Kushiel's Mercy

I was bound by it myself. It was Imriel who freed me from it.” I started, struck by an awful realization.
    Sidonie continued. “Since then, we have been working to undo what was done.
    Carthage’s forces were dealt a grievous defeat at Amílcar. General Astegal is dead.” Her face hardened. “Even now, his head adorns a pike in the Plaza del Rey. And Imriel and I possess the key to undoing the spell that binds the City of Elua and all who were in it that fateful night.”
    “Sidonie.” I touched her arm. “You can’t go ashore.”
    She stared at me. “What?”
    I felt sick. “I’m a fool. In all that’s happened, I forgot. You’re free of the spell that had you believing yourself in love with Astegal. The one that was worked on you alone. Not the other, not the ghafrid-gebla . The demon-stone.” I could see Henri Voisin’s expression out of the corner of my eye and I realized I sounded mad, but it couldn’t be helped.
    “Ptolemy Solon said it would reassert itself if you—or anyone—returned to D’Angeline soil.”
    Sidonie closed her eyes. “Ah, gods!”

Sixty-Eight

    If it hadn’t been for what had befallen Drustan mab Necthana earlier in the year, I daresay Henri Voisin would never have given full credence to our tale.
    It wasn’t swift. In the end, all of us talked ourselves dry. Sidonie and I related the entire tale of what we had endured. In turn, Voisin told us what had happened in our absence.
    Some of it, we knew. Barquiel L’Envers had raised a delegation and sent for Alais. She’d come. All together, they’d sought to persuade Ysandre and Drustan that they and the entire City were ensorceled. Ysandre had declared them in rebellion against the Crown.
    Alais and L’Envers had retreated to Turnone and begun the reluctant work of raising an army. Since late autumn, Alais had served as the de facto ruler of Terre d’Ange, aided by a shadow Parliament of lords and ladies from the Lesser Houses, with L’Envers serving as her Royal Commander. Throughout much of the realm, Turnone was regarded as the new seat of rule.
    The Royal Army was ensconced in the City of Elua, guarding it fiercely. Quintilius Rousse and his six ships were blockading the harbor of Marsilikos, monitoring who came and went. L’Envers had ordered Henri Voisin and his ships, those who had not been present in the City the night of the marvel, to ward the mouth of the Aviline River, fearing an assault from Carthage should they prevail in Aragonia.
    As far as an incised emerald gem went, Voisin knew nothing.
    But what he did know was that Drustan mab Necthana had returned to Alba with the intention of bringing an Alban army to Terre d’Ange to support the Queen. And there, his wits had cleared.
    Until he returned to Terre d’Ange with a larger force at his back, bent on talking sense into Ysandre.
    “It’s only rumors,” Voisin said. “But they say the Cruarch went mad again once they landed. Him and the honor guard that had travelled with him the first time. When his officers tried to reason with him, he accused them of treason and lit out for the City with his guards. No one tried to stop him.”
    “It’s the spell,” I murmured. “It’s malevolent at its core.”
    “Mayhap,” he said cautiously. “As her highness said, matters are growing worse.” He paused, then delivered the worst news yet. “Last week, at the spring equinox, her majesty issued a threat.” He spoke the words as though they pained him. “She said if her highness Alais and your uncle and every man and woman aiding them did not surrender and plead for clemency by the next full moon, she would declare war on them.”
    I stared at him in shock. “That soon? Was she serious?”
    “I don’t know,” Voisin said. “But I’m afraid it’s possible.”
    “Ah, gods! That means we’ve precious little time. We need to talk to Alais and my uncle,” Sidonie muttered. “We need to know . We don’t dare ride blind into the City of Elua.”
    “You can’t , love,” I observed. “I’ll have to go alone.”
    Her eyes glittered. “Is there no way?”
    I opened my mouth to say no, and my thoughts went to the croonie-stone I carried in my purse—smooth and polished granite, a hole at its center. A reminder of what I had endured. A reminder of what I had lost—Dorelei and our son. I remembered its weight around my neck, the bindings of red thread around my wrists and ankles. Alban magic. It had been given me by an ollamh . It had