Kushiel's Mercy

concentrated on my footwork, I could still remember the feel of the warm deck beneath my bare feet. I’d been so grateful for his attention, for his loving patience.
    My heart wasn’t in it today.
    My heart was in the Palace, agonizing for Sidonie as she prepared to hear Astegal of Carthage lovingly eulogized, worrying about the charm holding. It was with Alais and, gods help me, Barquiel L’Envers as they went about the terrible chore of raising an ever-larger army. I fought mechanically. My feet remembered the steps of their own accord.
    My thigh throbbed. My arms remembered the dull exhaustion I’d felt outside the gates of Amílcar, my muscles quivering with the aftermath of untold blows and parries.
    Too many memories.
    The dead; thousands of dead. Dead Amazigh, dead Carthaginians, dead Nubians . . . and, ah, Elua have mercy! Thousands of dead Euskerri. The flower of a generation.
    “Not bad.” We were both breathing hard when Joscelin called for a halt. He smiled at me, his summer-blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’ve kept up your training.”
    “Yes.” I forced the word past the tightness in my throat. “I’ve tried.”
    Joscelin clapped my back. “Good man.”
    When the hour arrived to depart for the Temple of Elua, it was almost a relief. Our carriage was draped with swags of black mourning-cloth and the headstalls of the horses had been dyed black. Our escort of outriders wore the forest-green and gold livery of House Montrève, but each man sported a black armband. We proceeded somberly through the streets of the City. Black cloth, black paint, black armbands. I remembered entering the City with Sidonie . . . how long ago? Almost two years. The black armbands, the down-turned thumbs.
    This was different.
    That had been a bitter reminder of my mother’s legacy. This was a city in mourning.
    Mourning Astegal of Carthage, who had stolen away the love of my life, whose ambition had turned all those I loved against all they held dear. On the streets, men and women wept openly. I gazed out the window at their faces, my heart aching. And I allowed myself the fierce consolation of remembering the quiver that had run the length of my blade when Astegal had died, of Sidonie’s hand firm atop mine on the hilt and her unflinching courage.
    And Astegal’s damned head on a pike, his slack jaw gaping.
    The Temple of Elua was thronged with mourners and guards. In the vestibule, I pried off my boots quickly and slipped through the crowd in the inner garden sanctum to find Sidonie. She was with Drustan and Ysandre and Brother Thomas Jubert at the base of Elua’s effigy, Kratos at her side. I saw her head turn as I made my way toward her. The quick flair of relief in her eyes eased a tight knot inside me.
    “Imriel.” Sidonie greeted me carefully. “I thought to see you at the Palace this morning.”
    I gave her a brief bow. “Forgive me. Are you well?”
    Her shoulders twitched. “I’m enduring.”
    “Imri!” Phèdre’s voice behind me held a note of despairing reproach. “I’m sorry, your highness. I asked him not to trouble you.”
    “He’s no trouble, my lady.” Sidonie smiled at her with a mixture of sweetness and sorrow.
    “I quite missed his presence this morning. In a strange way, I feel I’ve lost a sister and gained a brother.” She laid her hand on my arm. That irrepressible spark leapt between us, giving the lie to her words, but we’d had long practice in dissembling. “I know you’ve missed him, but I hope you’ll spare me his company from time to time.”
    “Of course,” Phèdre said without hesitation. “For as long as you like.”
    “He doesn’t think of you as a sister,” Ysandre noted suspiciously.
    “I’m trying,” I said humbly.
    Drustan gave me a hard look. “See that your man Kratos keeps an eye on him,” he said to Sidonie.
    She inclined her head. “Of course, Father. I only wish to have the comfort of family around me on this dark day.”
    Brother Thomas cleared his throat. “Speaking of which, we should begin, child.” He took Sidonie’s hands. “Are you prepared?”
    “I am, my lord.”
    The priest released her hands and took his place before the plinth on which Elua’s effigy stood. He spread his arms, echoing the pose of the massive effigy behind him. The crowd ceased its murmuring and fell silent. Brother Thomas was a big man. I remembered how he’d reminded me of Berlik when I’d first seen him, with his black hair and light grey