“You wondered if having my innermost will perverted would curb my penchant for violent pleasure.” Her mouth twisted wryly as I nodded. “So did I, actually. But it seems I’m still reclaiming bits and pieces of myself.”
“I’m glad,” I said honestly.
“You were so gentle and beautiful when that was what I needed.” Sidonie wound a lock of my hair around her fingers. “Thank you.”
“Always,” I said.
She gave me one of her quick smiles. “Or not, as it happens.”
I laughed and planted a kiss on the inside of her wrist. “You’re going to have bruises.”
“Mmm.” Sidonie touched my cheek, her expression turning serious. “That’s a part of me Astegal never touched, Imriel. I don’t . . .” She hesitated. “I’d like to think that somewhere deep inside, I knew enough to withhold my trust from him, to keep the most vulnerable part of me safe. But in truth, I don’t know.” She lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. “It may simply be that he never knew me well enough to suspect it was there. Although in a way, I don’t suppose he could have when there was so much we could never discuss.”
It was the first time she’d spoken of what had passed between her and Astegal. “No?” I asked quietly.
“No. The first night . . .” Sidonie pulled away from me to sit upright, drawing her knees up and wrapping the sheet around them. “On the ship. I remember I asked him if he’d ever been in love before. He laughed and told some tale of a married woman he’d adored when he was little more than a youth. Then he told me that he wasn’t going to ask the same question. That as far as he was concerned, whatever lay in my past, it was all washed clean away the moment he laid eyes on me. That we were born anew for one another, and only the future mattered.”
“Very romantic,” I observed.
She shot a glance at me to see if I was mocking, but I wasn’t. “I thought so at the time. But it was just a means to keep me from discussing the past, lest I realize how much my memory was lacking.”
“So what did you talk about?” I asked.
“The future.” She gave another wry smile. “The glorious, peaceful, and just alliance of nations we would build. He laid out a bold, sweeping vision of the reforms he imagined for Carthage’s role in this empire, such as eliminating the slave-trade. Nothing that could be accomplished immediately, mind you, but things that would come in time if we were patient and diligent.”
“He played to the best in you,” I said softly.
“Mayhap.” Sidonie raked a hand through her disheveled hair. “Or mayhap to a strain of that L’Envers’ ambition I didn’t know I harbored. Noble aspirations are no excuse for conquest. I don’t know. It shames me to remember it.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I believed him, though,” she said. “In him, in his vision. And there’s a part of me that wonders . . . in the beginning, when it was all new and fresh, it truly seemed Astegal believed it, too.”
“When did it change?” I asked.
“I suppose it started in Carthage.” She hugged her knees. “On the ship, he’d led me to believe I’d be involved in matters of import once we were there. That I’d have a voice, responsibilities as I’d had in Terre d’Ange. But once we arrived, he kept telling me that the Council wasn’t ready, that it wasn’t Carthage’s way. That I had to be patient, and everything would change after Aragonia fell. So I was. Dumb, patient, and obedient.”
“Not to hear Bodeshmun tell it,” I said.
“It got worse after Astegal left,” Sidonie said. “That was when I became restless and bored. But I didn’t begin to doubt until you entered my life.” She smiled wistfully. “Or at least Leander Maignard did, reeking of pomade, beating me at chess and stirring strange thoughts and yearnings in me.”
“Not to mention gazing at you like a lovelorn pup,” I added.
“Yes.” She glanced at me, tears in her eyes. “That too. And I’m so grateful that you came for me, but . . . oh, gods! I wish none of it had ever happened. I wish I could forget it. And I can’t.”
I slid behind Sidonie and embraced her, holding her while she wept, her body shaking with an anguish she’d not let herself feel until now. My heart ached for her and I wished there were words I could say that would ease the pain, but there weren’t. That was one truth I knew all too well. Hurting was part of the healing.
“It gets better, love,” I said. “That, I promise.”
She laughed through her tears, sniffling. “Good. Because I hate this.”
I smiled against her hair. “I know.”
Afterward, Sidonie slept. I stayed awake for a time, watching her and thinking a thousand thoughts. But at length, I slept, too.
In the morning there was word.
The Euskerri wished to meet with us in the hall of the guest-house.
Sixty-Two
“What?” Sidonie’s voice cracked with outrage when she heard the Euskerri’s terms. A few of them flinched. There was no sign of last night’s wounded young woman in her. This was Ysandre de la Courcel’s heir in a rare fury. “Why in Blessed Elua’s name would you insist on such a thing?”
The Euskerri were demanding that she accompany them to Amílcar.
And that I join them in battle.
“You said you would ensure that the Aragonians keep their word,” Janpier Iturralde reminded her. “We do not trust them. If we are victorious over Carthage, the agreement with Aragonia must be witnessed. As the arbiter of this accord, it is your duty.”
She struggled for control. “I pledged my word, not my person. I have a duty to my country. And Terre d’Ange’s role in this will be meaningless if we’re not able to free her from the spell that binds it.”
Janpier translated her words. There was a rapid spate of argumentative Euskerri, resulting eventually in nods. “Terre d’Ange’s role may be meaningless anyway,” Janpier said calmly. “We do not believe that you have the authority to speak on behalf of Terre d’Ange, not with your country divided against itself. It is Aragonia that concerns us. What passes for leadership in Aragonia has granted you authority on their behalf. Your presence is our surety.”
“My presence,” Sidonie said. “As your hostage.”
He colored slightly. “I would not use that word.”
“I would,” I said grimly.
There was another long exchange in Euskerri. “It is not so simple,” Janpier said. “Aragonia seeks this bargain because they are desperate, but they have betrayed us in the past. We long for our freedom, but the price is very high.” There was sympathy in his face. “It will take a very great gesture of good faith for us to accept this offer. That is what is required of you. Without it, we must decline.”
