Kushiel's Mercy

grateful.”
    “Does it still itch and burn?” I asked.
    “All the time,” Sidonie said. “Yours didn’t?”
    “No.” I frowned. “Only when Morwen summoned me or when I thought of you. It was all tied to my desire and longing.”
    “I suppose Bodeshmun’s spell is a constant.” She glanced involuntarily toward the east.
    “It does seem to get a little easier to bear as we travel. Or mayhap I’m merely growing accustomed to it.”
    “It’s possible,” I said. “At any rate, we’ve plenty of quandaries for the academy of magic you envision us founding for our legacy to study.”
    Sidonie shuddered to the bone. “At this point, I’d be overjoyed to earn the legacy of having averted civil war in Terre d’Ange.”
    It took us three days to reach Turnone. We arrived shortly before sunset and waited at the base of the steep, winding road while Marc Faucon and a couple of his men went to alert the palace and ensure our entry into the city was secure. I leaned out the window of the carriage and gazed up at the forbidding walls. It would indeed be a difficult place to besiege; in that L’Envers had chosen wisely. But in the end that would only prolong the inevitable.
    Dusk was falling as Faucon rode back to inform us that all was in readiness. We closed the carriage curtains and began our ascent, jolting upward in muffled darkness. It seemed to take forever, but at last the road leveled. We heard Faucon exchange a word with the guards in the gatehouse, then the creak of the gates being opened. The carriage moved forward.
    I could hear the sound of other horses, other carriages, occasional voices calling out greetings to friends. Not many. For a D’Angeline city at nightfall, it was quiet. Then again, I suppose there wasn’t much revelry in the cities of Terre d’Ange these days. I remembered the uncertain mood that had gripped Marsilikos before I left. That could only have deepened.
    Our carriage drew to a halt.
    “Put up your hoods,” Marc Faucon said in a low voice beyond the window. That had been part of Henri Voisin’s resourcefulness; he’d provided us both with heavy cloaks with deep, concealing hoods.
    I tucked an errant lock of Sidonie’s hair into hers. “Mind it doesn’t blow off this time, love.”
    She nodded without smiling.
    I couldn’t see much of the palace as we entered. I kept my head lowered, and the hood obscured the sides of my vision. It was large enough that our footsteps echoed. By the chill that permeated the place, I guessed it was old and poorly heated. It smelled like stone. I could hear Kratos’ heavy, familiar tread behind me. His presence felt reassuring.
    He believed more strongly than anyone that this unlikely tale into which he’d found himself thrust would end happily. I wished I had his faith.
    Faucon spoke to another guard. A door opened and Sidonie and I were ushered into a warmer room while the others waited. I could hear a fire crackling. The door closed behind us.
    “It’s safe,” a man’s voice said. I recognized it.
    I lifted my head and drew back my hood. Beside me, Sidonie did the same.
    “Oh, Elua !” Standing before us, Alais covered her mouth. Her violet eyes glistened with tears as she gazed at both of us. “Is it true? Is it really true?”
    “Yes, dear,” Sidonie said softly.
    Alais caught her breath on an indrawn sob, took a step forward, and flung her arms around Sidonie’s neck. Sidonie closed her eyes and embraced Alais, whispering words I couldn’t hear into her ear. When all was said and done, I might regard Alais as the sister of my heart, but Sidonie was her flesh and blood. They were Ysandre and Drustan’s only heirs and the bond they shared ran deep.
    I found myself left to meet Barquiel L’Envers’ gaze: the same lovely eyes as his niece and grandniece, set in a lined face grown ten years older since last I’d seen it. For the first time in my life, there was nothing but respect in it.
    “So you did it,” he said. “You found her and freed her.”
    “Yes,” I said simply.
    Alais released Sidonie, although she caught her older sister’s hand in a hard grip. With the heel of her other hand, she rubbed at her tears. “I’m sorry. It’s just been so awful. You can’t imagine.”
    “I know.” Sidonie squeezed Alais’ hand. “But I’ve a passing good idea, love. You need to tell us everything. Did our messenger not arrive?”
    “The Euskerri lad?” L’Envers inquired. “Yes, he did.”
    “He bore the