Kushiel's Mercy

blasphemy,” she said.
    Amarante’s voice was tranquil. “I would never have suggested it if I thought it did. But if it eases your mind, my mother agrees that it’s not.”
    “What’s not?” I asked without announcing myself.
    They both glanced at me and fell silent. Sidonie’s dark eyes narrowed; Amarante’s, calm and apple-green, her gaze as steady as it had been the day she’d helped me stitch Alais’
    dog’s wounds.
    “Nothing,” Sidonie said.
    “Not yet,” Amarante added.
    “Fine.” I leaned down to kiss them both. “Keep your secrets.”
    Whatever it was, it didn’t trouble me. I trusted Amarante without question. She’d kept Sidonie’s secrets for as long as she’d been her companion, and she’d kept our secrets when it would have meant the Queen’s wrath on her head. Without her aid, we might never have found the means to carve out enough time to discover that our feelings for one another ran far deeper than the lure of the forbidden. And I daresay there were secrets of Sidonie’s that she kept even now. If Sidonie needed to speak of Astegal, to tell someone things she couldn’t bear to tell me, it would be to Amarante that she’d turn.
    The City swelled. Peers from all over the realm came, guests from overseas. The Palace was a whirl of activity. The inns were crowded and there wasn’t a townhouse to be rented.
    Every night there was a new fête to attend.
    Terre d’Ange had come out of mourning.
    I was reunited with old friends and introduced them to new ones. Eamonn and Brigitta brought with them a strapping one-year-old boy with bright blue eyes and a thatch of ruddy hair. Lucius arrived with his satyr’s grin, unaccompanied by family. Raul and Colette returned from Aragonia accompanied by Nicola, who had played a role in brokering the peace there and ensuring Serafin’s succession to the throne. Maslin de Lombelon arrived unannounced, smiling crookedly at my surprise. The Lady of Marsilikos arrived accompanied by both her son and daughter. The Shahrizai came in numbers. The Cruarch’s flagship brought Hyacinthe and Sibeal and their two children, grown startling older than my memories placed them. Urist was in Alais’ vanguard, serving once more as commander of the garrison of Clunderry.
    There was sorrow mixed in with the joy.
    But mostly there was joy.
    We needed it, all of us. And so we toasted the mourned dead and celebrated the living. I watched Joscelin glower at the sight of Phèdre laughing with Severio Stregazza, who had once offered for her hand, and smiled as Nicola succeeded in coaxing him into a better mood. I heard Maslin’s tales of his adventures in distant Vralia and the changes yet brewing there. I watched Mavros flirt unabashedly with an amused Lucius, and decided that Master Piero’s best pupil could hold his own against my obstreperous cousin. I listened to Eamonn and Brigitta’s animated account of developing their own philosophical academy, making notes in my thoughts.
    And I watched Sidonie.
    It seemed we were parted more often than not at each glittering affair. There was too much clamor for our attention. But we always knew where the other was. Time and again, I would glance across a crowded room and find her gaze meeting mine.
    Two days before our wedding, I didn’t see her at all. She departed with Amarante, bound, I thought, for a last fitting with Favrielle nó Eglantine, but day turned into evening without her return. The guards bade me not to worry, but they would say naught of her whereabouts. I attended a fête hosted by Lady Nicola, thinking to see Sidonie there.
    “No,” Nicola said, her eyes dancing. “Her highness sent her regrets. It is her hope that you might make an early night of it. You’ll not be seeing each other on the eve of the wedding.”
    My pulse quickened. “Ah.”
    Nicola laughed and made a shooing gesture. “Go to her.”
    I returned to our quarters to find them ablaze with candlelight and Sidonie awaiting me.
    All the attendants had been dismissed and the drapes were drawn. The air in the room took on a charge. I could feel the blood beating in my veins.
    “You planned this well, love,” I said.
    Sidonie gave me a quick smile. “I have somewhat to show you.”
    I raised my brows. “Oh?”
    She took a deep breath. “Will you see?”
    The words sparked a faint memory of a tale Phèdre had told me long ago about her foster-brother Alcuin and their lord and mentor Anafiel Delaunay. Those three simple words