Kushiel's Mercy

Joscelin. A number of young peers I didn’t know by name.
    There were Tsingani and Yeshuites among the throng, too; and adepts of the Night Court, hundreds of them, glittering and lovely. It tugged at my heart for reasons I couldn’t explain.
    But there were others, too. The left side of the throne hall was nearly as crowded, and there were victims of the Skaldi War among them, sporting grim expressions and black armbands. And, of course, the contingent wouldn’t be complete without Duc Barquiel L’Envers, who had long detested me for inexplicable reasons of his own.
    At the precise hour, a horologist struck a gong. An impressive silence fell over the hall, broken only by the faint creak of hinges as the great doors at the rear of the hall were closed. A pair of guards opened the doors to the inner throne chamber and Ysandre emerged.
    The Queen mounted the dais and stood before the audience, tall and fair, her carriage erect and regal. Sidonie lacked her mother’s height, but she had the same carriage. I wondered if Ysandre had the same capability as her daughter for utterly abandoning it in private. Somehow, I didn’t think so.
    “All rise for her majesty Queen Ysandre de la Courcel!” the herald called.
    Those who were seated rose, bowing or curtsying. The packed throngs toward the rear followed suit. Ysandre inclined her head.
    “All be seated for her majesty Queen Ysandre de la Courcel!”
    We sat.
    Ysandre took the throne. She looked tired, shadows under the violet eyes that were nothing like her eldest daughter’s. A gold crown with delicate spires sat atop her fair hair.
    For all that it was finely wrought, it carried a visible weight. I felt an unwanted pang of guilt and sympathy. I couldn’t even imagine what Sidonie must feel.
    “My lords and ladies, good folk of the realm.” The Queen’s clear voice carried in the stillness. “Even in the annals of Terre d’Ange, I imagine this is an unwarranted occurrence,” she continued more softly. There was an edge of sadness in it. “I daresay it is known why I have called this audience.”
    There were nods and murmurs all around.
    “So.” Ysandre gathered herself. “Sidonie de la Courcel, my eldest child and heir, the Dauphine of Terre d’Ange, desires to be united in love with her kinsman, Imriel nó Montrève de la Courcel. Is this still your claim?” she asked Sidonie.
    Sidonie rose, according her mother a second curtsy. “It is, your majesty.”
    “And is it also your stated desire?” Ysandre asked me.
    I stood and bowed. “It is, your majesty.”
    Ysandre nodded. “I am advised by the priesthood of Blessed Elua that your claim is worthy,” she said slowly. “And here before those assembled, I swear in Blessed Elua’s name that I will not forbid your union.”
    There were gasps, hisses, and a few quickly stifled cheers.
    Ysandre raised her hand. “However.” Her voice hardened. “I am advised by many others that this union is a dagger that cuts at the heart of Terre d’Ange. Let me say this.” She looked squarely at me. “Imriel de la Courcel has served the thrones of both Terre d’Ange and Alba with honor. I do not accuse him of sedition. But when I look upon the faces of those here assembled . . .” Her gaze drifted over the crowd. “I see a thousand anguished memories of lives lost on the fields of Troyes-le-Monte, memories you children cannot begin to compass. I see fear and suspicion, a canker eating at the heart of the realm. I see old hatreds roused, old wounds bleeding, and the seeds of discord being sown.”
    There was a genuine ache behind her words, and I did not think she took any pleasure in the fierce nods of agreement from those assembled on the left of the hall. I’d had my differences with Ysandre, but I’d never doubted she loved Terre d’Ange.
    “Blessed Elua cared naught for crowns and thrones,” she said quietly. “Those words, I am told, were spoken by Melisande Shahrizai.”
    The mention of my mother’s name evoked another hiss.
    Ysandre raised her hand for silence a second time. “It is true,” she said. “It is also true that Blessed Elua cared naught for the trappings of mortal society, the conventions and rules by which we bind ourselves.” She closed her eyes briefly. “ Love as thou wilt. It suffices unto itself.” Opening her eyes, she gazed at Sidonie. “That I grant you, my love,”
    she murmured. “Love as you will. But if you declare him your consort, know that I will not