Kushiel's Mercy

her head and began to speak.
    In the end, I daresay it was Barquiel L’Envers’ long-standing and well-known dislike of me that sold my end of the tale. They knew he’d helped me get out of the City. When Sidonie stated her belief that he’d done it to get me out of the way for good, it struck a chord. We already knew Joscelin believed it to be true.
    “No doubt Uncle Barquiel believed Astegal would be swift to dispatch Imriel when he showed up in Carthage with this mad fantasy of rescuing me.” Sidonie’s voice softened.
    “But he didn’t know my husband. Astegal took pity on Imriel and had his physicians treat him as best they could. He was kind that way. He had a generous, noble heart.”
    Everyone nodded.
    I swallowed my bile and tried to look humble.
    “And what do you believe now , Imriel de la Courcel?” Drustan asked in an implacable tone.
    I spread my hands. “I believe whatever Sidonie tells me. I know there are thoughts in my head that are wrong. I know Sidonie doesn’t love me. I saw that in Carthage. But I believe whatever she tells me, and I would never do anything to harm her or any of you. I just don’t want to be sent away again.”
    I sounded like a simpleton to my own ears, but they seemed willing to accept it.
    “This is Kratos.” Sidonie switched to Hellene, laying a hand on Kratos’ arm. “He was my lord’s most trusted bodyguard, the companion of his childhood. At Astegal’s command, he has seen me safe these long weeks. Now that we are here, he has agreed to keep watch over poor Imriel.”
    Kratos bowed.
    Ysandre eyed him coolly and spoke in fluent Hellene. “I do not recall seeing this man when General Astegal’s delegation was here, and he has a rather memorable face.”
    Beads of sweat broke out on my brow. It wasn’t a challenge any of us had anticipated.
    Gods, this was hard! They might have been in the grip of madness and paranoia and easily misled in some ways, but neither Drustan nor Ysandre had lost their faculties.
    “No, your majesty.” Kratos offered another bow. “I was a wedding gift.”
    Her brows rose. “A wedding gift?”
    “My service was to the greater House of Sarkal.” Kratos pressed a fist to his chest. “My lord Astegal’s mother released me into the service of her son’s household that he might have one retainer he trusted beyond all doubt to watch over that which was most precious to him.”
    If I hadn’t known better, I would have believed he spoke with absolute sincerity and conviction. Ysandre relaxed, and I thanked the gods for Kratos and his quick wits.
    “And a wise woman my lord’s mother proved to be,” Sidonie murmured in D’Angeline.
    “For in the end, the House of Sarkal was betrayed.”
    Although the rest of the tale was almost entirely a skein of lies, Sidonie spun it artfully, telling them how when word of Astegal’s death reached New Carthage, the city devolved into bitter factions grasping for power. That was a familiar notion that fell on willing ears.
    She told them that on Astegal’s orders, she was to flee with his kinsman Bodeshmun back to Carthage proper; but before it could be arranged, Bodeshmun was slain by the treachery of Gillimas of Hiram, who bribed the Amazigh guards. He’d told her of the protective gem, bade her to flee to the City of Elua instead of Carthage, to find the gem and renew its charm.
    Sidonie had witnessed violent death since she’d left her parents’ side. Her description of Bodeshmun’s end, his gasped words and dying rattle, rang horribly true. And through it all ran that raw thread of genuine anguish, giving the weight of truth to her lies.
    “I’m sorry, my dear,” Ysandre said when Sidonie finished. The unexpected gentleness in her voice brought a lump to my throat. Ysandre glanced at Drustan. “We didn’t mean to doubt you. It’s just . . .”
    “I know.” Sidonie shivered. “Alais.”
    “You’ve heard?” Drustan asked gravely.
    She nodded. “But why ? Why would she do it? I don’t understand.”
    “No one does. There are theories. But we’ll talk about that on the morrow. You should rest. You must be weary to the bone and grief-stricken atop it.” Ysandre rested her hands on her daughter’s shoulders and gazed into her eyes. “Sidonie, I am so very, very sorry about Astegal’s death.”
    “Thank you.” The words were choked. I had to look away as Ysandre enfolded her in a comforting embrace. I couldn’t bear to see Sidonie cling to what was left of