Kushiel's Mercy

still splitting and the dizziness and nausea hadn’t gone away. I was slow today. “No, I never wanted for aught.”
    “Did we not love you enough?” Joscelin asked softly.
    My eyes stung. I blinked to clear them. “No! Name of Elua, no!”
    Astegal of Carthage hadn’t succeeded in distracting me, but this . . . gods. It made me sick at heart, sick enough to break my concentration. Joscelin took advantage of it and made another pass at trapping my blade. This time I barely evaded it. Metal screeched on metal. We both whirled, then parted and fell back. I held my blade angled before me.
    Joscelin gazed at me, daggers crossed, a world of pain and sorrow in his summer-blue eyes.
    “Then why ?” he asked me.
    I swallowed. There was no answer I could give him that he would believe. And I didn’t think I could defeat him without getting one or both of us mortally wounded. He was too good. He always had been. Even on my best days, I’d won only one bout in three against him; and today was far from one of my best. And even if Joscelin gave me an opening, I wasn’t sure I could bear to take it.
    But there was one thing I was sure of.
    Even here, even now, in the grip of Bodeshmun’s cursed spell, even believing me a traitor, Joscelin loved me. He’d gone for his daggers and not his sword. He was fighting defensively, seeking to disarm me. He didn’t want to hurt me any more than I did him, mayhap less.
    I dropped my sword.
    Joscelin glanced at it. I charged him. I saw his eyes widen, his daggers sweeping up instinctively toward my throat. At the last minute, he grimaced and let them fall. I hooked my right foot behind his left ankle and brought us both crashing to the marble floor.
    We rolled, grappling.
    On the floor, unarmed, the odds changed. I was the better wrestler. At an age when most boys in Siovale were being taught the art and science of it, Joscelin had been training to be a Cassiline Brother. But Hugues had taught me to wrestle during the long summer days at Montrève. And I’d learned a great deal more at the ungentle hands of a former Hellene champion in New Carthage.
    In the end I pinned Joscelin as Astegal had pinned Kratos in the palaestra, wrenching his arm hard behind his back, my legs twined with his. Unlike Astegal, I didn’t grind his face into the marble.
    “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I pray you’ll forgive me.” Joscelin glared at me, his head twisted. I glanced up. “Kratos?”
    Kratos limped over, snatching up one of Joscelin’s daggers along the way. He brought the pommel crashing down hard on the back of Joscelin’s head.
    I winced in sympathy.
    Joscelin’s eyes rolled back and his body went limp.
    I released my grip on him, breathing hard. I turned Joscelin over and felt at his throat for a pulse. It beat strongly. I knelt and kissed his brow. Kratos eyed me impassively.
    “He’s my foster-father,” I said. “And a hero of the realm.” I got to my feet. The hall spun around me, then steadied. “Are there guards about?”
    Kratos shook his head. “Not in earshot, I don’t think.” He nodded at Joscelin. “The Queen put a great deal of trust in him. There’ll be guards on the outer doors, I imagine.”
    “How’s your leg?” I asked him. “I’m not sure they’ll let me pass alone.”
    “I’ll manage.” He continued to eye me. “What was it you thought you were doing, anyway? Did you imagine they’d listen?”
    “I did,” I said. “But I think the gods answer prayers sideways.” I clapped his shoulder.
    “I’ll explain later. Let’s go.”

Eighty-Two

    I was right. Without Kratos’ aid, I’d never have gotten past the guards. He strode through the corridor toward the main doors of the Palace, shouting loudly for the guards to fetch our horses.
    The guards looked dubious. “I thought Prince Imriel—” one began.
    “He is god-touched, man!” Kratos roared, grabbing the fellow’s doublet. “Not mad! He had a . . . a seeing! You hit him before he could speak it! Do you people know nothing?”
    “A seeing?” the guard repeated.
    “A vision,” I said. “I know where the gem is. Blessed Elua has decreed that it must be found before this war is launched.”
    They hesitated.
    Kratos shook the man he held like a terrier with a rat. “I serve the House of Sarkal. This was Lord Bodeshmun’s last wish and her highness’ great hope. Go! Now!”
    The guards exchanged glances. One unbarred the doors to let us pass and the other ran toward the