Kushiel's Mercy
There’s nothing that lies between the two of us that frightens me, Imriel. We defied Blessed Elua’s precept and others paid the price for it. We have to live with that, you and I. If we survive this, I think we might at least reckon ourselves forgiven in part.” She smiled slightly.
“I’m not sure how I feel about hordes , mind you. But I think we could manage a brooding boy and a haughty girl or two. ’Tis a pleasant thing to contemplate.”
“Life and hope,” I murmured, holding her closer.
“And love,” she added.
Two days later, we reached Roncal.
That last leg of our journey was the most difficult and the most beautiful. The hills grew ever steeper, the views breathtaking. In the distance, to the north, we could see snow on the peaks of the mountains; and yet, the slopes themselves were a bright, vivid green, even in winter, except where they were blanketed with darker pines. The air was crisp and cold, and our breath came short. Still, I could understand why the Euskerri loved their territory.
“There it is,” Paskal pointed as we crested the seventh peak of the day, our mounts huffing. “Roncal.”
As strongholds went, it didn’t look like much. It was a village of charming red-roofed buildings nestled in the valley. But the river that snaked through the valley had carved a passage through the mountains beyond, wide enough to be easily traversed, yet narrow enough to be easily defended. I could appreciate the strategic value of the place. The best thing of all about it was that there was no sign that Astegal’s cavalry had arrived before us.
We descended into the valley. The houses were whitewashed with red or green shutters, designs and words painted over the doorways. I asked Paskal what they meant.
“Those are the names of the houses,” he said. “Of their families. And the symbol of the sun to greet the dawn.”
“Eguzki,” Sidonie said, half to herself. “The sun.”
Paskal gave her a startled look. “Yes.”
Curious faces peered from a few of the houses and a man with a large wheel of cheese on his shoulder passed by, giving us a hard stare. Paskal led us along the valley, reading the names of the houses aloud. At one of the largest, he halted.
“This is the house of Iturralde,” he said with shy pride.
“Paskal, you’re a genius,” I said.
“No.” He grinned. “Just lucky like a bird.”
Sidonie took a deep breath. “Well, ’tis time to face the second test of diplomacy.” There was a trace of dismay in her voice. “Would that I could bathe first.”
There weren’t many folk in Euskerri territory who would recognize the Dauphine of Terre d’Ange if she turned up on their doorstep, but Janpier Iturralde was one of them. It was a woman who answered Paskal’s initial knock. Sidonie and I waited. I’d dismounted and stood holding her bridle, which was as close as we could come to presenting any manner of formal appearance. But she sat upright in the saddle, her posture regal and her expression composed.
The woman glanced over at us, eyes widening. She and Paskal exchanged words in the Euskerri tongue, and then she vanished. Paskal returned to join us. A few moments later, a man emerged. He was a sturdy, barrel-chested fellow with black hair and dark eyes set close to a long, straight nose. He stood on the doorstep for a long moment, staring at us, then at last approached.
“I did not believe it,” he said in accented Aragonian. “But it is true.”
Sidonie inclined her head. “Greetings, etxekojaun . It is a pleasure to see you once more.”
His mouth quirked. “The daughter of the Queen of Terre d’Ange comes to my house and greets me with a Euskerri courtesy. Why? I thought your country had gone mad and you’d run away to marry the Lion of Carthage.”
“It has and I did,” Sidonie said. “Now I come bearing a tale of dire magics, a pursuing army, and an offer for Euskerria’s sovereignty on behalf of both Aragonia and Terre d’Ange. Will you hear them?”
The blood drained from Janpier Iturralde’s face. “Do you jest?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Blessed Elua bear witness, I have never been more serious in my life.”
He ushered us into his home with alacrity. Several hasty introductions were made, and then Sidonie poured out our tale to the Iturralde clan, while Janpier offered hurried translations for those who spoke no Aragonian.
It was hard to gauge their reaction. It was intense, but I couldn’t say whether
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