Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [267]
The cheers shook the rafters.
My stomach roiled.
I walked out of the Hall of Audience in a daze. People streamed on either side of me, cheering. When I felt a heavy hand descend on my shoulder, I whirled, more than half-ready to fight.
“My lord.” Kratos backed away, raising his hands.
“How could you let her remove the bindings?” I hissed. “How?”
His broad chest rose and fell. “She pulled them loose in the bath,” Kratos said simply. “I can’t be everywhere, my lord. I’m sorry.”
“I know.” I clenched my fists, willing my fury and despair to subside. “You did your best. Thank you.”
“It didn’t make much difference, my lord,” he said quietly. “I think we’d already lost her. At least she’s no longer in pain.”
“Imriel?” It was Phèdre’s voice somewhere behind us, worried.
“Go. Don’t give Sidonie any reason not to trust you.” I jerked my chin at Kratos and he faded into the throng.
“Why are you in such a hurry to be gone?” Phèdre reached my side, reached up to touch my cheek. “Did you know that woman, Imri? The baronesse? The way she hesitated, it almost seemed she knew you.”
“No.” I gazed at Phèdre, at her still-beautiful face. The scarlet mote of Kushiel’s Dart floated atop the dark iris of her left eye. On the eve of war, I was still her greatest concern. I took her hand, pressed it as Isabel de Bretel had pressed mine. “No, I don’t know her,” I lied. “May we go home?”
Phèdre nodded. “Of course.”
That night, the moon rose full and silver and bright. It seemed far too lovely to be a harbinger of war. I searched the City with Hugues and Ti-Philippe accompanying me. As before, we began at the beginning, in Elua’s Square and spiraling outward. I thought about how so many things seemed to have come around full circle, but mayhap it wasn’t a circle after all. Mayhap it was a spiral, loop upon loop repeating, ending at the farthest point from where it had begun.
Valor turned to poisoned folly.
Heroes turned to destroyers.
Traitors turned to allies.
I pushed the thoughts away and concentrated on my search. Ti-Philippe and Hugues didn’t make much of a pretense of searching, chatting instead of the war to come. The retainers of House Montrève would be staying to defend those left behind in the City of Elua. Both were envious of those who would be serving under Drustan and Ghislain’s command.
“I’m sorry you’re not able to serve, Imri,” Hugues said kindly to me. “That must hurt inside.”
“Yes,” I murmured. “It hurts.”
We finished our winding circuit and retraced our steps. Circles. I thought about training with Joscelin, telling the hours on my own. Riding in an endless circle around the besieged city of Lucca on night patrol with Eamonn. The chambered nautilus shell on Master Piero’s desk. Elua, that seemed like a long time ago. A golden ring, a coiled knot. Shackles of love, shackles of madness, shackles of protection, shackles of punishment.
My mind wandered in circles.
It was an hour or so shy of dawn when we arrived back at Elua’s Square. No emerald flash, no gem. I dismounted and knelt in the loose dirt, bowing my head and praying to Blessed Elua.
“This is your city,” I whispered. “The city you founded, the city that bears your name. These are your people whom you have always loved dearly. I pray, if there be any way to save them, show me. Use me as you will.”
And then I prayed to his Companions: to Naamah to spread her grace on true lovers, to Eisheth for the balm of healing, to Azza to avenge the pride of a nation deceived, to Shemhazai for the wits to avert this tragedy, to Anael to restore the sense of care and husbandry that war destroyed, to Camael to stay his martial hand in favor of compassion.
And although it was a thing seldom done, I prayed to Cassiel, the Perfect Companion. “I know you do not like to be beseeched in prayer,” I whispered, “but you will