Kushiel's Mercy

eyes. I remembered how I’d spoken to Brother Thomas and an assembly representing all the priesthoods of Elua’s Companions in an effort to convince them that my love for Sidonie was genuine. In the end, all of them had acknowledged the validity of our claim.
    And now he gave her husband’s eulogy.
    “We are gathered here today to honor the passing of Astegal, Prince of the House of Sarkal, General of Carthage, husband of the Dauphine of Terre d’Ange, her highness Sidonie de la Courcel,” Brother Thomas began. The crowd gave a collective sigh.
    “Astegal of Carthage was a man of great and daring vision,” the priest continued. “He came courting Terre d’Ange with his arms laden with gifts and his mind brimming with ideas. He captured our imagination and he captured the heart of our young Dauphine . . .”
    It went on at considerable length. I daresay it was well done. I did my best not to listen, concentrating instead on the beating of the blood in my veins. I stood behind Sidonie, near enough for her to feel my presence, not so close that it aroused suspicion. I couldn’t see her face, but I could feel the pain radiating from her as surely as though it were my own.
    At last he ended. “. . . pray that if Blessed Elua is merciful, they will find one another again in another life and live to see their dreams brought to fruition.” Brother Thomas bent his head to Sidonie. “You may speak now, my child.”
    “Thank you.” Sidonie took his place before the plinth. Her face was streaked with tears.
    “I will not . . .” Her voice shook. She clasped her hands together hard and willed it to steadiness. “I will not attempt to elaborate on the eloquent words Brother Thomas spoke.
    I can but thank him for bringing to life so beautifully the memory of the man with whom I fell in love and for whom I grieve today.”
    The sentence was delivered with seemingly perfect sincerity, and I knew in the marrow of my bones that those were the hardest words Sidonie had ever spoken. A few of the mourners sobbed aloud.
    She paused, collecting herself. “Astegal gave me many gifts during our too-short time together. He was as generous to me as he was to Terre d’Ange. But there is one gift he gave in secret—his greatest gift to me, to us, to the City of Elua. And it is of that gift I would speak on this fearful day, on the eve of a darker tomorrow.”
    In a clear, steady voice, with tears drying on her cheeks, Sidonie repeated the tale of Bodeshmun’s death and the hidden gem.
    She had inspired hope in Turnone and she inspired it here. I could feel the mood shift, hearts lifting. I watched Ysandre’s eyes shine with pride, Drustan rest his hand on his wife’s shoulder, nodding in approval. Ah, gods! They had every right to be proud of their heir. I prayed one day they would know why.
    “I beseech you.” Sidonie opened her arms, echoing the priest, echoing Blessed Elua himself. “All of you in Elua’s blessed City. Take up this search, leave no stone unturned.
    Amidst the tragedy of his death, let us lay claim to this last, best gift of my Astegal and snatch hope from despair, honor from treason.”
    They roared.
    It went on and on; promises and vows and pledges shouted with ferocious determination.
    The denizens of the City of Elua would raze the very foundations of the City to find Bodeshmun’s gem. Sidonie lowered her arms and stepped away from the plinth, stumbling a little. Kratos caught her, but it was my gaze she sought.
    “My Astegal,” Sidonie whispered beneath the roar, her voice catching in her throat, barely audible. “I feel sick.”
    “I know,” I murmured.
    That was all the comfort I could offer. As in Turnone, the throng pressed forward, offering their sympathies, offering their fierce vows. The guards beat them back, restoring order. I was pushed to the side, unheeded. I found Phèdre and Joscelin beside me once more, Joscelin shoving at the guardsmen with an unwonted curse as they crowded us.
    It didn’t matter.
    All that mattered was that Sidonie had succeeded. She’d been right; she had a role to play here. She had swayed them as no one else could have done: Ysandre’s very well trained heir, Astegal’s grieving widow.
    I prayed it was enough.
    And I prayed it was in time.

Seventy-Six

    “Look,” Phèdre said in wonderment, gazing out the window of the carriage as we rode to the reception following the service. “They’re tearing up the city.”
    It was true.
    Word had spread