Kushiel's Mercy

dais beneath the oak tree, it gave me an uneasy memory of the night we’d gathered in Elua’s Square to witness a marvel promised by Carthaginian horologists.
    Janpier raised his hands to quiet the crowd. “Have you reached a decision?”
    “Yes.” Sidonie faced him. “We will agree to your terms if you will agree to ours. There is one condition without which I will refuse. There is one condition without which Prince Imriel will refuse.”
    He nodded impassively. “Speak.”
    Sidonie presented our terms. Janpier Iturralde translated them for the crowd, and the now-familiar roar of argument arose, delegates on the dais shouting back and forth with the villagers they represented. I studied Janpier’s face. He met my gaze squarely, but his nostrils flared in a defensive manner.
    “We’re not bluffing, my lord,” I said to him. “You have forced our hands, but we will walk away from this agreement.”
    “There is—” he began.
    “Anger and fear.” I cut him off. “Yes. Believe me, I am passing familiar with the emotions this day. Whatever it is you fear from Terre d’Ange, it will come more surely without the key than with it. It is a malevolent magic that binds our realm. Do not be a fool.”
    Janpier pointed at Sidonie. “And her? Is her safety worth more than the safety of our wives and sisters and daughters?”
    “It is to me,” I said calmly.
    He bristled. “You would dare to claim—”
    “Yes!” I raised my voice. The blood beat in my ears, clashing like bronze wings. “Yes, Iturralde. As surely as you place Euskerria’s concerns far, far above mine. And your wives and sisters and daughters will be far from the battlefield. I pledged my loyalty to Sidonie de la Courcel long ago. Even before I knew I loved her, I swore to lay my life down in her defense.” My hand hovered over my sword-hilt. “If you want me to fight and mayhap die at your side, that is the price. Her safety. I will not be forsworn.”
    Janpier looked startled and impressed. “I will tell them.”
    I relaxed a little. “Thank you.”
    Whether or not that made the difference, I couldn’t say. All in all, we were asking little compared to the sacrifice the Euskerri asked of us. The price they would pay for their freedom was like to be high, yes. But in the end, it was their choice. Ours was forced upon us, and it made me ache inside to turn my back on Terre d’Ange when we were so very close.
    And after another hour of clamorous discussion, they agreed to accept our terms.
    There beneath the oak tree at the center of Roncal, we swore our oaths. Sidonie and I swore in the name of Blessed Elua and his Companions, I that I would fight at the side of the Euskerri, and she that she would bear witness to the signing of the agreement that granted Euskerria sovereign status in Aragonia’s eyes in the event of our victory. The Euskerri called the sun to bear witness and pledged to fight Carthage unto the death.
    The matter was settled.
    Once again, we were at war with Carthage.

Sixty-Three

    Once the matter was settled, things moved quickly.
    The Euskerri who had descended on Roncal dispersed like the wind, carrying word to every town and village perched in the mountains. There would be a great force amassing, Janpier Iturralde assured us. Six or seven thousand, he thought, although the Euskerri had never mustered in force before.
    Sidonie and I wrote a letter to Alais on a piece of much-scraped parchment Janpier procured for us.
    I watched her outline the important details in her neat, precise hand. The truth of what had befallen us, the accord to which we had agreed. The key to undoing the spell: the word, emmenghanom . Beholden. And then I watched her falter.
    “What do you say, Imriel?” Sidonie asked me in bewilderment. “How do you say it?”
    I’d written too many such letters.
    “Tell her you love her,” I said gently. “Tell them all. I will, too.”
    I liked the courier Janpier found for us: a bold-faced fellow named Nuno Agirre whose family originally hailed from the D’Angeline side of Euskerri territory. His grandfather had been an ardent scholar and all his descendants spoke fluent Caerdicci along with their native tongue. He swore without hesitation beneath the oak tree that he would do his utmost to see the letter delivered.
    “It will be an honor,” he added. “Is there any sign by which they will know it is genuine?”
    I glanced at Sidonie, who looked dismayed. I thought about how I’d sent my