I rose from the table. “Then decline. We will be on our way and wish you well.” A pair of brawny men moved to block the door to the hall. I stared at Janpier. “You would refuse to grant us passage to Terre d’Ange?”
He shrugged in apology. “We do long for freedom.”
Sidonie made a strangled sound. “Ah, gods! Do I understand this aright? If we agree to accompany you, the Euskerri will take arms against Carthage’s army? And if we refuse, you will turn us away in spite? Despite the fact that it’s in your own best interests to let us pass?”
“Yes.” Janpier’s face hardened. “Who are you to tell us what is in our best interests? You led an army to our doorstep, highness. In the minds of my people, if you are not willing to do this thing, you have acted in bad faith and we would rather take our chances with Carthage.”
“Astegal will never grant you sovereignty,” she said. “Never.”
Janpier offered another stoic shrug. “Then we will fight him here in the mountains. Nothing will have changed but the enemy’s face.”
She raised her gaze to the rafters. “I begin to understand why Aragonia has been so reluctant to deal with the Euskerri.”
He nodded. “We are a proud and stubborn folk. Those are our terms.”
“There are other passes through the mountains,” I observed.
“Yes.” Janpier glanced at me. “All of which we hold, Prince Imriel.”
Sidonie steepled her fingers and bowed her head. I saw her chest rise and fall as she took a deep breath and composed herself. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and even. “Etxekojaun, I understand. Please understand that I, too, love my country. Imriel and I hold the key to her freedom. Grant us this compromise. I will accompany you willingly. But I pray you let Imriel continue onward to Terre d’Ange.”
“Sidonie . . .” I murmured.
She shook her head at me. “Don’t argue.”
It didn’t matter. The point was moot. Janpier translated her words for the others. There was a long, heated argument. At the end of it, he turned back to us. “No,” he said simply. “I am sorry, highness. If the decision were mine, I might grant your request. But there is anger and fear.”
“Anger and fear,” she echoed.
“Anger because twelve men have died already,” Janpier said soberly. “Anger at the thought that your kinsman, who is a valuable warrior, would refuse to share our risk while others died. Fear because your country is in the grip of strong magic. We do not doubt this, highness. We know such things in the mountains. I myself am afraid. I fear that if we allow your kinsman to pass, matters will worsen.”
“My lord.” Sidonie closed her eyes briefly. “We hold the key to undoing the spell.”
“Or unleashing war among your people,” Janpier said. “Can you swear it will not take that to accomplish your ends? Can you swear that it will not end with the army of Terre d’Ange arrayed against us?”
I felt sick.
Of course we couldn’t swear to it. We knew far too little of what had passed in Terre d’Ange since I left; and of what little we knew, none of it boded well. We had no idea if Barquiel L’Envers had succeeded in finding the demon-stone, no idea what transpired save that madness yet reigned, and Ysandre had declared Alais, her own daughter, in rebellion against the Crown.
“No,” Sidonie said quietly. “I cannot.”
Janpier nodded. “Then we shall deal with what is known and nothing else. We have Aragonia’s offer. You have our terms. In an hour, we will convene in the square. You will give us your decision and your word beneath the oak.”
With that, we were dismissed.
In the small room we shared, I could feel the fury radiating from Sidonie like heat from an overstoked oven. Elua knows, I was angry, too, but I’d had more experience with life’s unfairness, and I hadn’t been raised to carry the weight of the realm on my shoulders.
“They’ve left us no choice, have they?” she said in a tight voice.
“Not much,” I said. “Assuming they’re not actually planning to restrain us, we could go southeast and try the coastal towns north of Amíl-car. We might be able to find a ship willing to carry us to Marsilikos in another month’s time.”
“In a month’s time, Astegal’s likely to have discovered what happened here. Do you imagine he won’t have his navy patrolling the coast?” Sidonie asked. “Like as not he already does after our last attempt. He’s not stupid.”
“What about the western coast?” I asked, thinking. “Does he have ships there?”
“Not as many.” She scowled. “But the goddamned Euskerri control the northernmost ports on the western coast and those to the south have agreed to Astegal’s terms.”
“Not happily,” I observed.
Sidonie glanced sidelong at me. “He’ll be looking for us. And you and I aren’t exactly the most inconspicuous people in Aragonia.”
“I know.” I frowned. “Sidonie, I’m not afraid of battle. I don’t like it, but I’ll do it. If that were the only term, I’d swallow my bile and accept it. Risking your life and the whole of Terre d’Ange for no good reason is another matter. And the only way I’m willing to accept their terms is if the Euskerri pledge to have a company standing at the ready to whisk you north and across the border at the first sign of defeat.”
She searched my face. “Do you think that’s our best option?”
“Truly?” I nodded. “I do.”
She sighed. “I want a courier. That’s my demand. A courier sent north immediately bearing a letter for Alais and my damned uncle in Turnone. I don’t care if the Euskerri are frightened. If we can do nothing else here, we can send the key home. After all, that’s what truly matters, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said. “And if the Euskerri don’t agree . . .”
“. . . we take our chances elsewhere,” Sidonie finished my thought. Her anger had drained away, leaving weariness in its wake. “Blessed Elua grant they see reason. I have a feeling that’s not the first time those words have been uttered.”
A short time later we returned to the village square, escorted by Janpier Iturralde and the committee of Euskerri we’d met with an hour ago. The square was thronged with people, even more crowded than it had been the other day. As we pushed our way through to mount the low dais beneath the oak tree, it gave me an uneasy memory of the night we’d gathered in Elua’s Square to witness a marvel promised by Carthaginian horologists.
Janpier raised his hands to quiet the crowd. “Have you reached a decision?”