Kushiel's Mercy

said fervently. “I’ll not move from this spot.”
    Sidonie didn’t comment, only watched. I pulled off my boots and stockings, then removed the ruby eardrops and several gaudy rings. I unbraided my hair, dropping the ties atop the pile.
    “The breeches are my own.” I undid Leander’s sword-belt and dropped it. “Sunjata had them, along with the rest of my things.”
    “The gem-merchant’s assistant?” she inquired.
    “Yes.” I untucked my shirt and smiled wryly. “That’s another story. There’s a part of it like to amuse you one day. At any rate, the shirt’s the last of it.”
    “And when you remove it—” Sidonie began.
    I did.
    I didn’t need to look in the mirror. I saw it in her face, eyes wide and awestruck. Neither of us spoke. I kept my promise and stood where I was. It was Sidonie who rose and came to me, slowly and wonderingly.
    “Imriel,” she said softly, as though hearing the word for the first time.
    I nodded.
    “I know you.” She splayed her hand on my chest. “I don’t . . . I don’t remember. But I know you.” She gazed at the pink furrows that raked my flesh. “There was a bear.”
    “The bear that killed Alais’ dog.” I covered her hand with mine. “Yes. It did this to me.
    That’s why you can’t remember it clearly.”
    She raised her gaze to mine. “And this spell . . . you think what’s stolen my memories is the same? That it’s bound into everything I possess?”
    “I do,” I said.
    Ah, Elua! I wanted to hold her so badly, but I didn’t dare. I stood there, watching the thoughts flit across her features, watching her come to a decision.
    “Very well.” Sidonie pulled away from me and began untying the sash of her robe. “Let’s find out.” Beneath the robe, she wore only a thin shift of sheer linen. She’d already prepared for bed. Her hair was loose, all her jewels removed for the evening. I held my breath as she pulled the shift over her head and dropped it atop the robe.
    “Sidonie?” I whispered.
    Her jaw tightened. She shook her head in wordless denial, embarrassment and despair in her face. My heart sank. Sidonie averted her face, then bent over to pick up her discarded clothing, her hair falling forward over her bare shoulders.
    That was when I saw it.
    “Oh, gods!” I blurted.
    Her head came up fast. “What?”
    I closed my eyes briefly and swallowed hard. “Oh, love. I’m so sorry.” Moving gently and carefully, I touched her arm and turned her, then gathered her hair and tucked it over one shoulder. Lightly, lightly, I touched the spot between her shoulder blades where the falcon insignia of the House of Sarkal had been tattooed indelibly onto her fair skin. “It’s here.”
    Sidonie shot me a single stricken glance, then crossed over to the mirror, craning her head to peer over her shoulder. When she looked back at me, her expression was adamant.
    “Cut it out of me.”
    “I’m not sure—” I began.
    Her eyes flashed. “Cut it out of me.” She scrabbled on the top of the dressing table and came up with a sharp little knife for paring nails . “Now.”
    I took the knife, feeling sick. “Do you have any idea how much this is going to hurt?”
    “Yes,” she said shortly, retrieving her robe and tugging the sash loose. She folded the sash into a thick wad. “Just do it. Please.”
    I nodded, willing my hands to stop shaking. “Brace yourself against the table and try not to move.” Sidonie shoved the wadded sash into her mouth and obeyed. I tried to swallow, but my whole mouth had gone dry. “Arch your back,” I said thickly, and she did. “All right,” I whispered. “I’ll do this as quickly as I can. And please don’t ask me to stop, because I’m not sure I’ll have the nerve to try it twice.”
    She made a muffled sound of assent.
    My stomach roiled.
    The tattoo wasn’t very large, not much bigger than the engraving on Astegal’s signet ring.
    It was stark and black against her skin. I laid the blade alongside it, breathing slowly and deeply. I could do this. I had to do this. Before I was born, the Skaldi warlord Waldemar Selig had attempted to skin Phèdre alive on the battlefield of Troyes-le-Mont. If a man could do such a thing for spite, I could do it for love.
    I cut into Sidonie’s flesh.
    Her entire body jerked and she uttered a stifled cry that brought tears to my eyes. Blood flowed, making the hilt of the little blade slippery. Cutting and cutting, all the way around it, shaking my head