Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [282]
“Yes. That’s a good thought.” She dropped her hands. Her eyes were bright with tears. “Ah, gods! I’m sorry. I tried. I tried and tried. I wasn’t strong enough.”
“Sidonie!” I shook her. “Don’t ever think that.”
“It hurt.” She rubbed her eyes with the heel of one hand. “And it was just so damned terrifying to feel my memories slipping away, bit by bit. Then one day I was sitting in the bath, feeling like there were red-hot shackles around my wrists and ankles, and I thought, why am I enduring this? And I couldn’t remember. So I took them off. Just like that. And then it didn’t hurt anymore and I didn’t care. I was gone.”
“Not all of you,” I reminded her.
“No.” She gazed at me. “When I saw you in the hall, walking toward the dais and dropping your sword, telling us the gods forbade the war . . . I don’t know. I didn’t remember, not exactly, but there was such a strange brightness about you. It tugged at somewhat inside of me. Why did you do it?”
I told her.
“Elua!” Sidonie’s eyes widened. “Is that how you knew where to find the demon-stone?”
“No.” I smiled wryly. “I woke up in the hall with my head splitting, staring sideways at the damnable gem-painting. And I saw it.” I took her hand and traced a spiral on her palm. “The design from Bodeshmun’s talisman. It was hidden in the whorls of bark on the tree.”
Sidonie stifled an unexpected laugh. “Truly?”
“Mm-hmm.” I leaned forward and kissed her lightly. “You have a proclamation to write and a letter to Alais. Can you manage?”
“Yes.” Her fingers closed around mine. “I just need . . . I need you beside me. And I need this to be the one place where I don’t have to be strong.”
I smiled again. “I know. And in that, love, I’m more than happy to oblige in any way that will ease your burden.”
This time, Sidonie smiled back at me with a trace of genuine amusement. “I can think of quite a few. Unfortunately, the most pressing would be helping me with this proclamation. Will you?”
I rose, pulling her to her feet. “Of course.”
Sidonie stood without moving for a moment. I could feel her gathering her strength, gathering her will. She glanced up at me, somber once more. “Do you think we’ll ever truly recover from this? All of us, I mean, not you and I.”
“Yes,” I said honestly. I placed her hand on my chest. She spread her fingers, feeling the ridges of the scars beneath my doublet. “I don’t think things will ever be the same. They can’t be. But we’ve survived. We’ll grieve. We’ll heal. We’ll remember that there’s laughter and joy and love and desire in the world. Enough to drive out the grief and sorrow. Enough to banish guilt and shame.”
“Do you promise it?” she asked.
“Yes.” I slid my arms around Sidonie’s waist, pulling her against me. She put hers around my neck and clung to me, fierce and hard. I rested my cheek against her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. “I promise.”
Eighty-Five
My heart rose at the sight of Isabel de Bretel and her escort departing the City of Elua, a thicket of white pennants flying above them. Sidonie had been right to insist on them. It was a strong image, a powerful message of peace. No one cheered—the mood was still far too sober—but there was a feeling like a collective sigh of relief. A step toward normalcy had been taken.
We returned to the Palace to hold an audience.
Mere hours had passed since the demon had been freed from the stone and the spell broken. It felt like a great deal longer. I was weary for lack of sleep. My head ached, a tender lump having risen on the back of my skull. My entire backside stung with a hundred pinpricks. My stomach still roiled.
Given the choice, I’d far sooner have told the tale quietly to a chosen few in a private salon, and I know Sidonie would, too. But it wouldn’t have been fair. It wasn’t only our story. The entire City was confused and hurting