Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [154]
“All of you, out!” Sidonie said in a perfect fury, pacing. She was wrapped in a dressing-robe, clutching it to her. Her hair was loose and unbound, falling over her shoulders. Her face was stark white, save for two spots of hectic color on her cheekbones. “Everyone but Leander! You’re worthless, all of you!”
“Go.” Girom gestured to the Amazigh.
Sidonie pointed at the physician. “You too.”
“Yes, yes,” he said in a soothing voice. “As I promised, once you drink the sleeping draught.”
Her breast rose and fell with sharp breaths. “You’ll go, then? You’ll go if I do?”
“As I promised,” Girom repeated.
“I want him to stay.” Sidonie pointed at me. “I want Leander to stay until I fall asleep. And then I want him to keep watch outside my door. He saved my life, and you won’t bring me Astegal.”
The physician sighed. “Drink your draught, your highness.”
Sidonie fixed her gaze on me. “You won’t leave?”
“I swear it,” I said to her. “I’ll stay at your side until you sleep, and then I’ll guard your door until you wake. No one will pass.”
“And you’ll go if I do?” she asked Girom.
“Yes,” he said wearily. “Please, your highness. It’s for your own good.”
“All right.” Sidonie picked up another cup from her night-stand, this one brimming with dark liquid. Her hands shook and the liquid trembled. She eyed Girom with suspicion. “You promise?”
“Yes, your highness!” he said in frustration. “I promise.”
She drank. “There. Now go.”
Girom heaved another sigh, this one filled with relief. I didn’t envy him. “Thank you, my lady,” he said to her. “Now lie down and rest. Leander will stay by your side. It’s a potent draught; it will take effect swiftly.”
She sat obediently on her bed. “All right. Go away now.”
He backed through the door, closing it behind him.
We were alone.
Sidonie buried her face in her hands and shuddered. I crossed the room swiftly, kneeling before her. “Are you all right?” I whispered.
“No.” She dropped her hands. “Not really.” Her tone was unwontedly dry. “I’m scared half out of my wits, and that was the single most mortifying performance of my life.” She touched the back of my head with infinite gentleness. “Are you?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “How long until the sleeping draught takes effect?”
Her fingers slid through my hair, trailed along my cheek. “The one I poured into the vase hidden behind the chamberpot under my bed and replaced with unwatered wine? A few more minutes at least if I’d actually drunk it. Talk fast.”
My entire body shivered beneath her touch. “I’ll try. Only—”
“I know,” Sidonie whispered, cupping my face with both hands now. There were tears in her black eyes. “I know.”
The lover showers kisses on the face of the beloved . . .
It was gentle, it was frantic, it was terrified, all at once. I knelt before her, my face upturned. She kissed my eyelids, my temples, my cheeks, the corners of my mouth. Sweet, so sweet! I hadn’t imagined so much sweetness existed in the world. She kissed my mouth.
My lips parted beneath hers, the tip of her tongue touched mine.
Imriel.
Ohgodsohgodsohgods! Knowledge and memory burst like a ripe seed-pod inside my skull. It filled me to overflowing.
Imriel.
I was Imriel.
I gasped and tore myself away from her, huddling and clasping my own arms, rocking on my knees and shuddering.
I was Imriel.
Sidonie drew back from me in alarm, her eyes widening. “What?”
It flooded me; it flooded every part of me. Memories, crashing and churning. I remembered everything. I knew myself. I knew what had happened. Everything. All the plans, all the risk, all the uncertainty. All the fear and horror. My madness. My quest. Ptolemy Solon and his needle, stitching and stitching. Leander’s voice, stitching a new tale, binding his memories to my flesh. I drew a breath, ragged and raw. “Oh, Sidonie!” I murmured. “It’s me. I’m me. Imriel.”
She shrank back against the headboard of her bed. “Leander?”
She didn’t know me.
Of course she didn’t know me.
“I love you,” I said in anguish. “Oh, Name of Elua, Sidonie! I’ve loved you since you were sixteen