun died.

Fourty-Nine

The sleeping draught was a problem.

“Wake up, love.” I patted Sidonie’s cheek gently, then not so gently. Nothing. I called her name sharply, as loudly as I dared, but she didn’t respond. When I grabbed her shoulders and shook her roughly, her head only lolled in an alarming manner.

Her breathing was even and her heart beat steadily. Girom had said his draughts were potent. Elua willing, she would awaken; that I had to believe. But for the moment, she slept like the dead, and I was fearful that if I rolled her in Bodeshmun’s carpet and hauled her all the way to the harbor, I was like to smother her in the process. Even if I didn’t, I wasn’t sure how Captain Deimos would react to the fact that I’d abducted the Dauphine of Terre d’Ange, drugged insensible.

And if she didn’t awaken by dawn . . .

Well, we had a few hours’ grace. I’d sooner have left the palace immediately, but no one was likely to notice aught amiss until the second shift of Sidonie’s guards came to relieve their fellows.

I resolved to wait as long as I dared. I stowed Bodeshmun’s talisman safely in my purse. I propped a chair under the door with the broken latch, lest anyone attempt to enter. I dragged the bodies of Bodeshmun and the guard into the far bedchamber. I cleaned and whetted my dagger a second time.

I waited.

Although it didn’t seem to trouble her in the least, Sidonie’s position in the chair looked uncomfortable. I eased her down to the carpeted floor, then cleared the carpet in preparation. I sat cross-legged, settling her head on my lap.

She looked younger sleeping, scarce older than the girl I’d fallen in love with. We’d known one another since we were children. I stroked the soft curve of her cheek, remembering. She’d been a reserved child, unnervingly composed from an early age, regarding me with cool distrust. How not? She’d grown up with the weight of the kingdom hovering over her, aware of the schisms that threatened to divide it.

And I . . . I’d been damaged and brooding, filled with fierce passions and loyalties. How not? By the time I was eleven years old, I’d seen and endured things no one should ever suffer.

Neither of us could possibly have understood the other.

It seemed so very long ago.

Ysandre used to force us to spend time together, the scions of House Courcel, hoping we would further our acquaintance. It made me smile now to think on it. Alais and I used to play cards together under the watchful eye of the Queen’s Guard, while Sidonie ignored us and read a book.

I wished I could travel backward through time to address those childhood selves. To tell Sidonie that one day she would defy her mother and half the nation for the sake of this proud, wounded boy whom she regarded with such misgivings, that he would grow into a man she trusted beyond all reason. To tell my young self that this cool, haughty girl who galled him so would one day be the most precious thing in the world to him, that she would become a woman for whom he would willingly lay down his life.

I wished Sidonie would awaken.

An hour passed, then another. For a mercy, no one came to call on Bodeshmun. But Sidonie showed no signs of waking, either. I shook her, coaxed her, whispered and pleaded to no avail. Once, she sighed in her sleep and my heart leapt, but she only seemed to settle deeper into slumber.

At last I gave up. If I delayed any longer, I wouldn’t reach the harbor in time. The palace would awaken and the alarm would be raised. I shifted Sidonie to the edge of the carpet.

“Sun Princess.” I knelt beside her and kissed her sleeping lips. “We have to try this now. Don’t you dare die on me, or I swear to Blessed Elua, I’ll haunt you through a thousand lifetimes.”

There was no answer. I raised her arms and crossed them in front of her face, hoping and praying that it would create a pocket of air that would keep her from smothering. Carefully, carefully, I rolled the most precious thing in the world to me into a carpet.

That done, I rewound the Amazigh scarf around my head and face. I moved the chair blocking Bodeshmun’s door and checked the corridor.

Empty.

Good.

I stooped and hoisted the rolled carpet with an effort, slinging it over my shoulder. It was heavy, heavier than I’d reckoned. Sidonie sleeping was dead weight, and the carpet itself was dense and tightly woven.

It didn’t matter. I could do it.

