Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [194]
“I don’t see any other choice, Imriel,” Sidonie said simply. “Other than staying and awaiting defeat. I was quick to speak of sacrifice yesterday. How can I refuse to take the risk? I’d give a lot more than a few ounces of flesh for Terre d’Ange.”
“You’re sure?” I asked.
She nodded. “I’m sure.”
So it was decided.
We wouldn’t be able to act immediately. In accordance with General Liberio’s plans, it would be a night sortie, the better to sow confusion. In order to see well enough to execute his plan, we’d need to await a tolerably clear night with a good moon, and the moon was yet a waxing sliver. He counseled patience and put his men to work building a portable gangplank to bridge the defensive trench.
I spent a good deal of time telling the hours in the palace courtyard, honing the skills that had been neglected during my tenure as Leander Maignard. I was keenly aware that in the days to come, I would be Sidonie’s sole protector. And that was the one area of the Cassiline discipline that Joscelin had neglected to teach me—the sphere of defending one’s ward. He’d taught me everything I needed to know to ward my life. Neither of us had dreamed that one day I’d be playing such a role.
At least I’d learned how to fight from the saddle. Gods, it seemed like a long time ago that I’d advised Claude de Monluc to trick Barquiel L’Envers into lending his own Akkadian-trained Captain of the Guard to teach the Dauphine’s Guard. It hadn’t been much more than a whim that had led me to train with them, posing as an anonymous guard among guardsmen. Now I was glad of it. With Liberio’s permission, I visited the armory and appropriated a small buckler, a leather hauberk with metal scales, a helmet with a peaked crest, and a short bow and quiver.
For her part, Sidonie spent long hours in the palace’s library, reading everything she could find on the Euskerri. Whether or not it would prove of use, I couldn’t say, but it helped pass the interminable waiting.
Blessed Elua be thanked, her wound continued to heal cleanly. At her insistence, some days after the council met, I took her to see Kratos. With Lady Nicola’s assistance, he’d been lodged in a boarding-room where a good-natured Aragonian widow was paid to look after him.
“Your highness!” Kratos looked thunderstruck when he answered our knock. “You came to see me?”
Sidonie laughed at his expression. “How are your burns, Kratos?”
“Healing.” He peered over his shoulder as though he could see through his tunic. “And your injury? You were passing feverish, my lady. I worried.”
She gave me a sidelong look. “Much, much improved.”
“What about the ribs?” I asked Kratos.
He took a deep breath, his chest swelling. “Better.”
I was glad.
We passed a pleasant hour talking with Kratos. Somewhere in the back of my thoughts, I’d hoped he’d have some clever perspective on our plan for escape that no one had conceived; but he didn’t. He merely shook his heavy head, running one hand over his cropped, greying hair.
“You were right, my lord,” Kratos said soberly. “I’d only slow you down. It’s dicey, but I don’t see another way.”
“Pray for us?” I asked.
“To all the gods I know,” he affirmed.
Sidonie stooped and kissed his cheek. “Remember your promise.”
A blush suffused his homely face. “To dance at your wedding?”
She smiled. “To dance with me at my wedding, Kratos. I mean to make it a point not to forget those who’ve saved my life. And the other thing, too. The word I taught you. Keep the knowledge quiet, but don’t forget.”
“Emmenghanom,” Kratos said softly.
Sidonie nodded. “Exactly right.”
We didn’t spread the word throughout the entire city. At this point, it was dangerous. Blockaded, besieged Amílcar was a hotbed of gossip. If it were to fall in our absence or failure, if word were to leak that we’d disseminated the key to undoing Carthage’s spell far and wide . . . well, it was Sidonie’s fear that Astegal would have every man, woman, and child put to the sword rather than risk word carrying to Terre d’Ange. And with that, I agreed.
But we made sure