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

Kushiel's Mercy (Imriel's Trilogy #3) Page 5

“Do you think she is?” Roshana asked.

“It’s possible.” I smiled wistfully. “Alba, I doubt, but mayhap Terre d’Ange. Of a surety, it would make matters a great deal easier. And if she’s not, at least I’ll know where not to look.”

“In time,” Sidonie murmured. “Gods, I hate this.”

“So do we all, your highness,” Mavros said with a rare note of genuine sympathy in his tone. “Believe me, House Shahrizai does not relish its role in your plight.”

“Will they support me in this?” I asked him. “You know it means my mother’s death.”

“Yes,” he said without hesitating, and Roshana nodded in agreement. “There may be a few who are uncomfortable with it. It goes against the grain, turning on family. But what she did is unconscionable. Her sentence was just. No one likes it, but no one denies it.”

“Our kinsman Marmion Shahrizai did turn on her years ago,” Roshana reminded him. “And Duc Faragon sent him into exile for it.”

“Duc Faragon sent Marmion into exile because he caused the death of his sister Persia,” Phèdre said thoughtfully. “Not for trying to bring Melisande to justice.” She was silent a moment. She had known my mother very, very well. I tried not to think about that. “You know, I wouldn’t put it past her to contact Marmion.”

“Seeking vengeance?” I asked.

Phèdre shook her head. “No. He was always terrified she would, of course. But Melisande’s too cool-headed for vengeance. That’s part of what made her so damnably deadly. If anything, she’d use his guilt and regret to turn him back into an ally.” She glanced at Raul L’Envers y Aragon. “Is Marmion still in Aragonia?”

“Oh, yes.” Raul nodded. “He’s among the King’s favorite drinking companions.”

“Mayhap your mother will make some discreet inquiries.” Phèdre smiled. “Lady Nicola had a certain fondness for him once upon a time.”

“My mother is a woman of varied tastes,” Raul said diplomatically. “I will ask. I am told that matters are uneasy in Aragonia these days and tongues are wagging in all directions.”

“Uneasy?” I asked.

“Carthage,” he said briefly. “The Council of Thirty has elected a new general, young and ambitious. There are rumors that he means to move against Aragonia and reclaim it for Carthage.” He smiled sardonically. “All the Carthaginian ambassadors deny it, of course, and I am told the King accepts their gifts and believes their smooth lies. But my brother, Serafin, is worried.”

“Terre d’Ange stands with Aragonia,” Sidonie assured him. “We have not forgotten that when Skaldia invaded, Aragonia came to our aid.”

Raul gave her a brief bow. “Aragonia knows no better ally than Terre d’Ange.”

I shuddered. “Let’s not discuss Carthage further today.”

He gave me an apologetic look. “Of course.”

It was unreasonable to hold an entire nation to blame for the actions of two men; nor did I. Still, I could not forget that the men who had abducted me and sold me into slavery were Carthaginian. It is not the sort of thing one ever forgets.

We spoke for a while longer, speculating and planning. Although I’d rather have been elsewhere, alone with Sidonie, there was a comfort in knowing we had friends and allies. And, too, what was said here today would be carried forth as rumor and gossip. Terre d’Ange would know that I was not sitting idle, that foreign dignitaries and the Master of the Straits himself were assisting me.

I hoped Hyacinthe’s search would be lengthy.

I hoped against hope that he might find her.

In my heart, I didn’t believe he would. But it would buy us time to enjoy this brief respite, Sidonie and I, before the suspicion grew that I was merely biding my time, going through the motions of looking into the mystery with no intention of actually searching for Melisande, let alone bringing her to justice.

When it came to that point . . . ah, Elua.

I knew what had to be done. It was the one secret I’d kept from Sidonie. Not a-purpose, not really. It was the sort of secret that got people killed. Before I wouldn’t have dared risk it. We were too young and uncertain. Now it was different. She’d stood up to her mother and defied half the realm for my sake. There could be nothing less than complete honesty between us, dangerous or no. I owed her nothing less.

