Kushiel's Mercy
Page 6

The full complement of the Palace Guard numbered five hundred, but only fifty of them were personally attached to Sidonie’s service. That day, it seemed half of them were lounging in the common room of the barracks, tending to their equipment, playing games of chance, drinking and flirting with servants and sundry guests. There was a pause when I entered, the captain’s men watching curiously.
“Prince Imriel.” Claude de Monluc was seated on a hassock, running a whetstone down the edge of his sword. He rose, sheathed his blade, and gave me an exacting bow. “Thank you for coming, your highness.”
I inclined my head. “You’re welcome, my lord captain. Is there some danger I should be aware of? Your men seem sufficiently at ease.”
“No.” De Monluc hesitated, frowning. He was a tall fellow with blond hair and cool blue eyes, an expression that sought to keep its own counsel. “I thought we should talk, you and I. Will you join me in a tankard of ale?”
I shrugged. “Why not?”
We retired to a quiet corner with a pair of chairs drawn up to an unlit brazier. A barracks attendant brought over a pair of foaming tankards. I hadn’t seen them poured. I gazed at the ale, then at de Monluc’s face.
“Do you fear poison?” he asked in a dry tone.
“No,” I said thoughtfully. “No, you’re a man with a sense of honor, albeit a rigid one.” I took a healthy drink. “And anyway, ’tis you who mistrusts me.”
He gave a short laugh. “I cede the point, your highness.”
“I’m not interested in playing games,” I said mildly. “And I’d sooner have you call me Imriel.”
De Monluc’s lips tightened. “You’re blunt. Will you give me an honest answer to a blunt query?”
“I might,” I said. “It depends on the query.” I watched suspicion creep into his expression and rolled my eyes. “Elua’s Balls, man! I’ll not lie, if that’s what you’re asking.”
A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Do you seek my post?”
“Your post?” Whatever I’d expected, it wasn’t this. I stared blankly at him. “The captaincy of the Dauphine’s Guard? Why in the world would I want that?”
“Well, the last man to share her highness’ bed did,” de Monluc observed. “But I reckon you might have reasons of your own.” He studied me with his cool, blue gaze. “You’ve enemies at Court. Taking command of the Dauphine’s Guard and creating your own personal army would be a shrewd step. It would afford you a measure of protection.”
I returned his gaze. He looked away, taking a sip of ale. It didn’t matter. I could see the aching lines of pain and sorrow beneath the distrust. “You’re one of them,” I said. “You don’t wear the black armband, but you are, aren’t you? You lost family at the battle of Troyes-le-Mont.”
“It didn’t . . .” De Monluc paused. “My father. I was ten.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
He was silent a moment. I waited.
“I’m not one of them,” he said at length. “Not one to reckon a man should be judged by the deeds of his forebears. I talked to men who served under you in Alba, Urist and some of his fellows. They thought well of you.”
“I thought well of them,” I said.
Claude de Monluc glanced at me. “So do you want it or no?”
“Are you good at your job?” I asked.
He straightened, stung. “I am. I earned this post, my lord, and I am loyal to her highness. These men . . .” He gestured. “They’re off duty, your highness. We completed drills this morning. There is no license here, if that’s your thought. We know our duty. Any one of us would lay down our lives to protect the Dauphine.”
There were shouts of agreement from a few guardsmen within earshot who forgot to pretend they weren’t eavesdropping.
“Is he good at his job?” I asked them.
“Too good, my lord,” one called amid rumbles of laughter and agreement.
“A strict taskmaster?” I asked. “Willing to share every hardship? Given to painstaking measures of precaution when it comes to the Dauphine’s safety?”
“By the seven hells, is he ever!” Alfonse said fervently.
I raised my brows at Claude de Monluc. “Well, then. I have no interest in your post, Captain.”
He flushed. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I said. “After Maslin de Lombelon’s ambitions, and with the gossip surrounding me, I don’t blame you for wondering . . .” A thought struck me. “Do you and your men drill on horseback?”
