Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [231]
It heartened him. “I believe your sister and uncle would agree.”
“Good.” She looked at me. “Shall we attempt the charm?”
I racked my wits, trying to remember the items the ollamh Aodhan had used when he wrought the charm of protection that warded me against all who sought to bind me. “I need salt. Salt, and rowan and birchwood.” I closed my eyes, grateful for Phèdre’s training, and recalled the scent of camphor. “And pennyroyal. Oh, and red thread, of course.”
“Of course,” Henri Voisin echoed doubtfully.
In the end, he had to return and put ashore to collect some of the items—and failed to find them at that. Salt, we had aboard the ship, and Sidonie picked red threads out of the Euskerri wedding dress that Bixenta had given her, braiding several lengths. Voisin found incense imbued with oil of pennyroyal in a small Temple of Azza, but rowan and birch were a lost cause. He returned with dried bundles of juniper and wild rosemary instead, claiming an old herb-wife in the marketplace insisted they held protective properties.
“It’s worth a try,” I said.
There was a stone firebox on the deck of the ship used for what little cooking was done; mostly we subsisted on sailor’s fare of hard biscuits and salt cod. I kindled a fire with the fragrant wood under Captain Deimos’ watchful eye and cast a handful of incense on it. I had Sidonie remove her shoes and stockings and stand barefooted on the deck while I poured a line of salt around her in a circle. Henri Voisin and his men watched the proceedings as though we were absolutely mad, for which I didn’t blame them; but Deimos and the Cytherans took the matter in stride. They served Ptolemy Solon.
Kratos merely shrugged. “After what I’ve seen, I’ll believe most anything.”
“I don’t recall the exact words of the invocation,” I said to Sidonie. “But I’m praying it doesn’t matter. When Firdha had to renew my bindings, her invocation wasn’t exactly the same as Aodhan’s. She said it was due to differences between the traditions of the Dalriada and the Cruithne. But they both worked.”
“Do as you think best,” Sidonie said, her face pale.
I knelt and bowed my head before I began. I prayed silently to Blessed Elua and his Companions that they would guide my hand this day. And I prayed to all the gods of Alba, great and small, that they would lend me their magic. I had honored them and done my duty as a Prince of Alba in joy and in sorrow, and Sidonie was the Cruarch’s eldest daughter. I prayed to Dorelei’s merciful shade to intercede with Alba’s gods on our behalf. I prayed they would listen. I held the solid weight of the ollamh’s croonie-stone in my hand and prayed that it retained enough of Aodhan’s magic and learning to anchor my fumbling spell.
I thought of Berlik bidding me do my duty with a humble heart, and I prayed to sea and stone and sky as the Maghuin Dhonn did. I prayed that there was some debt owed for the honorable death I’d granted him.
I made my heart humble.
I prayed without words for a miracle.
And then I began.
“The charm of Nerthus ward thee, the charm of Lug defend thee, the charm of Brigit protect thee, the charm of Crom shield thee,” I chanted. There was a faint stirring in the air. The trickling smoke rising from the fire smelled sharp and pungent. I thought it would be meet to include the gods of Terre d’Ange. “Blessed Elua and his Companions hold thee and keep thee from all harm.”
I circled her three times. “To ward thee from the back,” I said, tying the red threads around her right wrist. “To guard thee from the front.” I tied another length around her left wrist, then stooped and did the same to her ankles. “From the crown of thy head to the sole of thy foot, be thou protected.”
I stood and hung the croonie-stone around her neck, its weight settling into place. “From all that seeks to bind thee, be thou protected!”
I clapped my hands as Aodhan had done.
Unlike me, Sidonie didn’t jump. “Is that all? Is it done?”
“All I can remember,” I admitted. “I think so. Do you feel anything?”
“No.” She shook her head. “But then I suppose I wouldn’t, would