Kushiel's Mercy

There is a good chance of it, is there not?”
    The physician bowed. “’Tis too early to tell, my lord. But her highness’ weariness and distress augur well for it.”
    I swallowed, tasting bile.
    I took my leave of Bodeshmun and went with the physician, whose name was Girom, to his quarters. There, he undid my braids and cleaned the wound, swabbing it with something that stung like hell, then closed it with two stitches using a needle and waxed silk thread, which also stung like hell.
    Once it was done, Girom dismissed me. I returned to my quarters and washed the drying blood out of my hair in the basin, telling Kratos and a wide-eyed Sunjata what had transpired.
    “Name of Elua!” I said in disgust. “Sidonie’s as much a victim in this as any bath-house attendant. What are they thinking?”
    Sunjata shrugged. “They’re thinking they saw her kiss General Astegal farewell outside the gates of the city before he rode off to conquer the rest of Aragonia. What else?”
    I yanked a comb through my damp hair. “We need to speak to Justina. If this is part of a larger conspiracy, she may be able to find out. She can help spread the word covertly that Sidonie’s no more to be blamed than—”
    There was a knock at the outer door that made all three of us startle and fall silent. Kratos went to answer it.
    “My lord Maignard.” It was Girom, the physician. He looked harried. “Forgive me, but I require your assistance. Her highness has consented to take a sleeping draught if you will sit at her side until she sleeps.” He cleared his throat. “It seems she feels you are the only one to protect her in General Astegal’s absence. My lord Bodeshmun has consented.”
    Oh, clever girl.
    I rose. “Of course. I’ll come immediately.”

Fourty-Four

    “Out!”
    An earthenware cup shattered against the wall of the bedchamber. One of the Amazigh dodged flying shards. Girom the physician raised his hands pleadingly. “My lady—”
    “All of you, out !” Sidonie said in a perfect fury, pacing. She was wrapped in a dressing-robe, clutching it to her. Her hair was loose and unbound, falling over her shoulders. Her face was stark white, save for two spots of hectic color on her cheekbones. “Everyone but Leander! You’re worthless, all of you!”
    “Go.” Girom gestured to the Amazigh.
    Sidonie pointed at the physician. “You too.”
    “Yes, yes,” he said in a soothing voice. “As I promised, once you drink the sleeping draught.”
    Her breast rose and fell with sharp breaths. “You’ll go, then? You’ll go if I do?”
    “As I promised,” Girom repeated.
    “I want him to stay.” Sidonie pointed at me. “I want Leander to stay until I fall asleep.
    And then I want him to keep watch outside my door. He saved my life, and you won’t bring me Astegal.”
    The physician sighed. “Drink your draught, your highness.”
    Sidonie fixed her gaze on me. “You won’t leave?”
    “I swear it,” I said to her. “I’ll stay at your side until you sleep, and then I’ll guard your door until you wake. No one will pass.”
    “And you’ll go if I do?” she asked Girom.
    “Yes,” he said wearily. “Please, your highness. It’s for your own good.”
    “All right.” Sidonie picked up another cup from her night-stand, this one brimming with dark liquid. Her hands shook and the liquid trembled. She eyed Girom with suspicion.
    “You promise?”
    “Yes, your highness!” he said in frustration. “I promise .”
    She drank. “There. Now go.”
    Girom heaved another sigh, this one filled with relief. I didn’t envy him. “Thank you, my lady,” he said to her. “Now lie down and rest. Leander will stay by your side. It’s a potent draught; it will take effect swiftly.”
    She sat obediently on her bed. “All right. Go away now.”
    He backed through the door, closing it behind him.
    We were alone.
    Sidonie buried her face in her hands and shuddered. I crossed the room swiftly, kneeling before her. “Are you all right?” I whispered.
    “No.” She dropped her hands. “Not really.” Her tone was unwontedly dry. “I’m scared half out of my wits, and that was the single most mortifying performance of my life.” She touched the back of my head with infinite gentleness. “Are you?”
    “Yes,” I whispered. “How long until the sleeping draught takes effect?”
    Her fingers slid through my hair, trailed along my cheek. “The one I poured into the vase hidden behind the chamberpot under my