Kushiel's Mercy
Page 3

But I couldn’t, and mere words seemed an inadequate tool.
“How did you do it?” I asked Sidonie the night before my meeting with the priest, pacing the salon. “Convince him?”
“I spoke from the heart.” She smiled slightly. “At considerable length. I think mayhap I wore him down.”
“But what did you say?” I asked.
“I’m not sure it’s right to tell you.” Sidonie regarded me, her expression unreadable. “And even if it is, I can’t lend you my words, Imriel. They won’t help. You have to find your own.”
“I know. I know.” I halted my pacing and sat on the couch beside her. “But it would help me to hear it, truly.”
“All right.” She drew her knees up beneath her gown, lacing her arms around them. Her dark Cruithne gaze rested on me. “I said a lot. It’s probably for the best I don’t remember half of it.” Her smile came and went in a quick flicker. “I don’t want to swell your head. In the end . . .” She lifted her chin, her gaze moving off into the distance. “Why you? That’s the question, isn’t it? Why is this worth sowing unrest in Terre d’Ange?”
I nodded and kept silent.
“Blessed Elua doesn’t join hearts without a purpose.” Sidonie knit her brows. “Since I was old enough to know my own name, I’ve known I was my mother’s heir. I’ve grown up learning and understanding the responsibilities that entails. And until . . . until that night, the Longest Night, when I first kissed you, I’d scarce done a single thing that wasn’t in keeping with those duties. Not one action, not one deed, not one misspoken word.”
“Very proper,” I murmured.
“Mmm.” Her gaze shifted back to me. “Imriel, you are the one person in the world, the only person in the world, my mother would forbid me. And yes, I did think in the beginning, mayhap it was only that. Some long-stifled act of rebellion. But it wasn’t. So, why? Surely there must be purpose in it.” Her voice dropped, softening. “Love chooses. We don’t, not always. I could have chosen anyone, anyone else, and I would have learned nothing of the terrible might of love, the power and sacrifice. What manner of D’Angeline would I have been, then? What manner of person?”
“You would be you,” I said. “Always.”
Sidonie tilted her head, her gaze sliding away once more, contemplating somewhat I couldn’t see. “I’m not so sure. This land, this realm of ours, at its worst . . .” She shook her head. “We can be a vain, proud, and insular people. I know it. I’ve felt it all my life.” Her mouth quirked. “I hear what people say. Cruithne half-breed. And the worst of it was always leveled against Alais, not me, just because of the way she looks. It hurt more in a way because I couldn’t protect her from it. She’s my younger sister; we share the same blood.”
“I know,” I said quietly. “And pride in it on both sides. So you should, Sidonie.” I touched the torc at my throat. It had been a proud day when Drustan gave it to me. “I understand.”
“I know.” Her dark gaze returned. “My mother and father, D’Angeline and Alban, a love-match despite themselves, uniting two realms. Phèdre and Joscelin, anguissette and Cassiline Brother, facing untold danger. Anafiel Delaunay, keeping his oath after so many years, honoring his lost love. Ah, Elua!” Sidonie drew a deep breath, eyes bright with unshed tears. “At its best . . . at its best, Terre d’Ange has a great deal to teach the world about the nature of love and how we might best live our lives.” Her voice grew stronger. “And I do not think I would ever have understood that if I had not fallen in love with the one person in the world it was not proper to love.”
I stared at her, the hair on the back of my neck prickling.
“I had a long time to think while you were surviving shipwrecks and gaol and endless hunts through the trackless wilderness.” Sidonie wiped her eyes impatiently, adding, “You can close your mouth now.”
I did. “Sidonie . . .”
She uncoiled, reaching for me. Her hands sank deep into my hair. Her face was close, so near our breath mingled, and her expression was fierce. “So now you know. But I don’t want to talk anymore. I don’t want to think anymore. Not here, not now.”
I obliged her.
Our love-making wasn’t gentle that night. Betimes it could be. Betimes it wasn’t. That night, for the first time since we had been reunited, Sidonie and I waged love like war. I took her on the couch. I carried her to the bedchamber and I took her there. I left marks on her skin. She left marks on mine. And in the small hours of the night, when the full moon rose outside our balcony, I watched her sleep, peaceful as a babe, her bare skin silvered by the slanting moonlight.
