Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [156]
And I had to get Bodeshmun’s talisman.
Ah, gods! What was happening at home? There hadn’t been word of Terre d’Ange since Carthage. The thought made me shiver. Leander Maignard hadn’t cared overmuch.
I did.
It was a long night. I stayed awake, thinking. At some point, the Amazigh warrior on guard yawned and woke the other. They traded roles. Some hours later, another pair came to relieve them altogether. I watched the process through slitted eyes, thinking about the Amazigh garb hidden in my trunks.
A little after dawn, a Carthaginian chambermaid came with a tray of tea and fruit. She made to pass me and enter the bedchamber. I shook my head at her.
“No one passes,” I said. “I promised.”
The door opened behind me. “It’s all right,” Sidonie said quietly. “Elissa may enter.”
I got stiffly to my feet. “Did you sleep well, your highness?”
“Yes.” There were violet shadows under her eyes, but her gaze was clear and calm. Sidonie de la Courcel had come to a decision. “Thank you, Messire Maignard. Your presence helped. Would it be too much to ask you to return tonight?”
“No, my lady,” I said, bowing. “Not at all.”
Fourty-Five
I made my way wearily to my own chambers, praying I didn’t encounter Bodeshmun on the way. For a mercy, I didn’t. I was going to have to avoid him, at least up until the minute I killed him.
And I was still working on that plan.
Sunjata was there, muttering over his latest manifest. The gem trade had fallen off since Astegal had pulled the army out of New Carthage. I stopped dead, staring at him and remembering.
“You knew,” I said.
His head jerked up and he stared at me, recognition slowly dawning. “You . . . ?”
“Imriel,” I said. “Yes. I know myself.”
“Ah,” Sunjata said. “Yes. It was in her ladyship’s letter.”
I regarded him with a convoluted mixture of Leander’s fondness and my own bitter memories of his voice whispering in my ear, the stab of a long needle, his hand tugging a ring from my finger. “Why did you have me strip?”
He looked away. “I had to know. To see.”
I raised my brows. “You could have refused me.”
“Leander would have been hurt,” Sunjata murmured. “It would have been hard to explain. And . . . you nearly were him, at least at first. Even after I saw you.” His throat worked. “This is a lonely business, your highness.”
“Call me Imriel,” I said wryly. “We’ve been lovers.”
Sunjata’s dark skin flushed darker. “I have something for you,” he said, rising and going to his own bedchamber. He returned with the trunk I’d brought from Cythera, the one inscribed with his name. “These are yours.”
I was just opening the trunk as Kratos stumbled from the servant’s chamber, yawning and scratching himself. “What’s all this?” he asked as I withdrew a pair of fawn-colored woolen breeches.
“My things,” I said. Beneath the few items of clothing I’d brought on my flight lay the rest. My sword and dagger, my rhinoceros-hide sword-belt, shiny with wear. A purse with nothing in it but a polished stone with a hole in the middle that I carried for luck and remembrance. My eyes stung. “Kratos, my friend, it seems I’m not who I thought I was.”
“Oh?” Kratos rubbed his stubbled chin. “Who are you, then?”
“Imriel,” I said, withdrawing the vambraces Dorelei had given me, engraved with the image of the Black Boar of the Cullach Gorrym. A golden torc. “Imriel nó Montrève de la Courcel.”
Kratos stared. “Has he lost his wits?” he asked Sunjata.
“No,” Sunjata said. “Found them.”
I stood and drew my sword. It rang faintly. It was a well-tempered blade, longer and heavier than anything Leander Maignard had owned. I moved softly through the first few forms of the hours. “Sunjata, how much of Leander’s attire must I wear to preserve the semblance?”
“At a guess?” He shrugged. “The more you can manage, the better. Once someone’s seen you as Leander, they won’t unsee you, not unless you remove everything of his. But I wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks.”
“All right.” I sheathed the blade. Kratos was still gaping at me. “Is that why you came back?” I asked Sunjata. “For this moment?