Kushiel's Mercy

swaying gently. “Imriel.”
    Sidonie gazed at me. “Will you forgive me in advance for all that I might have to say or do to convince them of our tale?”
    “Need you ask?” I said.
    She smiled sadly. “For my sake, yes. I fear Alais and my uncle are right. This is going to be harder than either of us imagine. And I fear . . .” She laughed, but it was a tired, broken sound. “I fear I’ll have to find a new way of thinking about the pain of these damned bindings. Once we’re in the City, I don’t think I can allow myself the risk of thinking about you as I do.”
    “Not while playing the grieving widow,” I said.
    Sidonie nodded. “I’ll need to pull away from you. Elua knows, I don’t want to. I need you beside me now more than I ever did. But I’m afraid I can’t do this if I don’t.”
    “I understand.” I reached out and she came over to take my hand. “And yes, I forgive you in advance for aught you might have to say or do.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Always.” I squeezed her hand. “Do you need me to leave you alone tonight? I can sleep in the bunks below.”
    “No, not yet, please.” Sidonie shivered. “If you don’t mind, tonight I’d like you to hold me and tell me for the hundredth time that we will succeed, because the closer we get, the more frightened I am.”
    “Then I will,” I said.
    And so I did, over and over, while the barge glided through darkness, bearing us toward the City of Elua and our fears. I spun a tale of gladness and joy and made promises there was no way I could possibly keep. It didn’t matter. If we failed, no one in the world would care that for once I hadn’t kept my promise. And Sidonie knew my promises for lies, but the words comforted her nonetheless.
    At length, she slept.
    I lay awake and prayed to Blessed Elua and his Companions to grant mercy to their children and turn my lies to truth.

Seventy-Three

    The next day, Sidonie withdrew from everyone, spending long hours in the prow of the barge, cloaked and hooded, kneeling in a private vigil.
    “Is her highness wroth?” Marc Faucon asked me with concern.
    “No.” I shook my head. “Only preparing for what lies ahead. Leave her be.”
    I passed the day helping Kratos acquire a few more words of D’Angeline. All along the banks of the Aviline, there were signs of spring’s return: trees bursting into green-leafed glory, flowers blooming. Any other time the sight would have gladdened my heart, but it didn’t. Last night’s false promises tasted like ashes in my mouth. I was frightened, too.
    Elua knows, I’d known fear before, but not the kind of fear that accompanied having the fates of so many people I loved riding on my shoulders.
    And my role was easier than Sidonie’s. She had to convince the entire City she was mourning a man who had violated her very will, had to convince them to believe an intricate web of lies and truth. All I had to do was let them go on believing I was disordered in my wits. We’d considered telling them I’d been cured in Carthage, but that raised in turn the problem of explaining why the rest of the realm couldn’t be cured of their own apparent madness. In the end we had decided that the simplest, safest course was to let them continue believing as they did.
    When the sun was sinking low on the horizon, Sidonie rose. She paused briefly to address us. “I’ll be retiring for the night. Kratos, would you be kind enough to bring me something to eat?”
    He rose. “At once, my lady.”
    Her gaze shifted to meet mine. She gave me a quick, sad smile that broke my heart. “I’ll see you on the morrow.”
    “On the morrow,” I agreed.
    That night I made my bed belowdeck on a narrow bunk, surrounded by the snores and wheezes of men deep in slumber. And if I’d let myself, I could have lain awake all night in futile thought or desperate prayer, but there was no merit in it. My thoughts would only turn in helpless circles, and if Blessed Elua hadn’t heard our prayers by now, he never would. So instead, like a soldier preparing for battle, I forced myself to sleep.
    By the time I rose and made myself break my fast, the City was in sight.
    Like spring, the sight of those white walls shining in the distance had always been cause for gladness. Not today. I remembered all too well watching them recede as this very barge had carried me away. It had been summer then. Three seasons had passed since I’d left. The spell that gripped the City was malevolent at its