Kushiel's Mercy

in distant Meroë, a talisman in its own right.
    A reminder of heroes.
    “Are you ready?” Phèdre asked as I descended the stair. “We’re nearly late.”
    I nodded. “I’m ready.”
    We rode by carriage to the Palace. The mood in the City had shifted yet again. It had turned proud and somber. Folk saluted as we passed. Our outriders returned their salutes.
    War. We teetered on the precipice of war.
    And the gods remained silent.
    Once again, folk made way for us in the Hall of Audience. A heavy silence hung over the hall. The eternal susurrus of gossip and speculation had been stilled. I never thought I’d miss it. Instead, there were only the sounds of people breathing, the rustle of fabric, the creak of armor. An ocean of armor, bright with the crests of dozens of the Great Houses of Terre d’Ange. Almost the entire Parliament had been present the night Bodeshmun wrought his magic, many of them attended by their own men-at-arms. All of their forces would be serving.
    We took our places at the head of the crowd. The thrones had been removed from the hall.
    Only the dais remained, the dais and that cursed gem-painting. Ysandre, Drustan, and Sidonie stood on the dais, still as a tableau. Drustan wore full armor. His breastplate was worked with the twin insignias of the Black Boar of the Cullach Gorrym and the Silver Swan of House Courcel. Sidonie didn’t so much as glance in my direction.
    The crowd waited.
    “My lords and ladies,” Ysandre said in a grave voice, “I took the throne at a young age, facing what I believed would be the most dire threat of my lifetime. I was wrong. We have been betrayed. Betrayed by a terrible, cunning cabal. Betrayed by ambition and greed. Betrayed by forces we may never fathom.”
    The gods alone knew how horribly true that was, I thought.
    Ysandre’s voice rose. “But if those who poise themselves to strike at the very heart of Terre d’Ange think to bring us to our knees, they are mistaken! Today, this day, in the presence of all here assembled, I declare war on Alais de la Courcel, Barquiel L’Envers, their rebel army, and all who support them!”
    The silence broke, cheers crashing like waves. I closed my eyes, feeling the blood pound in my ears.
    When the noise dimmed, Drustan spoke. “Terre d’Ange is not the country of my birth, but I have come to love her. I have shed my blood for her before. I go forth willingly today to do so once more.” He paused. “Whether we succeed or fail is in the hands of the gods, yours and mine. I go forth in the hope that they grant our prayers, that the resistance will collapse and I will return to stand before you and call upon you to send the valiant army of Terre d’Ange to Alba to unseat my usurping nephew. And I go forth in perfect faith that if we fail, the effort will not have been in vain. History will remember this day.
    History will remember all of us as heroes.”
    The cheers rose again, loud and deafening. The clamor echoed inside my aching head.
    My skin felt tight.
    Ghislain nó Trevalion stepped forward and bowed toward the dais, then drew his sword in a crisp salute. Drustan drew his own sword and returned the salute.
    “Make way!” Ysandre cried. “Make way for Drustan mab Necthana, the Cruarch of Alba, and Ghislain nó Trevalion, the Royal Commander of Terre d’Ange! They shall lead us now to Elua’s Square, where we will repeat this declaration for all the City to hear. And thence onward, onward to war!”
    The crowd began to part, cheering. The sound battered me. The sunlight slanting from the high windows glittered on a sea of armor. I should have slept more, eaten more. I was swept along with the throng, shoved to the side, dizzy and . . .
    No.
    The clamor was inside me, filling me, all of me. The silent gods were speaking, speaking to me, speaking through me. I listened. A sharp stab of joy went through me . . . and, ah, Elua! Everything changed. I’d begged Blessed Elua to use me as he willed. He had answered. They had all answered. Hope and desire and tenderness and pride and ferocity and compassion, all filling me, lifting my heart. Emotions I couldn’t name, glorious and wondrous. The brightness was inside me.
    I was a chalice filled with light.
    I walked forward into the corridor, my hands unbuckling my sword-belt without a conscious thought. Before the dais, I let it fall. Behind me, I could hear the familiar murmurs rising. I wanted to laugh for joy.
    I gazed at their faces. At Drustan,