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

Kushiel's Mercy (Imriel's Trilogy #3) Page 75

So it was decided. We’d committed to a course that would lead to civil war in Terre d’Ange. I remembered the words of the Euskerri who had spoken at the ceremony in Amílcar. Yesterday we gained a nation and lost the flower of a generation. I felt sick and hollow inside.

I daresay all of us did.

Seventy-One

After the awful decision was made, we discussed getting into the City as quickly as possible without arousing suspicion. L’Envers and Alais determined that our best ploy would be to return the way I left, hidden on a merchant-barge. We could tell everyone that we had hired them in Pellasus and travelled secretly upriver.

“The fellow who ferried you before, Gilbert Dumel, knows how to keep his mouth shut,” L’Envers said. “He’s moored at the village of Yvens. Ought to be a short journey if you meet him there.”

He left us for an hour or so to send advance word to Dumel and begin the terrible process of making arrangements for the war; and I think also to give Alais and Sidonie some time alone together, something for which Alais was clearly yearning. When he left, she curled up beside her sister, resting her head on Sidonie’s shoulder. I had to own, either Barquiel L’Envers had more sensitivity in him than I’d reckoned, or this experience had altered him. Or mayhap both were true.

“Shall I leave, love?” I asked Alais.

“No, please don’t. I’ve missed you both and been so horribly worried.” She gathered herself and sat upright. “I don’t mean to act the baby. It’s just such an ungodly relief to know this spell can be thwarted.” Alais traced the bindings on Sidonie’s wrist. “I’ve an idea why the charm might have worked. You’ve an affinity for its magic in your blood, Sidonie.”

“I do?” She sounded surprised.

“Of course. We both do. It comes from Grandmother Necthana’s bloodline,” Alais said. “The Maghuin Dhonn claim that our gifts, like my dreams, come from them. That we intermingled long ago and there’s a strain of their blood in ours. The Cruithne deny it, but it’s true that a lot of the ollamhs’ lore, at least the part that’s to do with magic and not history and poetry and law, comes from the Maghuin Dhonn.”

“If we survive this, Sidonie wants to establish an academy to study magic in Terre d’Ange,” I informed her. “It’s to be our legacy.”

“Truly?” Alais asked.

Sidonie smiled with sorrow. “It’s a notion from a time when Imriel and I hoped that the key written on Bodeshmun’s talisman was all we needed.”

“It’s a good idea, though.” Alais hesitated. “I’ve come to a realization over the course of these past months. I do not, not want this responsibility. Not here. I never wanted it here. And not in Alba, either. I thought I did, but I was wrong.” She met her sister’s gaze. “I know my duty. But what if I can fill it in a way no one considered? If we do survive this, I want to return to Alba to continue my studies and become an ollamh.”

“An ollamh,” Sidonie echoed.

“In Alba, an ollamh is the Cruarch’s equal,” I said, remembering my first encounter with one.

Alais nodded. “If I could attain that rank, I would wield a good deal of influence, which is all that the carping D’Angeline peers ever cared about. All that business about the succession was only ever about power anyway. And as for Talorcan . . .” She shrugged.

“You don’t love him,” I said softly.

“No.” Alais glanced at me. “He’s a good man. But no, I don’t.”

“Then you shouldn’t wed him.” Sidonie stroked her sister’s unruly black curls. “After this, I suspect the peers of the realm may prove rather receptive to the idea of having a member of the royal family grown wise and powerful in the ways of arcane lore.”

“Do you think the ollamhs might be able to help us now?” I asked.

Alais shook her head. “Only with charms of protection like yours and that will help only if we’re able to get folk across the Straits. But I think the Maghuin Dhonn know things we’ve lost. You said the demon in the stone was an elemental, a desert spirit. The Maghuin Dhonn’s magic is old and wild and rooted in nature. If you should fail . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“We won’t fail,” I said.

“But if we do, you’ll look for further answers among the Maghuin Dhonn,” Sidonie said firmly. A glance passed between them.

“We won’t fail,” I repeated, willing myself to believe it.

