Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [152]
“You look well, your highness,” I greeted her. “Are you feeling better?”
“A bit.” It was true: she didn’t look quite as pale. “I thought the fresh air might help clear my thoughts.”
The gardens surrounding the palace were actually quite lovely and extensive. We strolled through them, passing lemon and orange groves, eucalyptus trees, and others I couldn’t name. Here and there, we passed Aragonian gardeners at work, pruning the trees and culling weeds. Like the bath-house attendants, I thought, they must have taken pride in their work once. Now they merely looked sullen.
“Everything is so green,” Sidonie observed. “It’s hard to believe it’s winter.”
“Southern climes,” I said. “On Cythera, the first orchids will be blooming soon.”
We continued for some time in this vein, exchanging meaningless pleasantries. Bit by bit, Sidonie’s pace increased, until we were walking quite briskly. I realized she was trying to put some distance between us and her guards.
It didn’t work. The Amazigh quickened their own pace, trailing behind us like so many indigo spectres. Sidonie gave an imperceptible shrug and slowed.
“Mayhap we might sit for a moment,” I suggested, nodding at a marble bench beside a fountain in the shape of a fish spewing water. I was hoping that the sound of splashing water might provide some cover.
It wasn’t enough to drown out our conversation. Gods, this was ridiculously frustrating! After a few more moments of inane talk, Sidonie sighed. “Thank you, Leander, you’ve been very patient. Mayhap I should return.”
I rose and bowed. “Of course, my lady. You shouldn’t tire yourself.”
We returned the way we’d come. And what happened next, I couldn’t have said for the life of me how I knew. A lifetime of training to be observant, I suppose. It was the second gardener we encountered, one we’d passed before. This time it was different. Somewhat about him, the way he peered furtively at us as we approached. The way his hands slid and twisted on the pruning shears he held. The way he collected himself and set his shoulders. It wasn’t until we’d actually passed him that it all came together in my mind. I glanced over my shoulder.
Between two of the Amazigh, there was the gardener behind us. He held the blades of his pruning shears by the tip, poised for the throw. His arm shot forward. Metal flashed.
“Elua, no!”
I flung myself on Sidonie without thinking, my weight bringing both of us crashing to the earth. Somewhat sharp stung my scalp as we fell. I landed hard atop her, driving the breath from her lungs. Her startled eyes stared into mine. Wet warmth trickled though my hair. Behind us, there were shouts of alarm and fury.
Oh, gods.
The feeling of her body beneath mine.
Neither of us moved.
And then strong hands yanked me off her, pulled me upright. The Amazigh surrounded us, asking questions in a garbled panic. Behind them, the gardener’s body was slumped on the ground. His head was a few feet away.
“I’m fine.” Sidonie’s voice shook. “That man—why?”
They exchanged glances.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. My heart was racing, and I couldn’t tell if it was fear or the sudden shock of desire. “You’re safe, love. That’s all that matters.”
She searched my face. “You’re hurt.”
I touched the back of my head. My fingers came away bloody, but not terribly so. “It’s just a nick. Scalp wounds bleed a lot.”
“He tried . . .” Sidonie swallowed. “Oh, gods.”
“I know.” I rounded on the Amazigh. “Name of Elua! Why did you kill him? You should have taken him alive to be questioned!”
One of them shrugged. “Desert justice.”
“Desert idiocy, more like!” I wrestled my temper under control. “No mind. Let’s just get the princess safely back to the palace. Now.”
The Amazigh formed a tight square around us. Sidonie clung to my arm, holding it pressed hard against her. I could feel her trembling. This time, I didn’t think it was feigned,