Kushiel's Mercy

impossible to think of war on such a day,” Sidonie said wistfully.
    “I know.” I laid my hand on a sun-warmed trunk, thinking about the night years ago when I’d stood atop the walls of Lucca with Deccus Fulvius, watching the ancient olive groves outside the city go up in flames. “But even without magic’s urging, men will make war despite all the beauty in the world.”
    “As a child, one of my favorite stories was hearing how my mother averted a civil war in Terre d’Ange.” She glanced unerringly toward the north. “How she refused when Lord Amaury begged her to raise an army in Caerdicca Unitas and rode toward the City with only a small escort, throwing coins to the folk along the way that they might know her face, that they might know their Queen had returned, alive and well.”
    “And a throng of people trailed after her,” I said softly. “Farmers and weavers, beekeepers and chandlers.”
    “And children.” Sidonie’s voice broke on the word.
    “And children,” I echoed. “And when they reached the City of Elua, they never halted.
    Arrows rained down upon them, and they answered with showers of coin. Ysandre de la Courcel rode forward, flanked only by the ranks of the Unforgiven. The rebel soldiers gazed at the coins in their hands and wept, knowing they’d been fed a lie. They laid down their arms and knelt.”
    “Yes.” Sidonie wiped her eyes.
    I was quiet. I knew the tale well; indeed, the coins had been Phèdre’s idea. But it was different for Sidonie. Ysandre was her mother as well as the Queen. If Terre d’Ange went to war, it would be on her order. To have that great legacy of courage and valor lost forever was an ache too deep for words.
    And Phèdre and Joscelin . . .
    That, I couldn’t bear to think.
    “They averted a war and restored peace,” I said. “We will do the same. We’ll bring the circle around to a full close. We won’t fail them, Sidonie.”
    She didn’t answer, only nodded.
    Shortly thereafter, Marc Faucon returned with word. Gilbert Dumel had received L’Envers’ message and he was prepared to ferry us into the City, but he advised that we wait until nightfall to enter Yvens. And so once more, we waited. Faucon’s men had brought savory meat pies, fresh bread, and goat cheese back with them from the village, but the thought of food made my stomach churn.
    Come nightfall, we entered the village.
    It had the same eerie quietude as Turnone and every other town we’d passed through on our journey. Through a gap in the curtains, I could see that lamplight glowed in the windows of the houses, but the streets were empty. We passed Yvens’ single inn and it appeared almost empty. On a pleasant spring evening like this, the village should have been alive with music, young lovers turning out in droves to court one another.
    “Elua!” Sidonie whispered. “It’s like the realm’s already in mourning.”
    “I fear it is,” I said soberly.
    The barge was waiting at the wharf. I remembered its captain, Gilbert: a taciturn fellow who’d given me a wide berth when he’d brought me to Marsilikos, the tales of my raving madness fresh in his mind. I must have looked godawful, worn to bone and sinew from a month of deprivation, my wrists scabbed. Now he gazed at our hooded figures in wonderment as we boarded the barge. Once he’d escorted us to a cabin, he asked the question it seemed nearly everyone did. “Is it true?”
    Gods, there was so much pain in the question. He didn’t gasp when we shed our hoods, but tears glittered in his eyes.
    “It’s true,” Sidonie said to him. “We’re here to try to undo the madness.”
    Gilbert Dumel was a man of few words; he went to one knee and bowed his head, then left us.
    My injured leg was aching. I sat on the narrow bunk. Sidonie stood in the cabin. Both of us listened to the sounds of the barge making ready to depart. Kratos’ heavy tread, other footsteps. Faucon and six of his men would accompany us to the City of Elua, posing as barge-hands. If there was any news to impart, good or ill, they would serve as couriers.
    We listened to the soft calls of the real barge-hands, Gilbert’s terse orders.
    And then there was the sound of oars dipping. The barge slid slowly into the darkened river.
    “How long do you suppose?” Sidonie murmured.
    “About a day and a half,” I said. “We’re like to reach the City on the morning after tomorrow.”
    A single lantern hung from a hook in the cabin’s ceiling,