I would have to tell her about the Unseen Guild.

Four

I told her that night.

I could have waited. Elua knows, I wanted to. We’d won a victory of sorts that day, albeit a bitter one. By the time we retired to her chambers, Sidonie was tired and drained. I wanted nothing more than to hold her in my arms and safeguard her sleep.

Instead, I laid a burden on her.

“Sidonie,” I said softly when we were alone together. “There’s somewhat I never told you about my time in Tiberium.”

She paused in the act of brushing her hair. “Oh?”

I sat cross-legged on her bed, turning the knotted gold ring on my finger. The ring had been her gift, a symbol of the ties that bound us, and of other ties, too. On the night of her seventeenth birthday, I’d lashed her wrists to the bedposts with a golden cord and tormented her with pleasure until she begged me to take her. I suspected there would be no such love-play tonight. “You know the tale of Anafiel Delaunay?”

“Yes, of course.” She frowned. “Why?”

Anafiel Delaunay, born Anafiel de Montrève, had been her grandfather’s lover and a poet of some renown. Long before any of us were born, they had studied together in Tiberium. There had been a falling out between them when Prince Rolande’s betrothed was killed and Delaunay wrote a satire implicating Rolande’s new bride in the death, none of which particularly mattered anymore. What mattered was that Delaunay had sworn an oath to protect Rolande’s daughter, the infant Ysandre. And he had kept it, long after Rolande’s death in battle.

The Whoremaster of Spies, his detractors called him. Anafiel Delaunay had adopted two children into his household, training them in the arts of covertcy, and later, courtesanship. He was long dead, and so was one of them; two more casualties of my mother’s plotting.

The other was Phèdre, who had kept all his promises and more.

I swallowed. “Who taught Anafiel Delaunay the arts of covertcy?”

Sidonie stared at me. “I never thought to wonder.”

“Well,” I said. “I did. And I found out.”

I told her then. The truth, the whole truth, of what had befallen me in Tiberium. How I’d made inquiries. How I’d been seduced by Claudia Fulvia, the wife of a Tiberian senator, seeking to recruit me for a secret organization she called the Unseen Guild. A consortium of spies, reporting to persons in places of power all across the world, capable of influencing great events. They had attempted to recruit Anafiel Delaunay when he was a young man in Tiberium, training him in the arts of covertcy.

In the end, he had refused them.

So had I.

“It was a choice,” I said hoarsely. “Swear allegiance, or refuse and keep their secrets.”

“And you chose the latter?” Sidonie asked.

“Yes.” I took a deep breath. “But there’s more. I told you about Canis?”

“The man who took a spear for you in Lucca.” Her eyes were dark and unreadable. “The one who said, ‘Your mother sends her love’ before he died.”

“Yes.” I told her the whole truth of that tale, too. How Canis, who had seemed only an odd philosopher-beggar, had given me a clay medallion with the image of a lamp on it. How I’d learned in the Temple of Asclepius that there were words etched around the edge in a code invented by a blind healer. Do no harm. And how, when at last I’d confronted Claudia Fulvia about it, she had admitted that it meant a member of the Unseen Guild had placed me under their protection.

“Your mother,” Sidonie said flatly.

“I think so,” I murmured.

Sidonie rose without comment. She went to the balcony doors, gazing out into the summer night, her arms wrapped around herself. She was wearing a dressing-robe of thin, cream-colored silk, so fine I could see the silhouette of her body through it. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Because you didn’t want to discuss the issue of finding my vanished mother until we had no choice,” I said. “And because you could get killed for knowing it.”

She turned. “I’m the heir to Terre d’Ange with a hand-picked personal guard, not some fainting flower to be coddled from the world’s dangers.”

“The Guild employs assassins,” I said. “If Canis had been one, he could have killed me in my sleep a half a dozen times.”

“Yes, well, you’re not particularly careful of your safety.” Sidonie studied me. “It’s a fanciful tale. Do you believe it?”

