Kushiel's Mercy

key,” I said. “A word, the word.” I fumbled in my purse and fetched out Bodeshmun’s talisman. A scrap of lacquered leather, a whirlwind sprouting fangs and horns. “ Emmenghanom . What happened? Did you not use it?”
    Barquiel L’Envers spread his arms. “On what ?”
    Sidonie and I exchanged glances.
    “You didn’t find the demon-stone,” I said quietly.
    “No.” L’Envers’ face was set and hard. “I received the letter you sent from Cythera.
    Before matters with Ysandre came to a head, I searched to the best of my abilities. So did others. We found no emerald gem inscribed with sigils on the premises of the Palace or anywhere in the City.”
    “It’s there.” Sidonie freed her hand from Alais’ clasp and scratched impatiently at her bindings. “It has to be. Did you search the whole of the treasury? Did you—”
    “Sidonie.” I interrupted her. “Once we start this conversation in earnest, I suspect we’ll be at it all night. I know time’s short, but I’m road-weary, dirty, and hungry, and my leg aches. I imagine Kratos and Faucon and his men are waiting on us, too. Do you think it might wait an hour?”
    “Elua!” It was Alais who answered in a guilt-stricken voice. “I’m so sorry. Of course you are! I ordered a room made ready for you and there’s space in the barracks for your men . . . Let me tell the chamberlain to have a bath drawn, and I’ll have supper served here so we can speak privately, and . . . Imri, do you need a chirurgeon?”
    “No.” I smiled at Alais, my heart aching for her. “But I need a proper greeting.”
    “I’m sorry,” Alais whispered. She wrapped her arms around me. I rested my chin atop her black curls and returned her embrace, feeling a measure of nervous tension ebb from her.
    Her body felt thin and frail. The months of strain and uncertainty had taken a fearful toll on her.
    “It’s all right, love.” I forced all of Kratos’ assurance into my tone. “We’ll see everything put right. Don’t worry.”
    Alais sniffled. “Don’t patronize me.” Still, when she pulled away, I could see she’d taken heart from it.
    “And he does need a chirurgeon,” Sidonie added acerbically. “Even if it’s healing clean, I imagine it’s time for those stitches to be pulled.”
    Her sister nodded. “I’ll send Nathaniel Montague. He can be trusted. Almost everyone here can. How were you wounded, Imriel?” Alais paused, knitting her brow. “And why do you both want to be so secretive? It would bring everyone a great deal of hope and joy to know that you’ve returned safely.”
    “Imriel was injured in a battle. And we’re being careful because we’re not safe, dear,”
    Sidonie said in a gentle voice. She turned out her hands, showing the bindings on her wrists. “Imriel’s charm in the only thing standing between me and madness.”
    Alais gave me a startled look. “You wrought an ollamh ’s charm?”
    “So it seems,” I said. “And if we survive this, I’d love to hear your thoughts on it. But it’s not just that, Alais.” I took a deep breath. “We need that gem. And if it means Sidonie and I have to go to the City to search for it, I’d sooner your mother think us allies than enemies.”
    “The grieving widow and her deranged but harmless cousin,” Sidonie murmured.
    “Widow?” L’Envers asked sharply. “Is Astegal dead?”
    “Very,” I said.
    “So you really did marry him,” Alais said to her sister in wonderment. “You sailed away to Carthage and married him.”
    “Yes.” Sidonie didn’t offer anything further.
    After a moment, Alais gathered herself. “I’ll go speak to the chamberlain.”
    In a short while, Sidonie and I donned our hooded cloaks and were shown to a bedchamber where a steaming bath awaited. When I asked Alais if the household staff would find our mysterious presence suspicious, she gave me a look that was world-weary and old beyond her years.
    “These days? No.”
    Once we’d bathed, there was a discreet knock at the door. A voice beyond it announced himself as Nathaniel Montague. I admitted the chirurgeon, who was a slight fellow with blond hair and brown eyes that lit with a spark of hope at the sight of us. He bowed low.
    “It is my very great pleasure, your highnesses.”
    The gash was knitting cleanly, and Montague confirmed that the stitches should be pulled.
    I sat on the bed while he knelt and snipped each stitch with a tiny pair of shears, then tugged the lengths of black