Kushiel's Mercy

night.
    In the morning, Sidonie and I went through our cordial routine, both of us achingly aware that it could be the last time we saw one another alive. And then I took my leave of her once more, feeling lightheaded and hollow, as though I’d left the better part of myself in her keeping.
    I went to the harbor to inform Captain Deimos that we would be sailing on the morrow, as early as was humanly possible. He heard me out in laconic silence until I finished.
    “Care to tell me what this is about?”
    I glanced over at Kratos, who was keeping watch. No one else was in earshot. Even so, I lowered my voice further. “Rescuing the heir to Terre d’Ange.”
    Deimos stared at me, a muscle in his cheek twitching. “From what I hear, the lady in question has no wish to be rescued.”
    “Your information is wrong,” I said. “Ptolemy Solon sent me to break the spell that bound her to Astegal. It’s done. Now we’re both in danger. So I will ask you one last time, will you do this or not?”
    His look turned hard. “I told you, I’m no oath-breaker. But I won’t sail until I hear it from her own lips.”
    I nodded. “Done.”
    After that, there wasn’t much to be done except wait. I sent Kratos to procure clean bandages and a healing salve at an out-of-the-way chirurgeon’s shop, worried about Sidonie’s injury. I mixed grease and ashes from the hearth, testing it on the skin of my hands, until I had obtained a mixture that darkened my skin enough to permit me to pass as Amazigh, at least on brief, dimly lit inspection. I practiced tying the head-scarf and swathing my features. I practiced telling the hours. I packed the few items that mattered to me into a single trunk. I tried to sleep, and failed.
    Waiting was always maddening, and this time it was compounded by a sense of helplessness. That day dragged onward like no other I could remember. But at last the daylight began to fade. Kratos and I dined in our quarters. I hadn’t dared risk a meal in the great hall since I’d known myself. Astegal, with his eternal revels, would have noticed my absence; luckily, Bodeshmun hadn’t cared to continue the tradition.
    Once we’d finished, I dispatched Kratos to keep an eye on Sidonie’s door. This was the first step in our end of the plan, and the most dangerous one for him. Her quarters and Bodeshmun’s were both on the second story of the palace; ours were on the ground floor.
    There was no reason for Kratos to be lingering upstairs, but he had assured me he could manage it, and I had to trust him. I simply couldn’t do everything myself.
    I darkened my face and hands, donned my Amazigh garb over enough of Leander Maignard’s clothing to maintain both guises.
    An hour passed, and then another.
    I was beginning to feel a quiet sense of panic rising when Kratos finally returned, red-faced and panting so hard he could barely speak.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked sharply.
    “Nothing,” he wheezed, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees. I let him catch his breath, swallowing my impatience. At last Kratos straightened. “Sorry. I started to get suspicious looks. Had to pretend I was running the stairs to work out leg cramps. Good cure, you know.”
    I made a concerted effort not to shake him. “Sidonie?”
    “Gone to see Bodeshmun,” he confirmed. “One guard. He stayed posted outside Blackbeard’s door. Gods, you look just like one of them!”
    “Good.” I didn’t relax, but my panic and frustration ebbed, my thoughts slipping into a cool, calculating mode. I nodded at the trunk. “Can you make it to the ship with that?
    You look knackered.”
    Kratos snorted. “I’ll manage.”
    “Be careful.” I paused. “Kratos, I mean to be there well before dawn. If I’m not there by the time the sun’s clear of the horizon, it means this has gone very, very wrong. Tell Deimos to sail, and go with him.”
    “Where?” he asked briefly.
    “Marsilikos,” I said. “Find Jeanne de Mereliot, daughter of the Lady of Marsilikos. Tell her everything you know, everything we’ve discussed.”
    “You imagine she’ll believe me?” Kratos asked in a dubious tone.
    “Tell her Imriel de la Courcel said to tell her that he was grateful for the offer she made him before he sailed for Cythera,” I said softly. “Even though I refused it, I was grateful for her kindness and Eisheth’s mercy.”
    “Ah.” Kratos nodded and put out his hand. “Gods be with you, my lord.”
    I clasped it. “And