Kushiel's Mercy

my body was bruised and aching. Behind my closed eyelids, I saw only carnage. Myself in the midst of a raging storm of violence, my sword rising and falling. Men dying. I’d no idea how many I’d killed that day. But I’d a good idea of how many I’d led to their deaths.
    “Do you wish to speak of it?” Sidonie asked in a low voice.
    “No.” I concentrated on the soothing feeling of her hands stroking my hair. “One day.
    But not today.”
    “One day,” she echoed.
    “One day,” I agreed, my eyes still closed. “One day we’ll tell our horde of brooding boys and haughty girls how their parents fought for freedom against a man who would be a tyrant. One day we’ll discuss the terrible price the Euskerri were willing to pay for their own freedom. One day it will make a wondrous tale, Princess.” I opened my eyes and gazed at her inverted face. “But not today.”
    “No.” Sidonie leaned down to kiss me. Her lips lingered on mine, soft and sweet, a promise of Blessed Elua’s mercy. “Not today.”
    I sighed and slept.
    On the morrow we learned further details. The losses were staggering, especially among the Euskerri. Of the nearly six thousand who had gone into battle, no more than fifteen hundred survived. The troops from Tibado and Coloma had taken heavy losses, too. Until the forces from Amílcar had arrived, it had been very nearly what I feared—a slaughter.
    But in the end Carthage hadn’t fared much better. They hadn’t been prepared for the speed and ferocity of the attack on their rearguard. Astegal’s troops had been slow to respond to orders. Duke Leopoldo of Tibado had taken advantage of the confusion and rallied his men, and the Euskerri had done the same. Carthage found itself caught between the hammer and the anvil. When Astegal had fallen, their resolve broke.
    I thought about Astegal in New Carthage, playing at being a king. Feasting and tossing coins to dancing-girls in the evenings, sparring and jesting with his men in the palaestra during the days. I remembered what Kratos had said. If Astegal had been more diligent in drilling his army, he might have been victorious yesterday.
    The war wasn’t over. Astegal’s wounded army would retreat to New Carthage, where they held the city and a good number of potential hostages. We’d arisen to find that the navy blockading Amílcar’s harbor had fled, likely for the same destination.
    But Bodeshmun was dead and Astegal soon would be. It was the arcane skills of the former and the determined ambition of the latter that had driven Carthage to seek empire.
    There had been men uneasy with the scope of Astegal’s goals. After my time there as Leander Maignard, I thought there was a chance the matter could be resolved diplomatically.
    I prayed so.
    There was a ceremony that afternoon to mark the historic transfer of sovereignty to Euskerria. It broke my heart to see how few of the village headmen who had pledged their acceptance in Roncal were there to see it.
    Serafin spoke well. “There has long been enmity between our people,” he said.
    “Yesterday that history was erased in a tide of blood. If we take no other lesson from this tragedy, let it be this: We have learned we are alike. We suffer and bleed alike. We grieve alike for our lost brethren. And we value our freedom above our safety.” He paused.
    “Euskerria has earned the freedom we bestow on her this day. As you well know, it is not wholly mine to give on behalf of Aragonia. But I pledge to you on behalf of all here assembled that we will accept no terms that do not honor this agreement. And that which Euskerria has earned that is mine to grant, I pledge freely. My friendship, honor, and respect.”
    There were tears in the eyes of many of the Euskerri present when his words were translated. One of them rose to speak.
    “Yesterday we gained a nation and lost the flower of a generation,” he said simply in accented Aragonian. “We will strive to make Euskerria into a nation worthy of their sacrifice.”
    “Your highness?” Ramiro Zornín de Aragon said to Sidonie.
    She rose. “On behalf of Terre d’Ange, this concord is heard and witnessed. Like my kinsman, I lack the full weight of authority to speak for my country. But as I am my mother’s heir, I swear in the name of Blessed Elua and his Companions that while my memory lives, I will do all in my power to see that this accord is kept in good faith.”
    So it was done.
    There was no rejoicing among the