Kushiel's Mercy

to clear my eyes of the tears that blurred my vision. Gods, it was awful. It was the most awful thing I’d ever done.
    But I did it.
    I set the paring knife and the bloody disk of skin and flesh on the table. “It’s done.”
    Sidonie spat out the sash, but her hands remained braced on the table, knuckles white. For a long moment, she didn’t move or speak, only breathed hard, her ribcage heaving. Blood trickled down her spine.
    “I’m going to kill him,” she said at last in a low, savage voice. “Kushiel bear witness, I swear, I’m going to kill him myself!” She straightened and turned so quickly I had to step back. I saw the full helpless fury of the knowledge of what had been done to her written in her face. Everything, every violation.
    Every night in Astegal’s bed.
    And then her expression changed.
    “Imriel,” Sidonie breathed, tears welling in her eyes. “Oh, Blessed Elua! How could I forget you? In a thousand years, how could I forget you?”
    “You didn’t,” I said, my heart aching for her. “Neither of us did. Sidonie, you found me inside Leander when I didn’t even know myself. And I fell in love with you all over again.
    All the magic in Carthage couldn’t stop us from loving one another, any more than all the politics of Terre d’Ange could. You were right when you said Blessed Elua must have some purpose for joining us, because here I am—”
    She reached up to me and stopped my mouth with a kiss, with a dozen kisses. I groaned aloud and gathered her to me, sinking one hand into her hair, wrapping my arm around her waist.
    “Erase him from me,” Sidonie whispered against my lips.
    “You’re hurt,” I murmured.
    “I don’t care.” She shook her head. “I need you.”
    I slid both hands down to grasp her buttocks and lifted her gently. She clung to me, legs wrapped around my waist, arms twined around my neck, kissing my face as I carried her to the bed. I found clean towels by the washbasin.
    “Every trace,” I promised, bathing the blood from her skin while she knelt on the bed.
    The wound was still seeping, but slowly. I’d made the cut as shallow as I could. “Every trace of him, gone.”
    “You promise?” Sidonie whispered.
    “Always.” My throat was tight, my heart overflowing. “Always and always.”
    There was no part of her I didn’t touch that night. I kissed the top of her head, the nape of her neck. Behind her ears, and every inch of her face. I laid a trail of kisses down her spine, blowing softly on the raw wound where Astegal had laid his mark on her. I kissed her throat, her arms. The insides of her wrists, the palms of her hands, every fingertip.
    With every kiss, I willed her to be whole.
    I kissed her breasts, and the valley between them. I kissed her belly. I knelt beside the bed and kissed her feet, her calves. Her inner thighs. Whole and healed.
    All of her.
    It hadn’t begun as desire, not truly. It was a more complicated need. But with every kiss, it grew simpler and simpler. Kneeling between her thighs, I tasted her desire, feeling it echo through my own body, sweet and insistent.
    Sidonie tugged at my hair. “Come here.”
    I rose and shed my breeches. There was a trace of uncertainty in her eyes, a lingering fear.
    “Imriel,” she said hesitantly. “Does it trouble you . . . ?”
    “No.” I took her hand and guided it to my erect, aching phallus, curving her fingers around it. “I’m yours, Sidonie. I love you. You belong to me, and I to you. Every part of me. I won’t let anyone take that from us. Not Bodeshmun, not Astegal. No one.”
    The last uncertainty vanished.
    And . . . oh, gods.
    It was everything, everything. All at once. Sidonie shook her head impatiently, straddling my lap with an inarticulate sound. My phallus throbbing in her fist. She fitted me to her.
    Everything.
    I felt the impossibly glorious glide of entering her, slick and tight. And I felt . . . ah, Elua!
    I felt everything . All of it. I felt myself entering her, a wanted invasion. Full and stretched and welcome.
    “Name of Elua!” I whispered in awe.
    There was no end to it.
    It went on and on, pleasure doubled and redoubled. Mirrors reflecting mirrors. Bright, dark. Which was which? It didn’t matter. Sidonie rocked atop me, rising and falling, her breasts pressed hard against my chest. I clutched her shoulder blades, struggling to be mindful of the wound between them. I captured her mouth with mine, my tongue seeking hers. I felt her pleasure