Barquiel L’Envers returned shortly thereafter to inform us that the preparations were under way. “I sent a swift courier to alert Gilbert Dumel,” he said, sounding ragged. “He ought to reach Yvens a half day before you.”

I got to my feet. “Is our carriage ready?’

“Sit.” L’Envers pointed at me. “There are fourteen members of our shadow Parliament here in Turnone, representing the seven provinces. I’ve taken the liberty of sending for them.” He shifted his gaze to Sidonie. “You need to address them. I know time is short. Alais and I will tell them the whole of your tale later. But they need to see and hear you. They need to believe the madness can be broken. They need to believe that this battle is worth the cost, and to carry that word home with them. They need hope.”

“Then they shall have it,” Sidonie said.

Gods, I loved her.

There was no time for sleep, but it didn’t matter. We could sleep in the carriage, jolting our way toward Yvens. We waited for the fourteen members of the shadow Parliament to assemble, woken from their own slumber in the grey hours of dawn. Alais sent her chamberlain to the kitchens. We broke our fast with bread and apricot preserves and many pots of strong tea.

“They’re ready for us,” L’Envers said.

Sidonie and I donned our cloaks and hoods. We were ushered to another room, a small chamber adjacent to a larger room, one that might have served as a musical salon in happier times.

“Wait here,” he said to us; and to Alais, “Do you know what to say?”

She looked ashen but resolute. “I think so.”

It wasn’t the best of plans. The door to our chamber was thick and heavy, and L’Envers had closed it—all the better to make a theatrical gesture. I supposed it ran in the family. Still, it meant that whatever Alais said, we couldn’t hear it, only her muffled voice. But in the end, it didn’t really matter. When Alais finished, L’Envers wrenched open the door.

“Go,” he said tersely.

We walked out together. I’d emerged bareheaded; it was close and airless in the storage chamber. Sidonie didn’t push her hood back until we emerged. I heard fourteen voices gasp.

There was only one face I recognized: Frederic Guillard, a young Azzallese baron who’d spent a summer at Court some years ago. I’d played piquet with him in the Hall of Games. I didn’t know the others. They were peers of the Lesser Houses, man and woman, old and young. It didn’t matter. They were there to represent their folk. They stared at us with wonder and uncertainty.

“My lords and ladies,” Sidonie addressed them in a somber tone. “I wish to thank each of you for your courage in defending Terre d’Ange in a time of sorrow. And I wish to apologize for my own role in it.” She took a deep breath. “You have heard rumors that there is dire magic behind the madness that grips all who were in the City of Elua on that fateful night. We are here to tell you it is true. And we are here to tell you that it can and will be defeated.”

I saw the first glimmers of hope in their faces.

“The tale is long and time is short,” Sidonie continued. “I will leave the full telling of it to my royal kin. But know this: For months on end, I was in the grip of the same madness. I believed lies. Neither my wits nor my will were wholly my own. And yes, in the grip of this madness, I wed Astegal of Carthage.” She glanced at me, her eyes bright. “But love, true love, is a persistent and abiding force. Imriel de la Courcel found a way to break the spell and save me.” There was a second collective gasp. Sidonie held out one hand. “It is a method that will work only if the victim has been removed from D’Angeline soil,” she said gently. “It will not work on those poor afflicted souls in the City. But there is another method that may succeed and yet avert the shadow of war that hangs over us.”

They listened hungrily.

“I will make no false promises,” Sidonie said. “The challenge is a difficult one. Imriel and I will depart immediately for the City. We will do everything in our power to succeed. If we fail, the burden will fall to you—to you and to all the folk of Terre d’Ange.” Her voice was strong and steady. “And if we do fail, I call upon you to rise up and prevent the slaughter of innocents. To do whatever is necessary. I call for war.”

There were nods and murmurs, looks of grim determination. As awful a choice as it was, there was a certain relief in hearing it stated aloud.

