Kushiel's Mercy

extravagant affair. With Carthage’s troops camped outside the walls and the spectre of death hanging over those who hoped to assail them, that would have felt unseemly or desperate or both. But it was a pleasant affair. The food that was served was modest and less than abundant, but the wine flowed freely. Skilled musicians played in a distinctly Aragonian style, rapid rhythms punctuated with clapping. An air of defiant gaiety permeated the great hall.
    A young Aragonian lieutenant begged leave to teach Sidonie one of their national dances.
    I watched her try to follow his lead and master the quick, intricate steps, laughing when she tripped over his feet. He was flushed and nervous. She looked bright and beautiful, her color healthy. I thought about that last day on the ship, her skin fevered and hot to the touch, and I was filled with gratitude.
    “So that’s Ysandre’s daughter,” a melodious voice beside me murmured.
    I turned and blinked. For a moment, I thought I was seeing an older version of my cousin Mavros with lines at the corners of his twilight-blue eyes and his black hair threaded with silver. Then I realized who he must be and tensed. “Marmion,” I said. “Marmion Shahrizai.”
    Many years ago, after Skaldia’s invasion, Marmion had placed country over family and betrayed my mother into the Queen’s custody. He in turn was betrayed by his sister, Persia, who placed family over country and helped my mother escape. In the end, Marmion’s men had unwittingly set fire to Persia’s manor house in a botched spying attempt. Marmion himself was stripped of his title and sent into exile. I wasn’t sure what to expect of him.
    He read it in my face and smiled wryly. “I bear you no ill will, Prince Imriel. But I must confess myself terribly curious to meet Melisande’s infamous son.”
    “Am I infamous?” I asked lightly.
    Marmion’s gaze shifted back to Sidonie. “I thought so when I heard you’d seduced the Queen’s heir. Now it seems mayhap I was mistaken.” He shook his head. “Melisande’s son risking life and limb on behalf of Ysandre’s daughter. Who would have thought to see the day?”
    “No one,” I said. “But mayhap the gods themselves have ways of redressing old wrongs.”
    He turned a measuring look on me. “You look a lot like her, you know. You must hear it often.”
    “Not so very often,” I said. “People seldom speak of my mother to me unless they’re telling me what horrors her actions visited on their families.”
    Marmion laughed without mirth. “I suppose so. Is it true that you’ve seen her?”
    I nodded. “On Cythera.”
    “Melisande.” He was silent a moment. “Is it true that her sentence was commuted to exile in exchange for her aid?”
    “Yes,” I said.
    He shook his head again. “So after all she’s done, our sentences are the same.”
    “I’m sorry, my lord,” I said quietly. “I understand that your sister’s death was an accident.
    It was a terrible tragedy.”
    “Yes.” Marmion gathered himself. “Tell me, is she happy?”
    “My mother?” I thought about it. “I think she has found a certain calm and acceptance. I wouldn’t call her happy .”
    Whether or not the answer pleased him, I couldn’t say. Marmion studied me. “I see a good deal of House Courcel in you, too. It’s not as obvious, but it’s there. You’ve a look of Prince Rolande, Ysandre’s father. I remember him from when I was a boy. Too impetuous for his own good, but he had a streak of high nobility.” He touched my arm, light and unexpected. “I wish you well, of course. All of us pray you succeed. But it would please me to know you restored honor to House Shahrizai’s name. That’s all I desired.”
    It touched me. “I’ll do my best.”
    “Imriel!” Sidonie joined us, eyes sparkling. She greeted my exiled kinsman. “You must be Lord Marmion. Well met, my lord.”
    He bowed. “Just Marmion, your highness.”
    “Then I will be just Sidonie,” she said. “Since it is my hope that we will be near-kin one day.”
    Marmion smiled. “I do believe that would please me, too. Blessed Elua hold and keep you, Sidonie. And when you see your mother . . . tell Ysandre that I think fondly of her.”
    “I will,” Sidonie promised.
    With that, he took his leave of us. I gazed thoughtfully after him. “Do you suppose he was ever your mother’s . . . ?”
    “No.” Sidonie shook her head. “No, I actually asked her about that one of the few times we