“What?” De Monluc looked startled. “No, only on foot. We’re guards, not cavalry.”
It was Maslin’s name had made me think of it. We had a long history. He had been the second in command of the Dauphine’s Guard, and, briefly, Sidonie’s lover. After they had quarrelled, he’d set out to find me in Vralia, determined to prove to her that he loved her more than I did. Instead, he’d found out a great deal about himself, including the fact that his feelings for Sidonie were a dubious mixture of yearning, ambition, and idealized romanticism.
And that I, on the other hand, truly did love her.
“You should,” I said. “The men who attacked me in Vralia were mounted. Maslin thought he could handle them, but good as he is with a sword, he doesn’t fight well in the saddle.”
“And yet he saved your life, did he not?” de Monluc asked in confusion. “Or so I heard.”
I hadn’t said any more than that publicly, reckoning it was true enough in its own way. “He did,” I said, lowering my voice. “Of a surety, I would likely have died if he’d not been there. But let us say I had more of a hand in my own salvation than Maslin would have liked.” I laughed at the memory. “He told me that he was hoping I’d have to spend the rest of my life knowing I owed every breath I drew to him.”
“He said that?” De Monluc stared. “And you think it’s funny?”
I shrugged. “In its own way, yes. Anyway, ’tis a serious weakness. What if Sidonie were attacked in the middle of a hunting party or riding from some pleasure jaunt?”
“Do you think there’s reason to fear such a thing?” he asked.
“Elua, I hope not!” I shuddered. “Still, people are capable of terrible things, my lord, and I daresay there are a few out there willing to blame Sidonie for the unspeakable sin of falling in love with Melisande Shahrizai’s son. Why not take every precaution?”
“You’ve a point,” de Monluc said.
Another thought struck me. “Ask Barquiel L’Envers for assistance,” I suggested. “Blessed Elua knows I can’t abide the man, but I’ve always heard he fielded an excellent light cavalry.” I laughed again. “Tell him it’s because you mistrust my intentions and you want Sidonie’s personal guard trained to deal with any possibility. He’ll leap at the chance.”
“I’ll do that.” Claude de Monluc drained his ale. “You’re not exactly what I expected, Prince Imriel de la Courcel.”
“Imriel,” I said.
He nodded. “Imriel.”
I finished my ale and rose. “I nearly lost my wits when my wife was slain. If anything like that were to happen to Sidonie . . .” It was so awful to contemplate, I couldn’t find words. “I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I couldn’t live through it twice. I’d die. And that’s really all you need to know about me, my lord de Monluc.”
“Claude,” he said, rising and putting out his hand.
I clasped it. “My thanks. Let me know what arrangements you make. If you don’t mind, I’d like to train with your men, so long as it’s not L’Envers himself doing the training. I could use some lessons on fighting in the saddle.”
“Of course.” He smiled. “Sounds like you managed well enough in Vralia.”
I smiled back at him. “Oh, I was on foot.”
He stared. “On foot?”
I laughed. “I spent half my life being taught by Joscelin Verreuil. Would you expect aught else?”
“Apparently I did,” he said.
I left the encounter feeling better. I didn’t expect to earn the loyalty and trust of Sidonie’s guard, at least not easily, but I’d settle for a measure of respect, and I thought mayhap I’d won it today from Claude de Monluc. It wasn’t his job to protect me and I didn’t expect that either, but it would be good to feel confident that if there was a dagger hurtling toward my back, a guard would shout a warning.
And it least it hadn’t been a summons to speak with Queen Ysandre for failing to tell her about the Unseen Guild, although it made me uneasy that Sidonie hadn’t returned yet. I put the thought out of my head and sat down at her desk to complete my letter to the Master of the Straits.
I was just finishing when she returned. I glanced up, trying to decipher her expression. “Was she angry?”
