Kushiel's Mercy

already knew to commit to a discipline that would take ten years to master. Still, there were some useful maneuvers that they could add to their repertoire, like the overhead parries for defending against a mounted enemy while on foot.
    It was . . . fun.
    With the sense of an extended truce in what Sidonie called the Battle of Imriel settling over the Court, a spirit of revelry returned. Drustan mab Necthana arrived later than was his wont. Sidonie and I attended his reception together. After that, daring young nobles began to throw private fêtes, inviting us to attend together. Julien Trente was the first, although I happened to know it was Mavros who put him up to it, reckoning it wouldn’t have been seemly for House Shahrizai to be the first to celebrate. But after Julien came Lisette de Blays, who was one of Sidonie’s ladies-in-waiting, a pretty young Namarrese noblewoman with an impudent sense of humor.
    After that there were others. It became somewhat of a fashion. Sidonie and I weighed the invitations with care, seeking to accept only those that were sincere and genuine, begging off on those who merely sought to create spectacle. In public we were circumspect, even in the midst of frivolity and license.
    Betimes it wasn’t easy. Whatever the nature of the fire Blessed Elua had lit between us, it continued to burn unabated. It had survived time, distance, enchantment, and grief, and it survived familiarity, too. There was an invisible cord binding us together. In the midst of a crowded room, I always knew where she was. If I closed my eyes and listened hard, I could almost feel her heart beating, drawing mine as inexorably as a lodestone draws iron.
    I could make it quicken with a single whispered word in her ear and watch the pulse beat faster in the hollow of her throat. And all it took was one laden glance under her lashes, and my blood ran hot with desire. Still, we never acted on it in the presence of others.
    Alone, it was different.
    The nights were ours.
    After we talked of exploring love’s sharper pleasures, I turned to Mavros for counsel. If there is one thing the Shahrizai understand, it is discretion. I trusted Mavros enough to arrange a private Showing for us featuring adepts of Valerian House and Mandrake House engaging in love’s sharper pleasures. It was customary to attend the Night Court for such things, but there were other arrangements that could be made, private townhouses with pleasure-chambers.
    “Do you really think this is necessary?” Sidonie asked me.
    “I do,” I said. “For both of us.”
    “It frightens you,” she said softly. “Still.”
    “A bit.” I was honest. “I saw too much darkness in Daršanga. Death sown in the place of life.” The mere mention of the place made me swallow, tasting bile and worse. “For a long time, it made me fear my own desires. It’s different with you. But I need to be sure this is somewhat you truly wish to explore, because if it’s not, if we do and you discover the reality’s nothing like the fantasy, and you want naught to do with it . . .” I shook my head. “I promise you, I’ll wake screaming in the middle of the night, dreaming of the Mahrkagir. Only it’s my face he’ll be wearing.”
    “I know.” Sidonie took my hand. She was one of only three people I’d ever told the whole truth about what befell me there. “I’ll go.”
    I gazed at her. “It doesn’t frighten you at all, does it?”
    “No.” She smiled a little. “I told you, I trust you.”
    I squeezed her hand. “That’s what frightens me.”
    Sidonie raised her brows. “Trust me , then.”
    She was right, of course. In the Night Court, there were elaborate contracts spelling out what was or was not permitted during the course of an assignation. That was part of what I wanted her to see and understand. Still, in the end, the essence of the exchange was trust, the surrender and acceptance of it. The more complete the surrender, the more wholehearted the acceptance, the more powerful the exchange.
    And that, no mere Showing could teach.
    We went, though.
    It took place in the townhouse Mavros had rented. It was much like the Showing I had attended with him at Valerian House, only more discreet. The staging area was behind a veil of sheer, transparent silk. It was dimly lit, but the viewing area was completely dark.
    None of the adepts performing would be able to see who watched them. There were no attendants, only Mavros, serving as the