Kushiel's Mercy

the throne. It’s Sidonie’s duty now.”
    “Sidonie refused your charge,” I said.
    Ysandre shrugged. “She accepted the regency. We will discuss it later.”
    “Your majesty!” I said sharply. “Will you force her to use violence against your own people?” She winced as though I’d struck her. I beheld the fault-lines of pride and shame in her and exploited them without mercy. “With all due respect, your majesty, your daughter’s ordeal has been worse than yours. And yet she has consented to bear this burden until you are ready to resume it. Will you truly weighten her load?”
    That stung her.
    Ysandre’s head rose, her cheeks flushing. “You dare speak to me thusly?”
    “Yes,” I said ruthlessly.
    “Ysandre,” Phèdre murmured. Her name, nothing else. The Queen looked askance at her.
    If there was anyone in the world who knew aught about carrying terrible burdens, it was Phèdre nó Delaunay.
    “I’ll accompany you,” Drustan offered.
    “No.” Ysandre closed her eyes, then opened them, squaring her shoulders in a familiar gesture. “No, stay. Lelahiah isn’t finished. Imriel is right. I need to do this.”
    Exiting the tent, Ysandre summoned a company of the Palace Guard and placed them under Joscelin’s command. He accepted it without comment, bowing in the Cassiline manner. Back to the Palace we rode, a hundred strong. This time, people cleared the streets. Ysandre sat very straight in the saddle, her face stark. No one begged her for answers. Outside the gates of the Palace, she met Isabel de Bretel’s gaze without flinching.
    “My lady de Bretel,” Ysandre said in a steady tone. “I am so very sorry for making you suffer.”
    The elderly baronesse bowed her head. “Your majesty.”
    Ysandre looked at the guard. “Open the gates.”
    He did with alacrity. We entered the courtyard. The guards on the outer doors fidgeted.
    “Summon Captain Duval,” Ysandre said. “Summon the guard. Summon the Royal Chamberlain Lord Robert and the household staff. I want them all assembled.”
    They obeyed. We waited while ostlers and stable-lads peered at us, gaping. In a short while, there was a considerable crowd of guards and attendants spreading into the courtyard. I knew Diderot Duval by sight. He stared at us, flanked by uncertain guards, his face working helplessly. I pitied him.
    “Hear me,” Ysandre said to them. “Until further notice, you will obey her highness Sidonie de la Courcel as the rightful and acknowledged regent of Terre d’Ange. Is that understood?”
    Most murmured in agreement.
    “Your majesty, no!” Captain Duval cried. “You’re ensorceled! This is madness, this is sedition—”
    “Take him,” Ysandre ordered the guards surrounding him. “Gently. See him to the Palace infirmary.” The Palace Guardsmen descended on him as gently as possible, but he struggled. They bore him away, his cries echoing along the empty marble corridors.
    Ysandre shuddered, then gathered herself and turned to Sidonie. “Am I asking too much of you?” she asked, searching her daughter’s face.
    “No,” Sidonie said softly. “You taught me well. But the people need you, you and Father, too.”
    “Right now, we all need one another,” I added.
    “Imriel de la Courcel.” Ysandre looked at me and shook her head. “I suppose you’re going to insist on wedding him now,” she said to Sidonie.
    Sidonie gave her a faint smile. “Unless you want to lose your heir and regent, yes. Don’t you think he’s proven himself worthy?”
    “Stubborn child.” Ysandre reached out to stroke Sidonie’s hair, then leaned over in the saddle and kissed her brow. “I do. And I don’t want to lose either of you.” She straightened. “I’m going to return to your father. But if you’ve need of aught, send for me.”
    The Queen left the bulk of the company of guards with us, returning to the Square with only a score under Joscelin’s command. She left us with a courtyard thronged with folk: the Palace Guard, the Dauphine’s Guard, the Palace chamberlain and his household, Isabel de Bretel and her men, all looking to Sidonie for guidance.
    “Well and so.” She took a deep breath. “Lord Robert, please prepare quarters for the Baronesse de Bretel and her men and see to their needs. They’ll be carrying an important message of peace for us. Please see to it that they have suitable tents, supplies, and attendants.”
    He bowed. “At once, your highness.”
    “My lord de Monluc.”