Kushiel's Mercy

“Phèdre was right. I should never have let you continue in this mad hunt. It’s made you worse.”
    “Joscelin—”
    He shook his head. “I promised Ysandre I’d keep you out of the way. Kratos was kind enough to assist. And it was just barely enough to keep her from throwing you in the dungeon for safekeeping. You’re not going anywhere near the Square, now or anytime soon.”
    I closed my eyes. “I am begging you to please, please trust me, Joscelin.”
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t. Not in this. You’re not well .”
    I opened my eyes. “Kratos.”
    Kratos didn’t hesitate. He seized Joscelin from behind, pinning his arms—or at least seeking to. But strong and skilled as he was, he’d not reckoned on the highly trained reflexes of a Cassiline Brother. Joscelin twisted and struggled, working his right-hand dagger free of its sheath, and stabbing backward at a low, awkward angle. It was enough.
    Kratos grunted as it plunged into his thigh, his arms loosening.
    Joscelin broke free, yanking the dagger with him and drawing his left-hand dagger to match it. He settled into a defensive stance, vambraces crossed, eyes wild with sudden shock and suspicion. “What in the hell is this, Imri? Is it treason after all?”
    Kratos took a lurching step toward him.
    “Don’t!” Joscelin flipped his right dagger, holding it by the bloody tip. “One more step and I’ll plant this in his throat.”
    “Hold,” I said to Kratos. “Stay back.” I raised my empty hands to Joscelin. “I don’t want to fight you. Please, just let me pass. I need to get to the Square.”
    “Is it Alais?” Joscelin asked, angry and bewildered. “Are you in league with her? What are you doing? What scheme is this? Does it have aught to do with your mother?” I glanced past him toward the far end of the hall, thinking that if I could get past Joscelin, I could beat him in a foot-race. “Oh, no.” He reversed his dagger again, grasping the hilt and setting himself against me. “You’re not going anywhere.”
    I took a deep breath. “Joscelin Verreuil, as a Prince of the Blood and a member of House Courcel, I am ordering you to stand down.”
    “I’m obeying her majesty’s orders,” he said. “You’ve no authority to countermand them.”
    Kratos attempted to sidle around him, limping. Joscelin took a few steps backward, better positioning himself to guard both of us. “You’re staying here until Ysandre and the Palace Guard return.” He pointed at Kratos with the tip of one dagger. “And I swear to Elua, if this man moves again, I will throw on him.”
    “He means it,” I said to Kratos in Hellene. “He can kill you in the blink of an eye.”
    Kratos nodded stoically. “What will you?”
    What I willed, what I longed for, was the wondrous, glorious certainty that had filled me: the voices of Blessed Elua and his Companions. I wanted it back. I wanted it to have worked in the first place. But mayhap I wasn’t a flawed vessel after all. Mayhap words spoken to me long ago in Lucca were true: the gods answer our prayers sideways at best.
    I had my answer. I had the key to finding the gem, to saving Terre d’Ange.
    And the man I loved and honored above all others stood between me and my goal.
    I drew my sword. “I don’t want to do this.”
    “Then don’t,” Joscelin said steadily.
    I shook my head. It had gone too far. Kratos was exposed. We’d both be accused of sedition, mayhap of treason. Mayhap they’d still look for the demon-stone and find it.
    What then? Sidonie’s memory had slipped away, and with it, the key to unlocking the spell. Others had it. Alais and L’Envers. They could use it once they took the City if they could find the gem. But by then there wouldn’t be much left to save.
    “I have to try,” I said, and advanced on him.
    Elua! We’d sparred so many times, Joscelin and I. I never, ever thought we’d duel in earnest. Not in a thousand years. And it wasn’t . . . not quite. Not yet. My sword clattered off his vambraces. Joscelin made a deft move to attempt to trap it with the curved quillons of his daggers. I made a deft move to evade it. We circled one another, trading reluctant blows.
    “What did we do wrong, Imri?” There was a note of anguish in Joscelin’s voice. “Was there aught you wanted that we failed to provide?”
    “No.” I feinted at his left. He was slower to parry on his left side where his arm had been badly broken in Daršanga. But my head was