Kushiel's Mercy

executioner’s sword dropped from his nerveless right hand.
    For a moment he merely stood and swayed. Then he sank slowly to his knees. And as he sank, I withdrew my blade with a ruthless wrench.
    “All that passion you’re so quick to boast of didn’t belong to you, Astegal,” I said in a cold voice. “It never did. You took it and twisted it to your own ends, you and Bodeshmun. And I will tell you what I told him while I watched him die. It is not wise to meddle with D’Angelines in matters of love.”
    On his knees, Astegal grimaced and clutched the wound in his belly with both hands, holding his entrails in place. “You promised me a warrior’s death,” he said hoarsely.
    “Grant me the mercy of the battlefield and make it swift.”
    “Mercy.” I placed the tip of my bloodstained blade over his heart. “Mercy is not mine to grant.” I turned my head toward Sidonie and addressed her formally. She was my beloved, but she was also the Dauphine of Terre d’Ange. “Your highness?”
    If there was anyone present who would have denied her the right, they stayed silent. I would have given her the sword if she had wished. Instead, Sidonie approached and laid her hand over mine on the hilt.
    We would do this together.
    She gazed down at Astegal. When she spoke, her voice was cool and venomous. “How fitting that in the end you should plead for the sweet release of one final thrust.”
    Astegal didn’t reply. Through the pain that racked his features, I saw a complex mix of emotions: anger, shame, bitterness, and regret. I couldn’t see Sidonie’s expression, and mayhap it was just as well.
    Sidonie’s hand tightened on mine.
    Together we drove the blade home and granted Astegal mercy. I could feel a shudder the length of the blade as he died. Sidonie never flinched.

Sixty-Seven

    On the heels of Astegal’s death, there was a great outcry of bloodthirsty cheers in the plaza. It hadn’t been Aragonian justice, but it had been a spectacle beyond their wildest dreams. The executioner dragged Astegal’s lifeless body into place, positioning his head on the chopping-block. He retrieved his sword with grim determination and hewed Astegal’s head from his body.
    At that Sidonie turned away and hid her face against my chest. I held her gently. Astegal would have been a tyrant, but she’d believed herself in love with him for long months. In the beginning she had seen glimmers of nobility in him about which she still wondered.
    I understood.
    The executioner mounted Astegal’s head on a long pike. I found myself thinking once more of Berlik. He’d looked peaceful in death. Astegal didn’t. He looked sad and foolish, his face fixed in a grimace. His mouth hung open, his narrow crimson beard looking like blood drooling over his chin. His heavy-lidded eyes were half-open, showing the whites.
    “Behold!” Serafin L’Envers y Aragon shouted. “ This is the fate of those who would seek to conquer Aragonia!”
    The crowd roared their approval. Sidonie shivered and raised her head.
    “Are you—” I began.
    “I’m all right,” she said. “Or I will be.” She searched my face. “You could have killed him cleanly, couldn’t you?”
    “Yes.” I didn’t elaborate.
    “You keep your promises,” Sidonie murmured. “Thank you.”
    “Shall we go home?” I asked.
    She nodded. “Please.”
    It was a few hours before we were able to depart. Captain Deimos didn’t have his new ship in full readiness. Lady Nicola insisted that her chirurgeon tend to the cut Astegal had inflicted on Sidonie’s throat. It wasn’t serious, but it was deep enough to warrant bandaging.
    “I am so perishing sick of blood,” Sidonie said as I washed the dried residue from her throat and chest while we waited for Rachel.
    “So am I, love,” I said. “So am I.”
    It was a bit before noon when Kratos came from the harbor to report that Deimos’ ship was ready to sail. I greeted him with pleasure. His blunt, homely face was filled with awe.
    “I wasn’t able to get close enough to see,” Kratos said. “But I heard how you killed that bastard.”
    “It’s done,” Sidonie said.
    “Done, and done well.” He pointed a thick finger at her. “You and my lord here did exactly what was needful. Don’t you ever be ashamed of it, your highness. Not for one instant of one day.”
    It made her smile, which gladdened me. “Thank you, Kratos. I’m not. I just want to go home and see my own country safe.”
    A sizable