“Sun Princess.” I traced the line of her spine, from the nape of her neck to the cleft of her buttocks. My throat felt tight. “I don’t have the words. I wish I did. I just don’t ever want to be without you.”
Sidonie murmured in her sleep. I lay down beside her, fitting the curve of my body around hers, drawing up the sheet to cover us both. My arm settled around her waist. Still sleeping, she hugged it to her.
Why do we fit so well together?
“I’ll try to find words,” I whispered, and slept.
On the morrow, I went to meet with the priest at the Temple of Elua. A smiling young acolyte met me in the vestibule, kneeling to draw off my boots.
“Brother Thomas will meet you in the inner sanctum,” he said.
It is an old place, one of the oldest in the City, quiet and peaceful; a roofless sanctuary with pillars marking the four corners and ancient oaks flanking the effigy of Blessed Elua. The trees were old, too. The only living thing in the City more ancient was the oak tree in Elua’s Square in the exact center of the City, said to have been planted by Elua himself. I walked barefoot over lush grass to approach the effigy, kneeling to press my lips to the cool marble of his foot.
“Imriel de la Courcel,” a voice said behind me.
I rose and turned. “Brother Thomas Jubert?”
The priest inclined his head. He was a big man and younger than I’d expected, not yet sixty, with black hair and pale grey eyes that reminded me of Berlik, the magician of the Maghuin Dhonn who had killed Dorelei. The thought made me uneasy, which his words did nothing to allay.
“Come.” Brother Thomas beckoned. “I would speak with you, as would others.”
I raised my brows. “Others?”
He folded his hands in the blue sleeves of his robe. “Elua’s priesthood does not speak for all his Companions.”
“I see.” I followed him into the temple, down a corridor. Somewhere, a woman’s voice was raised in song, merry and incongruous. Brother Thomas led me into a pleasant atrium garden, set about with chairs and couches.
Representatives of all the orders of Elua’s Companions were there—or at least all save one. Naamah’s priest clad in scarlet, Azza’s in a saffron tunic with a crimson chlamys. A Priest of Kushiel clad in black robes, wearing the bronze mask of office. A Priestess of Eisheth in sea-blue, and Shemhazai’s in a scholar’s dark grey robes. A Priestess of Anael in brown, tied at the waist with a rope belt. A Priest of Camael in a forest-green surplice, his sword hanging at his side.
“No Cassiline Brother?” I asked Brother Thomas.
He smiled faintly. “We do not believe the Cassiline Brotherhood speaks for Cassiel. I believe you have some familiarity with that notion.”
“I do.” Joscelin had been a Cassiline Brother, a warrior-priest of the order. He had broken his oaths of loyalty, obedience, and chastity for Phèdre’s sake. He believed in the end that his path was in accordance with Cassiel’s wishes. I believed it, too.
“Please be seated.” Brother Thomas gestured. His expression was grave again. “Understand, Imriel de la Courcel, that we have little liking for this process. We are servants of Blessed Elua and his Companions. We concern ourselves with matters of the soul, the heart, the flesh. Of love, desire, and divinity, growth and healing, penance and redemption, wisdom and mortal striving. Not politics.”
I took a seat. “And yet you summoned me here, my lord.”
“Yes.” He sighed. “Your dilemma is a political one, but it touches on matters of the spirit.”
No one else spoke, all of them watching silently. I felt unpleasantly as though I were on trial. “What would you have me say, my lords and ladies?” I asked, spreading my hands. “Or what is it you wish to say to me?”
They exchanged silent glances.
“I wish to say this,” Brother Thomas said quietly. “We will listen to the words you say here today. Once we have come to consensus, I will advise the Queen accordingly on this as a matter of spirit. I will give no advice in the matter of politics.”
I shrugged. “Nor would I expect you to.”
“That is well, then.” Brother Thomas inclined his head. “Speak.”
