Kushiel's Mercy

world at bay; or seizing Sidonie and trying to fight our way clear of New Carthage.
    But I didn’t.
    Instead, I forced myself to let her go. She clung to me for a few heartbeats longer, then released me. I turned away reluctantly and left.
    Outside her bedchamber, the Amazigh were snoring and the fire was burning low in the hearth. I stirred the fire back to life and laid another log on it, then took up my post outside Sidonie’s door. There I sat, trying to contain the storms of emotion churning in my heart, trying to remember how to be Leander Maignard.
    It wasn’t long before fresh guards came to relieve the others. They startled at the sight of their sleeping fellows, then shook them awake after a hushed exchange and several darting glances my way. The Amazigh woke groggily, but they awoke. There was another hushed conference, this one with a furious undertone, and more anxious looks in my direction.
    “You’ve naught to fear on my account, lads.” I shifted and stretched as though my limbs were stiff from a long night’s inaction. “Believe me, I’ve been on the receiving end of Lord Bodeshmun’s threats.” I yawned, covering my mouth. “And I do believe I caught a few winks myself. My silence for yours, good fellows?”
    “It will not happen again,” one of the new guards said curtly, his Hellene heavily accented.
    “I’m sure it won’t,” I agreed.
    Well and good, Sidonie was right. The Amazigh might be fiercely loyal, but their personal loyalty was to Astegal. They obeyed Bodeshmun for his sake, but they didn’t do it gladly.
    As before, I waited until the chambermaid arrived a little after dawn with her breakfast tray. This time, I knocked on the door for her. Sidonie opened it. Our eyes met, a silent spark passing between us. But if nothing else, we’d had a good deal of practice dissembling together in public.
    “Good morning, my lady,” I said. “Did you rest well?”
    “Well enough,” she said. “Once again, I thank you for your kindness, Messire Maignard.”
    I bowed. “It is an honor, your highness.”
    I lingered long enough to watch her turn and walk back into her chamber. I’d carved a divot of flesh out of her back, and I knew she was hurting badly. It didn’t show, not in the slightest.
    That was my girl.
    After what was surely the longest night of my life, I made my way to my own chambers.
    I was so exhausted as I was descending the tower stairs, I barely heard the deep rumble of Bodeshmun’s voice in time. My pulse leapt like a startled hare, and I plastered myself against the inner wall of the stairwell. There I froze, praying like hell that Bodeshmun wasn’t headed for the stairs.
    He wasn’t.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pass below me, his black robes swirling as he addressed Lord Gillimas. And for the first time, the thought occurred to me that it would be infinitely easier to get Sidonie out of New Carthage if we ignored the business of Bodeshmun and the talisman altogether.
    Of course, that would leave a dangerous enemy at our backs.
    And Terre d’Ange in chaos.
    I made it the rest of the way without event. In my chambers, I found Sunjata had already departed, and Kratos was all smiles.
    “Good news, my lord,” he said in greeting. “I think I’ve found your passage. Will you see it?”
    “Later.” I sat heavily on the couch and shrugged out of my shirt. A damp wad of bloodstained rags fell out.
    Kratos’ eyes bulged. “What in the name of all the gods have you been up to?”
    I yawned. “’Tis a long story. My thanks for your good work, though.” I pried off my boots. “Let me sleep a few hours and I’ll tell you everything,” I promised, peeling off my stockings. “My head hurts, and I’m perishing tired.”
    Kratos didn’t answer.
    I glanced up at him and cursed myself. Kratos simply stared at me, his lips working soundlessly. I’d taken off Leander’s shirt, boots, and stockings. His rings, ruby eardrops, and the ties that bound his braids were in the pocket of my breeches. My breeches. I’d pocketed the items without thinking, more worried about cleaning the bloody mess in Sidonie’s chamber.
    “You’re . . .” Kratos stammered at last. “You’re . . .”
    “Imriel de la Courcel,” I said quietly, rising. “Well met. Forgive me, Kratos. That was careless of me, very careless.”
    He stared blankly past the hand I extended. “I know what the eunuch said, but . . .”
    I nodded. “It’s a shock. I know. I