Kushiel's Mercy

with tenderness.
    I wanted it.
    Blessed Elua, I wanted it.
    And I loved her.
    Somehow it made all the difference in the world. There in Kushiel’s temple, I gathered up all my fear, took a deep breath, and let it go.
    Sidonie knew. We had dined apart that evening. The Queen was entertaining an ambassador from Euskerria, a territory that lay betwixt Aragonia and the south of Terre d’Ange, and she wanted her heir present. The dinner ran late, and I was in her chambers before she returned, thoughtful and talkative.
    “Imriel, you spent your childhood in Siovale,” she said in absentminded greeting. “What do you know about . . .” Her voice trailed off as she glanced around the salon. It was ablaze with candles.
    “The Euskerri?” I suggested.
    Sidonie nodded.
    “Not much,” I said. “In the south, they were made scapegoats in the same way the Tsingani were, blamed for goat stealing and the like. I daresay there’s as much truth to it.
    Do you want to talk about it now or later?”
    Her throat moved as she swallowed. “Later.”
    “All right.” I put down the book I’d been reading. “Take off your clothes.”
    “Here?” she asked.
    “Here.” I cocked a brow at her. “The drapes are drawn, Sun Princess. There’s no one here.
    You’ve ridden me on this very couch. Are you suddenly overcome with modesty?”
    “No.” Sidonie shook her head. Amber drops hanging from her ears shivered, catching the light. “It’s just . . . different.”
    “Yes,” I said. “It is.”
    I didn’t say anything else, only watched her. After a long moment, Sidonie began to disrobe, unlacing the bodice of her gown. Her fingers trembled a little and her breath was beginning to quicken. The air between us felt charged. “What . . . what do you want me to do with this?” she asked, the satin folds of her gown overflowing her arms.
    “Put it there.” I nodded at the arm of the couch.
    Sidonie obeyed. The candlelight gleamed on her bare skin as she returned to the center of the room, naked and vulnerable. I made myself breathe slowly, trying to rein in my desire.
    “Kneel,” I said. She knelt, neat and composed, her hands folded in her lap. “Clasp your hands behind your neck.” She obeyed. The pose arched her back and thrust her breasts outward. I closed my eyes briefly. “Have you chosen a signale ?”
    She shook her head. “No.”
    “Think about it.” I picked up my book. “When I ask, you will tell me.”
    The silence grew and stretched between us. I glanced up a few times to find her watching me, intent and wondering. Each time, I returned to my book. It was a treatise by a Hellene philosopher on the nature of love. I made myself read the words, but for all I grasped of their meaning, it might as well have been written in Ch’in. The candles burned steadily, wax dripping.
    “Imriel.” Sidonie’s voice sounded small. “I’m bored and my arms are getting tired.”
    I shot her a hard look. She returned it with a mixture of defiance and uncertainty. I closed my book, marking the page with one finger. “We can put a halt to this here and now.”
    Her chin rose. “No.”
    I smiled. “Good girl.”
    I waited a long time. I could feel her watching me, the cord that bound us together drawn taut. But Sidonie didn’t speak again, not even when her arms began to quiver with the strain of keeping them raised, hands clasped as I’d ordered. At last I put down my book and crossed over to crouch before her.
    “I love you,” I said to her. “You know that I would never harm you.”
    Sidonie nodded, her eyes grave and unfathomable.
    “Go into the bedroom,” I said. “There’s an item in the bedside cupboard that wasn’t there before. Bring it here.”
    She lowered her arms and rose unsteadily. I caught her elbow. Desire flared at a single touch. I let her go. Sidonie gave me a quick, flickering smile, then went to obey. She returned with a short braided whip, kneeling without asking and laying it at my feet. The black leather shone dully. It was lambskin with a long, soft tassel at the tip. I stooped to pick up the whip, then circled her, letting the tassel trail over her bare skin and watching her shiver.
    “What did Amarante tell you about seeking pleasure in haste?” I asked.
    Her breasts rose and fell, breath quickening again. “If you rush too quickly through all the pleasures Naamah’s arts offer, they will lose their savor.”
    “Even so.” I nodded. “If you’re good, once a month, I