“Do you remember the medallion I wore on the Longest Night?” I asked. She nodded. “It was a replica of the one Canis gave me. I wanted to see if anyone at Court recognized it.”

“And did they?”

“No.” I shook my head. “But the Ephesian ambassador who was visiting did. Diokles Agallon. He offered an exchange of favors. He said if I told him where and how I got it, he might be able to tell me where it originated.”

“What did he want in return?” Sidonie asked.

I smiled slightly. “For me to push the Sultan’s suit for your hand.”

She didn’t smile. “I take it you declined.”

“Sidonie . . .” I spread my hands. “At that moment, I realized I didn’t want anything to do with it. All I wanted was you. All I could think about was you. And at the time, no, I hadn’t thought so far ahead as to reckon that one day, the price of it would be bringing my mother to justice.”

“Does my mother know about this?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “Phèdre didn’t reckon it worth the risk. Not with so little knowledge. She’s the only person I’ve told, and she’s said naught to anyone but Joscelin, and mayhap Hyacinthe. I left the choice to her. She’s been trying to learn more.”

“Well, I can’t not tell her, Imriel,” Sidonie said. “It’s a matter of state. I can’t withhold that from her.”

“I thought you might feel that way,” I said. “Sidonie, listen. I don’t know the extent of the Guild’s power and influence, but I do know they’re real. Enough to be dangerous. Do as you must. Only please, please bid your mother to tread lightly in this matter. I am truly afraid that if she shows her hand, they might act.”

She sighed. “Imriel, why does everything in your life have to be so infernally complicated?”

“I don’t know,” I said humbly. “I wish it wasn’t.”

“Gods!” Sidonie blew out an exasperated breath, casting her gaze toward the ceiling. “Blessed Elua, if there is some divine purpose in this union, I hope and pray that you will reveal it to me one day.”

I kept silent.

“Are you harboring any other secrets?” she asked me.

“No,” I murmured. “Not a one. Have I lost your trust?”

“No.” Sidonie’s mouth quirked. She crossed the room lightly, climbed on the bed, and knelt astride my lap. “No.” She took my face in her hands. “May Blessed Elua and his Companions have mercy on me, I do trust you. As I love you, I trust you.”

I slid my hands up her warm, silk-covered back. “Promise?”

“Yes.” Sidonie kissed me. “I do. Irrationally, maddeningly, utterly.”

“Always?” I whispered.

“Always and always.” She kissed me again, her tongue darting between my lips, then sat back on her heels to regard me, a complicated mixture of sorrow and love in her dark eyes. “I promise.”

On the morrow, Sidonie requested a private audience with her mother. They met for a long time, long enough that my relief was mingled with apprehension. I spent the better part of the day drafting my appeal to the Master of the Straits, trying not to worry.

In the afternoon, one of her guards came to fetch me—Alfonse, the one who’d come before. I hoped he brought word from Sidonie, but I was wrong. “Captain de Monluc wonders if you’d pay him the courtesy of a visit, Prince Imriel,” he announced.

“Is aught amiss?” I asked.

He looked surprised. “I don’t believe so, your highness. Should there be?”

“No.” I shook my head. “And please, call me Imriel.”

“Imriel.” Alfonse tasted the word, then grinned. “All right.”

I’d never been comfortable standing on ceremony. I wasn’t raised to be a Prince of the Blood. I’d obey the protocols when I had to, but I preferred to dispense with them whenever possible.

Alfonse led me to the wing of the Palace that housed the barracks of the Dauphine’s Guard, which in truth were generous and comfortable. Most members of the Palace Guard came from the ranks of the lesser nobility—younger scions unlikely to inherit lands of their own, hoping to make names for themselves in the service of the throne and earn a reward, or mayhap make a wealthy love-match.

The captain of Sidonie’s guard, Claude de Monluc, was one such—although he’d fallen in love with a chambermaid, not an heiress. I knew that much about him and little else, except that he seemed serious and competent, and he’d cared enough for the chambermaid to wed her.