I hadn’t expected this. I had expected . . . what? A more intimate conversation, a priest’s gentle questioning leading me to divulge the secret truths of my heart. I wondered if Sidonie had known, and suspected that she had. I wished she’d given me warning, though I supposed that would have somehow tainted the procedure. I wasn’t sure if I was more annoyed or impressed with her integrity.
“I love her,” I said slowly. “Sidonie. And I could give you a hundred reasons why, a hundred things about her that surprise and delight me, but the truth is that, in the end, I don’t know why.” I paused, but no one spoke. “My lords, I know no one who has done more in the service of love than Joscelin Verreuil. When I first came to love Sidonie, I didn’t trust my feelings, not wholly. We were young and fearful and uncertain, and we both knew full well the risks involved in our liaison. I asked Joscelin how it was that he knew for a surety that he loved Phèdre. He said that he had tried doing without her.” I smiled a little to myself, remembering. “He’s not a man of surpassing eloquence, but he speaks to the point.”
“You took this as advice?” the priest inquired.
“I did. And in defiance of Blessed Elua’s precept, I chose duty over love. I fulfilled my obligation to the Crown and wed the Cruarch’s niece. You know well what followed.” I swallowed hard at the memory and made myself continue. “If I could unmake that choice, I would. And yet I cherish what small good can be gleaned from the horror. To do otherwise dishonors the dead. I learned a great deal about the true nature of love from Dorelei mab Breidaia. I learned a great deal about myself and what it means to be a man. And I learned that for good or ill, I do love Sidonie de la Courcel with an abiding passion that time, distance, or dire magic cannot alter.”
They were silent.
My heartbeat quickened. “My lords, for two years, since first we knew we loved one another, Sidonie and I have been parted. It’s led to naught but misery for far too many. I cannot unmake my choice or undo the tragedies that ensued, but I can seek to trust Elua’s wisdom as I should have done before.” I turned out my hands, pleading. “Is it too much to believe that the gods wish us to be happy?”
Another glance was exchanged.
“Do you claim that your happiness is worth throwing Terre d’Ange into chaos?” Brother Thomas asked in a dry tone.
“Do you claim we are the ones responsible for sowing chaos when we are but following Elua’s precept?” I asked sharply. “Love as thou wilt. If the Queen forbids our union, she is violating the one tenet we are all of us taught to hold dear, and guilty of heresy. That’s the crux of the matter, is it not?”
“It is the reason we are listening,” the priest replied. “But you have not answered my question.”
I tilted my head and regarded the sky. It was a clear summer day, sunny and bright. A flock of swallows veered across the blue expanse overhead, graceful and free. “My happiness,” I murmured. There was a taste of bile in the back of my throat. “No, my lord. When you phrase it thusly, how can I say yes? And yet . . .” I shook my head. “I’ve had so very little of it.”
The assembled group stirred. “Of happiness?” Brother Thomas asked gently.
“Yes.” My voice broke on the word. I gazed at his face, feeling uncommonly weary. “My lord, let us be honest with one another. In the end, it doesn’t matter what I say to you here today, what advice you give the Queen. All it can grant is a small respite, a measure of time. I know this. The wounds my mother caused cut too deep, and there are no words that will sway the wounded heart of Terre d’Ange, only deeds.”
“Deeds,” he echoed, his expression sharpening. “You speak of deeds?”
“Yes, my lord. One deed in particular.” I took a deep, shaking breath. “There is a burden ahead of me I have to shoulder if I am to prove myself to the Queen and the realm. And I will. I’ll try. But Blessed Elua, I’m tired!” I laughed humorlessly, raking my hands through my hair. “In a scant twenty-one years, I’ve lived enough for three lifetimes. Is it so much to ask for a small respite?”
Brother Thomas studied me. “You know the burden you face? This deed you have not named?”
“Yes, my lord,” I said wearily. “Of course I know. Somewhere in my heart, I suppose I’ve always known.”
Unexpectedly, the Priest of Kushiel rose. “What I have heard suffices,” he said, his voice muffled by the mask. He bowed in my direction, sunlight glinting off the bronze planes. “He speaks the truth of his heart.”