Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [175]
“Emmenghanom.” She said the word aloud. “Say it, Imriel.”
“Emmeghamon,” I echoed, winding the bandages around her.
“Em-men-gha-nom.” Sidonie enunciated each syllable with deliberate clarity. “Say it.”
I tied the last knot and met her overbright gaze. “Em . . . Emmenghanom.”
“Say it again.” She pulled up her gown and began lacing the bodice.
“You’re going to survive this, Sidonie,” I murmured. “Both of us are.”
“I’m just being practical,” she said. “Say it again.”
She was right, of course. Practical and right. I said the word over and over, Sidonie correcting my accent and inflection.
When I had it to her satisfaction, she nodded. “Good. You won’t forget?”
“No,” I said. “I won’t.”
It was a long, unsettling day. Not long after we’d turned into the open waters, a fierce headwind sprang up against us. There was a good reason Captain Deimos had feared this passage, a good reason precious few ships undertook major journeys during the winter months. Our ship bucked and surged like an unbroken horse, riding the waves, struggling to sail in the face of battening winds.
And our pursuer followed.
There was no doubt of it, not now. By the time the shrouded sun sank below the horizon, it had drawn near enough that we could all see the crimson-striped sail that marked it as Carthaginian and the triple bank of oars that lent it speed.
I slept fitfully that night, holding Sidonie in my arms.
Her skin was too hot, worrying me.
In the morning, our pursuer had drawn nearer. Our oarsmen rowed, groaning. Captain Deimos paced the deck. It didn’t matter; none of it mattered. The headwinds from the north were too strong. The Carthaginian war-ship with its striped sail gained steadily on us.
I prayed for something, anything. I prayed for good winds. I prayed we’d find the balance of the D’Angeline fleet awaiting us.
No luck.
The Carthaginian ship overtook us. It came along broadside, blocking our passage. A trebuchet mounted on its central tower thrummed, sending bolts our way. One tore through our topmost sail.
We turned tail and fled.
Back, back the way we’d come, racing before the wind now behind us. Deimos tried to make for land, but the Carthaginian ship raced alongside us, herded us onward. In the distance, I saw the harbor of Amílcar, blocked by a solid blockade of Carthage’s fleet. Our pursuer was driving us into their arms.
“We’re done.” Captain Deimos accorded Sidonie an exacting bow. “Forgive me, your highness. I did my best.”
Her voice rose. “My lord, we cannot surrender!”
“You’ll not be harmed,” Deimos said. “Either of you. You’re too valuable as hostages.”
“Once, mayhap.” Sidonie shook her head in impatient despair. “Not now. Astegal would never let either of us go, not knowing we have the key to undoing Bodeshmun’s spell. The only reason to keep us alive is to keep Terre d’Ange and Alba from acting by threatening them with our deaths.” She eyed the rough seas. “At this point, I’d serve my country better by drowning than being taken alive.”
“You’re feverish, your highness,” Deimos said to her, and to me, “Talk sense to her.”
“Captain, she’s right,” I said. “Is there no chance of running the blockade? At least in Amílcar we’ll find sanctuary of a sort.”
He gestured. “Look at it.”
“You might be able to make it.” Sidonie clutched my arm. “You’re a strong swimmer, Imriel. One man might be able to slip past the ships.”
“It’s too far,” Deimos said. “The water’s too cold.”
I gauged the distance. “Even so. If it’s our only chance—”
“Fire the ship,” Kratos said abruptly behind me.
I turned. “What?”
Kratos jerked his chin at the fast-approaching blockade. “You want to break their line? Set fire to the ship and bear down on them at full speed. I guarantee you, they’ll move.”
“Would that work?” I asked Deimos.
He looked ill. “Mayhap. It’s dangerous as hell.”
“Kratos, I adore you!” Sidonie planted a kiss on his cheek. “My lord captain, please. A slight chance is better than none. You’re not like to find much mercy from Astegal either.”
A muscle in Deimos’ jaw twitched. “By the Goddess,” he muttered. “I’m never