Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [243]
I raised my brows. “Oh, indeed?”
Her eyes glimmered. “Mm-hmm.”
Gods, I wished there was time. I wished we could halt the world for a day and banish all that surrounded us. The looming war. The jolting carriage, the jogging guards surrounding it, Kratos sitting alongside the driver, singing tunelessly in Hellene.
A day, one day . . .
We didn’t have a day. Not even an hour. Only duty and hope and the desperate prayers of a nation. There on the stiff horsehide cushions, I settled for pulling Sidonie against me, kissing her until I felt her soft lips part, her body yielding sweetly, arms around my neck.
“We will prove it,” I whispered. “There is no magic so dire.”
Sidonie kissed me again. “None.”
I found myself thinking about the day when everything had changed between us: the day of the hunt when a boar had gored Alais’ dog and Sidonie’s horse had bolted and thrown her. I’d flung myself atop Sidonie, thinking to protect her. As it happened, my effort was unnecessary; but in that moment, a spark had been ignited. I could still remember the thrilling shock of it. The feeling of her body beneath mine, the sight of realization dawning in her dark eyes.
“Do you remember the hunt?” I asked, not bothering to explain.
She smiled. “Oh, yes. You know I do. Gods, I thought about it for days and days. ’Tis no wonder that when Leander Maignard saved my life in the garden, I felt so strongly for him. For you.” She was silent a moment. “It’s so very peculiar the way the events in our lives cast reflections.”
“I know,” I said. “I’ve thought it since Cythera. Phèdre and Joscelin went on a quest to find the Name of God and bind an angel. You and I seek to free a demon with a word.”
“And if we succeed, Terre d’Ange will be indebted to Melisande Shahrizai,” Sidonie added. “It feels as though we’ve been on a long, strange journey to bring the circle around to a full close.”
“My mother persuaded Ptolemy Solon to aid me for her own reasons,” I reminded her. “It doesn’t erase the past.”
“No, but it changes the future,” Sidonie said. “If we do come out this whole, I don’t think anyone will ever ever dare question your integrity again.” Her voice softened. “And our horde won’t have to grow up knowing their father was responsible for having his own mother executed. Elua help me, but I’m glad of that.”
I thought about my last glimpse of Melisande: standing at Ptolemy Solon’s side on the docks of Paphos as she watched me sail away into danger, believing myself to be Leander Maignard. About her parting words. Be safe. Just be safe. Almost the same words Alais had spoken. There had been genuine love in them. Whatever else was true of her, I didn’t doubt that my mother loved me.
“So am I,” I murmured.
Sidonie cocked her head. “I’d like to meet her someday.”
I tried to envision it and couldn’t. My cool, regal beloved with her startling streak of hidden fire; my damnable mother and the deep, ineffable spell she cast. “I suppose anything is possible.”
The doubt in my voice made her laugh. “We’ll see.”
At night we made camp in isolated areas as we’d done on the journey to Turnone. We talked strategy with Kratos, explaining the situation in the City of Elua to him in detail. Kratos listened and nodded sagely.
“So all in the City believe you mad, my lord?” he asked.
I stared at the campfire. “Yes.”
Until we’d caught sight of the shores of Terre d’Ange, I’d avoided thinking about it; but the nearer we drew to the City, the more it preyed on my mind. I still bore traces of scarring on my wrists and ankles where I’d chafed my flesh raw against my restraints, screaming horrible threats at those I loved and plotting their deaths. Scars. An echo of the bindings I’d once worn to protect me against Morwen’s talisman, an echo of the increasingly painful bindings that protected Sidonie against Bodeshmun’s spell. And that in itself was an echo of the ropes I’d knotted around Sidonie’s willing wrists more than once, the memory of pleasure that helped her endure the pain.
The bright mirror and the dark.
The things I’d said in my madness . . . ah, Elua!