Kushiel's Mercy

acknowledge it. There will be no legal binding. And if you wed him . . .” The Queen’s jaw tightened as she forced the words out, sorrow in every syllable. “If you wed him, I will disinherit you.”
    In silent acquiescence, Sidonie inclined her head.
    “This I swear in Blessed Elua’s name before all here assembled.” Ysandre’s voice sharpened. “Do you hear and acknowledge it?”
    “I do, your majesty.” Sidonie lifted her chin and gazed at her mother. “Is there aught that might make you recant this vow?”
    “Need you ask?” Ysandre said wryly.
    Sidonie held her gaze without blinking. “I would hear you say it before all here assembled.”
    The hall was deathly silent. I felt Ysandre’s gaze shift, felt the weight of it fall upon me.
    Felt the unwanted burden settling on my shoulders.
    “Yes,” she said gently. “Of course. Twenty-some years ago, on the blood-soaked battlefields of Troyes-le-Monte, Melisande Shahrizai was convicted of treason and sentenced to execution for conspiring with the Skaldi warlord Waldemar Selig to conquer Terre d’Ange. That death, she evaded.” Her throat worked. “Imriel de la Courcel, do you find your mother and bring her to justice, I will recant this vow and grant every blessing to your union.”
    There it was, then.
    The burden.
    I bowed deeply for a third time, holding it. The silence in the hall persisted. I straightened and met the Queen’s eyes. “I hear and acknowledge your words, your majesty.”
    Ysandre inclined her head. “That is all.”
    The Queen made her exit through the throne chamber, but it took a long time for the crowd to disperse, mingling excitedly to discuss the news. Sidonie’s guardsmen hovered close, mindful of the hostile element, and Joscelin took care to position himself at my side while we waited for the throng to thin. But there were no threats, only a long, bland stare from Barquiel L’Envers that didn’t disguise the seething dislike beneath it.
    “What in Elua’s name is the matter with him?” I muttered.
    “A lifetime of plans gone awry.” Sidonie watched him. “You missed the last one. He’d hoped to convince Mother that I should wed his youngest son.”
    “What?”
    “Oh, yes.” She nodded. “To forge a great alliance with Khebbel-im-Akkad. Truth be told, I don’t think the Lugal would consider sending one of his heirs to Terre d’Ange for aught less.”
    “What did your mother say?” I asked.
    Sidonie smiled faintly. “She told him he forged a great alliance with Khebbel-im-Akkad when he wed his only daughter to the Khalif’s son, and if he thought the realm would stand for her half-Cruithne heir wedding a half-Akkadian prince, he’d lost his wits.” She gave me a wry glance. “At least no one questions the purity of your bloodline.”
    “Generations of incest,” Mavros said cheerfully, approaching us with our cousin Roshana beside him. “At least on House Shahrizai’s side. Nice to see you’re carrying on the tradition.”
    “I’m glad you’re pleased,” I said.
    In truth, Sidonie and I weren’t all that closely related. My father had been her great-granduncle, brother of King Ganelon de la Courcel. It made us first cousins, I supposed, but there were two generations between us.
    Of course, it was also true that my father had gotten me late in life, embittered by a lifetime of intrigue in La Serenissima, obsessed with the idea of putting a pure-blooded D’Angeline on the throne, and seduced by my mother’s wiles. When I was a babe, he and my mother had been part of a plot to assassinate Ysandre. It very nearly worked, too; it would have, had it not been for Phèdre and Joscelin.
    Strange to think, if it had worked, I would likely have inherited the throne by now. I would be the King of Terre d’Ange, and Sidonie would never have been born. The thought made me shiver.
    Small wonder half the realm mistrusted me.
    Sidonie touched my arm. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”
    I nodded. “I think that would be wise.”
    The crowds had thinned enough for us to make our way out of the throne hall, escorted by guards and accompanied by a small entourage. We adjourned to one of the smaller salons in the Palace, used for private fêtes. Sidonie looked pale. I would rather have spent this moment alone with her, and I daresay she felt the same, but those who had supported us publicly risked the Queen’s displeasure. It would have been ungracious to dismiss them as mere props. I sent one of the