“No.” Sidonie looked bemused. “She knew.”
I blinked. “She knew?”
“Mm-hmm.” She sat on the couch. I dusted my letter to Hyacinthe with sand and went to join her. “Phèdre told her everything before she and Joscelin departed on their mysterious errand.” Sidonie glanced at me with a flicker of amusement. “The one we don’t want to know about.”
“Do you?” I asked.
“Gods, no.” She rolled her shoulders. “We’ve got burdens enough, you and I.”
I shifted to rub her neck and shoulders. “You were gone a long time.”
“We had a good discussion.” Her voice was soft and low. “The first in a long time. I was angry. She should have trusted me with the knowledge.”
I pressed my lips to the nape of her neck, inhaling her scent. “Why didn’t she?”
“For many of the same reasons you didn’t, so she said.” Sidonie sighed. “Because it’s dangerous. And because there’s no proof and naught to be done about it without stirring the waters. Spies will be spies, she said. We have spies, too, you know.”
I blew in her ear. “Oh, do we?”
Sidonie wriggled. “Do you want to talk or . . . ?”
“Both.” I let go of her and reclined on the couch, folding my arms behind my head, smiling at her.
“Elua, you’re insufferable!” With an agile movement, Sidonie turned and stretched atop me, propping her elbows on my chest and resting her chin on folded hands. “Yes.” She gazed down at me. “We have spies, although not so extensive a consortium, and none successful enough to find your cursed mother. But you recall the situation in Carthage that Raul mentioned? Mother is concerned about it. Aragonia has been a loyal ally.”
“Carthage,” I echoed, shifting my hips so that my phallus, erect and aching in my breeches, pressed against the warm cleft between her gown-clad thighs. “Where an ambitious young general threatens war.”
“He’s not . . .” Sidonie writhed against me. “At this point, there’s no . . .” I unfolded my arms and reached down to grasp her buttocks, pulling hard. She shuddered and narrowed her eyes at me. “Why in the name of all the gods do you find it so perversely arousing to discuss politics while making love?”
“I don’t know,” I murmured. “But you want me inside you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Gods, yes!”
It had been this way between us since the beginning, and neither of us could say why. The desire between us was like an oil-soaked rag, ready to ignite at a single spark. And yet it was more than that, too. We reflected one another, the bright mirror and the dark. Sidonie sat back on her heels, undoing the laces of my breeches. I pushed her skirts up around her hips, tugged her underdrawers down. She took my throbbing phallus in hand, fit me to her slick opening. I pushed.
We fit.
She sank onto me, sighing. I filled her.
“So it was a good talk,” I said.
“Yes.” Sidonie rocked atop me, her eyelids flickering as I dug my fingernails into her buttocks. “I think . . . I think mayhap the truth of it is she was waiting to see if you would tell me on your own. About your mother and the Unseen Guild.”
I jerked my hips upward. “And I did.”
“You did,” she agreed. “Eventually.”
“You were the one who didn’t want to face the cost of winning your mother’s blessing until we had to,” I reminded her.
“True.” Her pace quickened. “I need to not talk for a moment.”
A moment; many moments. I watched her face transformed with pleasure, alight and incandescent. It never failed to shock and thrill me, how utterly and thoroughly my cool, collected cousin was willing to surrender to complete abandonment. We hadn’t even begun to test the limits of it. I watched her ride me to climax, again and again, waiting a long time to join her.
“Mmm.” Sidonie collapsed on my chest. “Also a good talk.”
I ran a few strands of her hair through my fingers, watching her blurred, black gaze sharpen, coming back from wherever pleasure took her. “Do you suppose it will always be like this between us?”
Her lips curved. “Always?”
I nodded. “Always and always.”
Sidonie kissed me. “Gods, I hope so.”
Five
The months that followed were among the best of my life.
They weren’t perfect; Elua knows, nothing ever is. Not in my life, anyway. But this came close.