Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [57]
Sidonie wasn’t in them.
This was the only way to shield you from it.
“Astegal,” I muttered. “What did you do? What did they do, those damned Carthaginians? What did they do?” I repeated, addressing Phèdre and Joscelin. “The full moon, the mirror? What did they do?”
“Hush.” Phèdre stroked my cheek. “It’s all right, love.”
“What did you see in the mirror?” I demanded.
They exchanged a glance, faces softening. “It was a marvel,” Joscelin said, wonder in his tone. “The invisible ties that bind all things in the cosmos . . .” His voice trailed off.
“No,” I said dully. “It was a trick. It was some vast and terrible enchantment, and I was protected from it only because the eunuch stabbed me with something that sent me mad.” I laughed in despair. “Madness as a shield against madness. Now I’m sane, and you’re raving.”
“You’re sick,” Phèdre said gently.
“I’m sane,” I said. “Sidonie loves me. She defied her mother and half the realm for my sake. She would never wed Astegal. And Terre d’Ange would never betray its alliance with Aragonia to unite with Carthage.”
Phèdre shook her head in sorrow and went to meet the chirurgeon.
Somewhat was wrong, terribly wrong. Filled with terror, I held my tongue and suffered myself to be examined by the royal chirurgeon, Lelahiah Valais. She confirmed that the worst of the fever had broken, bandaged my injuries, and recommended strong broth and a great deal of sleep. I heard them speak in hushed tones about my continued delusions.
“Do you think it’s because he was taken by Carthaginian slavers as a child that he harbors such a peculiar grudge?” Joscelin asked the chirurgeon.
“Oh, yes,” Lelahiah said. “I’m sure of it. And to be fair, I’ve heard there are folk outside the City unhappy with the Queen’s decision.”
“People are always fearful of change,” Phèdre murmured. “But what do you make of his claim about Sidonie, of all people?” She sounded perplexed. “I wouldn’t say they disliked one another, but they’ve never been close.”
“Mayhap that’s why.” The chirurgeon lowered her voice. “The mind is a strange place, my lady, and we cannot examine its workings the way we examine the body’s. I understand he was very ill after his wife was slain and his wounds turned septic. Mayhap one spell of madness evoked another, and somehow in his thoughts, he has replaced the loss of his wife with a loss that is less painful to him.”
Less painful.
Sidonie.
I stared at the moon outside my balcony. A month ago, I’d made love to her by moonlight. Now she was gone. Gone to Carthage, gone to wed Astegal. Gone of her own volition, it seemed. Was I mad? I had been. I’d said things that made me cringe inside. I didn’t trust myself. But I loved Sidonie. I knew I did. And she loved me. I could feel her absence like a wound. I remembered her. Everything about her. Everything we had done together. Her scent, the taste of her skin. The faraway look she got in the throes of pleasure. Her voice. Always and always.
My head was full of voices and memory.
Gods, I was tired.
Alais’ voice, her grave face the day we’d spoken atop the ramparts of Bryn Gorrydum. I think she’s going to need you very badly one day.
That damned eunuch, Sunjata.
Go to Cythera.
Ask Ptolemy Solon how to undo what’s done here tonight.
I closed my eyes. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it,” I whispered into the darkness. “I’ll come for you, love. I promise.”
Fourteen
My strength returned slowly.
It wasn’t as bad as it had been after Dorelei’s death. I wasn’t wounded, save for the suppurating abrasions around my wrists and ankles, a bitterly ironic reminder of the bindings I’d once worn as a protection against enchantment. But the fever and lack of nourishment had left me weak.
And I was surrounded by madness.
Everyone in the Palace believed it. Terre d’Ange—and oh, gods, Alba too—had made a pact with Carthage. Sidonie had gone away to wed Astegal, escorted onto the Carthaginian flagship with great fanfare.
No one remembered our affair.
It had been erased from memory as though it had