I carried her into the corridor, closing the door behind me, and made swiftly for the servants’ stair. It was narrow and winding, and the ends of the rolled carpet scraped harshly against the stone walls. I had to use both hands to keep my burden balanced, navigating the narrow steps awkwardly. By the time I reached the bottom, the guard posted on the lower floor was already looking curiously toward the stairwell. Keeping my head averted, I laid down the carpet and beckoned to him, moving as though to unroll the carpet and reveal somewhat of interest.

“What in the name of Ba’al—” he began, bending over to see.

In one swift motion, I unsheathed my dagger and drove it under his chin, angling for the brain. He made a choked sound, and I covered his mouth. His wide, terrified eyes met mine.

It was one of the Carthaginians, one I knew by sight. The guard who’d told me that Astegal was likely to move against Serafin, one of the more decent fellows. I wished it hadn’t been him. I remembered him grumbling about fighting a winter war. He must have thought himself lucky when he’d gotten this posting.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

His body went limp with death. Blood dripped onto the rolled carpet between us. I stepped over the carpet and wrestled him over to the wine cellar door. This one was unlocked; Astegal had preferred to set a guard on the wine-cellar rather than suffer any delays in his revels, and Bodeshmun hadn’t bothered to alter his order. I dragged the guard’s body into the dark cellar, then sprinted upstairs to retrieve Sidonie.

Still dead weight.

Once I closed the cellar door behind us, it was pitch black. I paused for a moment, willing my eyes to adjust, but there was simply no light. Step by step, I descended, balancing Sidonie and the carpet on my shoulder.

At the bottom, I stumbled over the guard’s legs. The carpet lurched. I caught myself and steadied my burden. Kratos hadn’t said where the outer delivery door was located, and I hadn’t thought to ask. I wished there had been more time to go over the details of our plan with Sidonie. With her practical mind, it would have occurred to her that I’d be mired in darkness here.

Gods, I hoped she wasn’t suffocating.

I began making my way blindly through the cellar, one hand steadying my burden, the other outstretched. I blundered into kegs, barked my shins. I had to turn this way and that, losing all sense of direction.

No good.

I closed my eyes and breathed slowly. Darkness within darkness. I could do this. Leander Maignard could do it in his sleep. A child’s training game, nothing more. I lowered the heavy carpet to the cool stones of the floor, turning it in such a manner that Sidonie’s face was sideways—or at least so I hoped.

“Love,” I whispered. “I have to leave you for a moment. But I’ll be back.”

Without the burden, I was able to move more swiftly, both hands extended. Five paces forward, and my way was blocked by a wall of wine-kegs. I turned to the left. Seven paces, another wall of kegs. Right, and then right again. Step by step, I negotiated the mundane labyrinth until my hands encountered cool stone. I sidled along the wall until I felt wood beneath my fingertips.

A door.

I threw the bar and wrenched it open, feeling a blast of cool night air on my veiled face. Elua, it felt good!

There was no moon, but there were hazy stars. What light there was was faint, not nearly enough to illuminate the cellar, but I could make my way to it. All I had to do was retrace my steps in darkness. I sidled back along the wall. Twelve swift steps; I’d counted. Left, then left again. Right, seven paces. Five paces forward. I stooped, feeling along the floor.

No carpet.

I closed my eyes again and fought off a wave of panic. What was wrong? I’d been cautious on the outward journey. I’d hurried back. I’d taken bigger steps. Somehow, I’d reached a wrong aisle.

I made my way back to the open door and tried again, taking careful little steps. When my reaching fingers brushed the rolled carpet, I nearly wept with relief. Once more, I shouldered my burden.

Outside, the air tasted so sweet, I had to loosen my scarf for a moment and breathe it deeply. I thought about laying Sidonie down, unrolling the carpet to make certain she was alive. But then I heard Carthaginian voices muttering in the gardens—some of Astegal’s guards, making their rounds. So instead, I retucked my scarf and set out at a brisk walk.

The carpet was still dead weight.

It wasn’t long before my left shoulder began to ache. I shifted my burden to the other shoulder, heaving and ducking. Heavy, so heavy! I’d carried Sidonie in my arms a dozen times, a hundred times. But this was the one that mattered.