Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [62]
Eisheth’s head was bowed, curtains of marble hair hiding her features. Humble. The mossy stones were damp beneath my knees. I fumbled for the packet tied to my belt, poured an offering of incense into her cupped hands. Hyssop and cedar gum. There were wax tapers piled neatly at her feet. I took one, kindled it at a votive, and lit the incense. A sweet thread of smoke arose from her palms, bluish in the sunlight.
“Merciful Eisheth, grant me healing,” I whispered. “Grant it to us all.”
I cupped my own hands, dipped them into the spring, and drank. The water was cool, with an acrid mineral tang. I drank deep.
“Ready, highness?” a man’s voice whispered behind me.
It was one of L’Envers’ guards, beckoning from the entrance, a grey cloak folded over one arm. He didn’t have to tell me to hurry. I crossed quickly over to him and donned the cloak, pulling up the hood to hide my features.
“This way.” He steered me down the wide corridor, then turned into a narrow hall used by the initiates and acolytes who served the priesthood. I could tell, because he pointed to the crumpled figure of one on the floor. “Mind the body.”
I stepped gingerly over it. “You didn’t . . . ?”
The guard shook his head. “He’ll have a lump on his skull, that’s all.”
I was relieved. Barquiel L’Envers had a name for being ruthless. At least he was efficient, too. His guardsman navigated me with swift certitude down the back hallways of the temple. Once we had to duck into a storage room filled with strips of willow bark while a pair of acolytes passed, but we managed to exit the temple by the postern gate. There was a plain carriage waiting, another guard at the reins.
“Get in.” The first guard opened the carriage door and gave me an ungentle shove. He followed as I slid across the seats, shouting to the driver, “Go!”
The driver snapped the reins and the carriage lurched into motion. “My thanks,” I said to the guard.
“Don’t thank me.” His face was shuttered. “I’m just following orders. It’s a sodding mystery to me why his grace is helping you.”
“Love of country?” I suggested.
“How on earth is packing you off to some strange isle supposed to help?” His expression slipped a little to reveal utter bewilderment. “No mind. Like as not, he’s finally found a way to get rid of you.”
“Like as not,” I agreed, wondering if it was true.
The carriage took us to the wharf. Barquiel L’Envers was there alongside a sizable merchant-barge, drumming his fingers impatiently on his sword-belt. I dismounted from the carriage, careful to keep my hood up.
“Everything’s there.” L’Envers jerked his chin at the barge. “Your horse, your things. Passage paid to Marsilikos. After that, you’re on your own.”
I took a deep breath. “Thank you, my lord.”
“The captain and crew are sound,” he said. “They were outside the City when it happened. I paid them to keep their mouths shut, and they’re scared enough to do it. If you need help in Marsilikos, try the Lady’s daughter. She wasn’t here for it, either.”
“I will.” I hesitated, then fished the letter I’d written out of an inner pocket. “I don’t have the right to ask you any further favors . . .”
L’Envers lips tightened. “Just ask.”
“This is for Phèdre and Joscelin.” I handed him the letter. “I didn’t divulge any details. And I know you can’t give it to them yet. Not until I’m well away, not until you’ve raised a sufficient delegation that they might, might listen, instead of accusing you of abducting me. But it’s important to me. I owe them my life. I owe them everything I am.”
He took it. “What else?”
“Sidonie,” I said softly. “If I fail, if I’ve been misled . . .” My voice faltered. “You’re welcome to seek vengeance against me, I don’t care. But please . . . no matter how it seemed, she didn’t go willingly. Not really.”
Somewhat in L’Envers’ worn, chiseled face softened. “I know.”
I swallowed. “Whatever you can do to save her.”
“Imriel.” Barquiel L’Envers hands settled on my shoulders. “She’s my blood. Why the hell do you think I wanted to protect her from you so badly?” His fingers flexed, biting deep.