Kushiel's Mercy

stair that led to the ground floor of the Palace. I took a two-handed grip on my sword, keeping it angled before me. People shrieked and ran. They’d heard tell of my ravings. More guardsmen came, forming a wary circle around me. I ignored them and staggered onward.
    The doors to the throne hall were closed. I could hear raised voices behind them. With both hands, I pointed my sword at the guards posted there. “Admit me.”
    They paled. “We can’t, your highness,” one said.
    My knees wobbled. “Just do it!”
    Someone grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms as Joscelin had done. Someone else wrestled the sword from my hands. I cursed and struggled, borne down under the weight of several guards.
    The doors to the throne hall opened with a crash and Barquiel L’Envers strode out, his face white with fury. He stopped short at the sight of me struggling with the guards, fixing me with a look of disgust.
    “Some great undying love affair that turned out to be,” L’Envers said in contempt, then turned on his heel and strode away, followed by a retinue of his own men-at-arms.
    “Wait!” His words rang in my ears. A rill of terrified strength ran through me. I thrashed and flailed my way free, got my feet under me, and ran after him.
    L’Envers turned and drew his blade. “Keep your distance, lunatic,” he said coldly. “I swear to Elua, I will run you through.”
    I managed to halt before I impaled myself. “You remember,” I gasped. “Sidonie and I.
    You remember it.”
    “Unfortunately.” His violet eyes narrowed. “Do you?”
    I nodded, panting. “Can we speak, my lord? Please?”
    He was silent a moment. “Fetch his blade,” he said at length to one of his men, and to me,
    “Come with me.”
    On any other occasion, the last place in the world I could imagine wanting to be was alone with Barquiel L’Envers in his private quarters, surrounded by men loyal to him.
    Today, I was desperately grateful to be there. He sent his men out of earshot, ensconced me on his couch, poured me a generous draught of brandy, then poured one for himself, and sat opposite me.
    “Speak.”
    I had nothing left to lose. I told him everything.
    Claudia Fulvia, the Unseen Guild and their threats. Canis and my mother. My letter to Diokles Agallon, the bargain. Carthage. The eunuch Sunjata, Gillimas. What had happened the night of the full moon. Ptolemy Solon and Cythera. My month-long madness, and the madness I’d awoken to.
    “Sodding Carthage,” L’Envers said when I’d finished. “I knew it.”
    “Then I’m not mad?” I asked.
    “You were.” He studied me. “Barking-mad, from the sound of it. But in this, it’s hard to say.” He quaffed his brandy and refilled it, regarding the glass. “Truth be told, I heard rumors of this Guild of yours years ago in Khebbel-im-Akkad, though I couldn’t vouch for them. Of a surety, the whole damn City is convinced, man, woman, and child, that Carthage is our new best friend, and the Dauphine of Terre d’Ange made a love-match with a Carthaginian prince and sailed away merrily with him. You’re right about that.
    Somewhat was done to them.”
    “But it’s only the City?” I said hopefully.
    Barquiel L’Envers snorted. “The City, and all who were in it that night. Damn nigh all of Parliament. The Royal Army and its commander. The Royal Admiral and a good number of his men. The Cruarch of Alba.”
    I felt sick. “All the powers of the realm.”
    He nodded, looking aged and weary. “And Ysandre’s minded to dispatch the army to the Aragonian border in support of Carthage’s threat.” He scrubbed his face with one hand.
    “I tell you, lad, if this is some elaborate scheme of your mother’s to place you on the throne, I’ve half a mind to go along with it. I’d sooner see Melisande’s treasonous spawn warming his arse on the throne than my own niece acting as Carthage’s pawn. And outside the City walls, there are hundreds of thousands of folk who’d agree.”
    “I don’t think it is. The eunuch said he served two masters.” I shook my head. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I can’t stay here.”
    “Oh?” L’Envers raised his brows.
    “Sidonie needs me,” I said simply. “I have to go.”
    Barquiel L’Envers looked at me for a long, long time, an incredulous expression slowly dawning over his worn features. He gave a short, choked laugh. “Oh, Blessed Elua bugger me! You actually love her?”
    Tears stung my eyes. “Very much so, my