Kushiel's Mercy

baring my scarred torso.
    “Oh, gods,” she breathed . “Imriel.”
    “A souvenir of Alba,” I said with a lightness I didn’t feel. The gravity of what we did here was settling into my bones. I slid my arms into one of Leander’s vests, tugging it into place. “As I said, a great deal of what I’ve suffered is no fault of yours.”
    “It’s just . . .” Melisande shook her head. “Elua have mercy.”
    I unlaced my breeches. “I pray he does.”
    Once I was fully attired in Leander’s clothing, Solon bade me sit cross-legged on the floor, strewn with cushions. I did, and he sat opposite me. “You must go now,” he said to Leander and my mother. “Leander, you I will send for in some time, for you must recount your memories for Imriel once he is entranced. Melisande . . .” He paused, sorrow etched in his homely face. “Bid your son farewell.”
    My mother sank to her knees before me, cradling my face in her hands. “Come back, Imriel,” she whispered. Her touch was warm and soothing, and there were tears in her glorious eyes. “If not to me, at least to the world.”
    “I will,” I said. “I promise.”
    She kissed my brow. “Blessed Elua pray you keep it.”
    She went.
    Leander went.
    Ptolemy Solon and I faced one another. “Breathe deep,” he advised me. “Breathe deep and listen. Close your eyes. Take my words into you. Listen. ”
    I obeyed.
    “Close your thoughts and quiet your mind,” Solon said in a low, calm voice. “Hear nothing but the sound of my voice. Think of nothing but my words. My voice is a warm sea of light, soft and mild. You are drifting atop it, safe and warm. Let yourself go. Let yourself drift . . .”
    It was warm in the room and I could feel the sunlight flooding through the window.
    Solon’s voice continued to speak, low and pleasant, almost droning. I listened. I began to feel drowsy and a little bored. I began to wonder how long it would take, then forced myself to stop wondering. I listened, floating atop the sea of Solon’s voice. Elua, if nothing else, the man had the patience of a stone. To spend the entire night sewing, of all things, and then this endless talking . . .
    Listen.
    I made myself listen.
    On and on he went. I passed beyond boredom and relaxed. My body felt heavy and inert, but inside, I felt light. Lighthearted. Floating on a sea of light. There had been enough darkness in my life. Too much. This was nice.
    “. . . and now it is time to put Imriel away,” Solon’s voice told me. “Time to make him small. Small like a grain of sand, like a tiny, tiny seed. Make him very small, a tiny seed.”
    I agreed. I made Imriel into a tiny seed.
    “Tuck him into the farthest crack of your mind,” Solon’s voice continued. “Hide him where no one will see him. A tiny seed, safe and hidden.”
    I hid Imriel away.
    “Forget he is there,” Solon instructed me. “Until the moment your lips touch Sidonie’s, you will forget Imriel is there. When you kiss her, you will remember. Until that moment, you will forget. Forget.”
    I forgot about Imriel.
    “Sit quietly in peace,” the man talking to me said. I obeyed, hearing his joints creak as he rose, the sound of a door opening. “Come in,” he said to someone. “You may begin. Tell him the story of your life. I will speak over your words. Pay it no heed.”
    “Where do I begin?” the new voice said.
    “Begin at the beginning,” the first one said.
    “All right.” The newcomer took a deep breath. “I was born in Kusheth about a year after the Skaldi War ended, and . . . hells, my lord Solon, I don’t remember all that much about the first five or six years of my life.”
    “It doesn’t matter,” the man he’d called Solon said. “Say what you do know.”
    “The first thing . . . the first thing I remember is when my little sister Darielle was born.
    She was a red-faced, wrinkled, squalling thing, and everyone doted on her because Mother had given up on getting with child again after so long . . .”
    The newcomer’s voice went on and on, joined by the man called Solon’s.
    “Hear and remember,” Solon said. “This is your story. You are Leander Maignard. When you awake you will know this to be true. Each word is a stitch in the garment of your life.
    Hear and remember. This is your story. You are Leander Maignard. Each word is a stitch in the garment of your life. When you awake you will know this to be true.”
    “. . . really, life didn’t get interesting until her