Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [276]
“What have I done?” Ysandre said. She was speaking for everyone present. Her voice shook. “Elua! What have we all done?”
Drustan fixed me with his dark gaze. One side of his face was bleeding, scored by myriad gashes from flying gem fragments. Here and there, shards of emerald glinted amid the tattooed whorls. “Not all of us.”
Now that it was over, I was trembling, too. My head ached and I stung in a hundred different places, shards embedded in my own flesh. Gods, it had been a near thing! “It was a spell,” I said. “It wasn’t your fault. And you didn’t do it. We were able to break the spell in time.”
His gaze shifted to Sidonie. “Both of you.”
“Barely,” she murmured, her face pale.
“Does that . . .” Ysandre shivered. “Does that mean it didn’t happen as we believed?” A faint note of hope crept into her voice. “You didn’t go to Carthage and wed Astegal? Was that all part of the falsehood?”
“No,” Sidonie said gently. “I wish it were.”
The sound of mourning arose in the Square, breaking the hush. Some folk were still silent and shocked, but others began keening. I saw soldiers on their knees, rocking back and forth, burying their faces in their hands. I looked at Phèdre. Her eyes were closed, her face shuttered. Joscelin was staring at his hands, turned palms upward. I looked away.
“Alais,” Ysandre whispered in horror, the full realization striking her.
“It’s all right,” I said. “It didn’t happen.”
The Queen of Terre d’Ange shook her head. What Ysandre was thinking, what she was feeling, I couldn’t imagine. I felt sick at heart remembering what I’d said and done in my madness. Ysandre de la Courcel had declared war on her own daughter. On her own nation.
The keening grew louder. I watched Ysandre gather herself with a profound effort of will. She and Drustan exchanged a glance. He nodded, knowing her mind. They bore the same burden of guilt.
Ysandre stepped to the dais. “People of Terre d’Ange!” They quieted. She took a deep breath. “In the presence of all here assembled, I declare myself unfit to sit the throne. I relinquish the throne of Terre d’Ange to my eldest daughter and heir, Sidonie de la Courcel.”
Ten thousand hungry eyes turned to Sidonie.
This, neither of us had expected.
“No.” Sidonie’s voice was quiet, too quiet. She squared her shoulders and raised her voice. “No. I do not accept this charge. I, too, fell victim to Carthage’s wiles. I, too, fell beneath the spell’s influence. I fell farther and harder than anyone. I stand before you here today only because Imriel de la Courcel rescued me from it, as, in the end, he has saved all of us.”
A poet’s tale.
I glanced at Kratos and saw tears streaking his broad face.
“Blessed Elua is merciful,” Sidonie said. There were tears on her face, too. “He does not join hearts without a purpose. We have all been spared this day. We have all been granted mercy and redemption this day. I acknowledge my mother’s wishes. I will serve as regent for a month’s time. And as such, this is my order to you.”
They hung on her words.
“Go home,” Sidonie said, and though her voice was soft, it carried. “Let those with a chirurgeon’s training among you come forward to tend to the wounded. Everyone else, I bid you go home. Go home and do penance. Go home and mourn at what very nearly happened. Go home and give thanks that it did not. There is a tale to tell here, and it will be told in due time. Now we need to grieve, all of us. We need to regret. And yet let us always remember, the gods had mercy on us. In the end, love prevailed.”
She reached for my hand.
I took hers and squeezed it hard.
No one cheered. It was too somber a moment and they were too dazed by what had happened. By the demon’s passage, by the dawning horror of what they’d nearly done. Here and there, a number of folk yet knelt, rocking and wailing. Still, it gave many of them purpose. I saw them take heart from her words.
For the moment, it was enough.
The crowd began to stir, making