“I call upon you to do so knowing that those who can be captured can be saved.” Sidonie gestured, showing her bindings. “There is magic in Alba that can shield against the effects of this foul spell. One way or another, it will be broken. And know this.” She took another deep breath. “We go forth in every hope of success. Over the past weeks, I have witnessed great and terrible things. And I bear glad tidings out of them. Carthage’s army has suffered a great defeat.”

That caught them by surprise; I’d forgotten that they didn’t know. But we were the first bearers of the news, and we’d bade Marc Faucon and his men to stay silent.

Sidonie smiled grimly. “Astegal of Carthage is dead. Even now . . .” She had to raise her voice to be heard above the rising excitement. “Even now, his head adorns a pike in the Plaza del Rey in Amílcar! And even as I speak, the bulk of the D’Angeline fleet hurries to Aragonia to honor our alliance and make war on those who sought to divide our fair country against itself!”

It stirred their blood like strong spirits and brought them to their feet, cheering. And Elua, yes, it gave them hope. A fierce, proud, violent hope, but hope nonetheless.

“We go now to the City in an effort to save her!” Sidonie shouted above the noise. “We ask that your prayers ride with us! We pray to Blessed Elua and his Companions that we may show the world once more that there is no magic so dire that love cannot defeat it!”

I don’t think anyone heard her final words. It didn’t matter. They surged forward to offer their support and gratitude, weeping and laughing and clamoring. I couldn’t even see Sidonie in the throng that surrounded her, but they acknowledged me, too. I found myself embraced, my cheeks kissed, my hands clasped. It struck me more forcibly than I could have reckoned, and somewhere beneath it, I realized that for the first time in my life, I was being wholeheartedly accepted by my fellow countrymen.

“I’ve thought dreadful things of you, Prince Imriel,” a beautiful old L’Agnacite woman whispered to me, tears on her wrinkled cheeks. “I’m very sorry for them.”

I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “That’s all right, my lady. Just lend us your prayers.”

“I will.” She pressed my hands between her soft palms. “I will.”

At length the crush subsided. Barquiel L’Envers pushed his way through with Alais at his side. “I fear their highnesses must depart,” he announced. “Time is of the essence. But they have endured grave dangers to be here today. Let us take heart from their words and resolve to be no less worthy of Terre d’Ange!”

The cheer was resounding.

My heart ached.

And then it was time for one more damnable leavetaking. This one hurt. Marc Faucon and his men came to fetch us. They had Kratos in tow. I introduced him to Alais and L’Envers, reckoning he deserved no less. They’d heard the tale, they knew his role and treated him with respect. Still, I took a certain pleasure in the bemusement of the watching peers, wondering what in Elua’s name an aging Hellene wrestler with a squashed nose was doing in the midst of everything.

And it drew out the inevitable a few precious moments longer.

“Good luck,” Alais whispered fiercely against my neck when I hugged her. “Be safe. Please be safe. And keep Sidonie safe.”

I held her hard. “I will.”

Barquiel L’Envers clasped my hand. “I misjudged you,” he said bluntly. “I’ll not apologize for it. Blessed Elua knows, your mother was a pox on this land, and you struck fear into our hearts when you turned my sensible grandniece’s head.”

It made me smile. “I know.”

L’Envers snorted. “Never thought that you might actually love her.” He watched Sidonie and Alais say their farewells, clutching one another’s hands and speaking in low tones. His face softened. “I suppose I should have. Never approved of Ysandre and Drustan’s union either, but it seems to have produced a remarkable pair of offspring.”

“Yes,” I said. “It did.”

“Ah.” He snapped his fingers. “Speaking of Drustan, I nearly forgot.” L’Envers untied a silk pouch from his belt and handed it to me. “The token you sent with the Euskerri messenger. It was a gift of the Cruarch, was it not? He’ll expect to see you wearing it in his niece’s memory.”

I opened the pouch to find the torc that Drustan had given me the day I’d wed Dorelei in Alba. I’d always admired Drustan. I’d been proud to receive it from his hands. What an awful thing it was to contemplate all his quiet strength and dignity twisted awry. “Thank you, my lord.”