“Elua!” Sidonie whispered. “It’s like the realm’s already in mourning.”
“I fear it is,” I said soberly.
The barge was waiting at the wharf. I remembered its captain, Gilbert: a taciturn fellow who’d given me a wide berth when he’d brought me to Marsilikos, the tales of my raving madness fresh in his mind. I must have looked godawful, worn to bone and sinew from a month of deprivation, my wrists scabbed. Now he gazed at our hooded figures in wonderment as we boarded the barge. Once he’d escorted us to a cabin, he asked the question it seemed nearly everyone did. “Is it true?”
Gods, there was so much pain in the question. He didn’t gasp when we shed our hoods, but tears glittered in his eyes.
“It’s true,” Sidonie said to him. “We’re here to try to undo the madness.”
Gilbert Dumel was a man of few words; he went to one knee and bowed his head, then left us.
My injured leg was aching. I sat on the narrow bunk. Sidonie stood in the cabin. Both of us listened to the sounds of the barge making ready to depart. Kratos’ heavy tread, other footsteps. Faucon and six of his men would accompany us to the City of Elua, posing as barge-hands. If there was any news to impart, good or ill, they would serve as couriers. We listened to the soft calls of the real barge-hands, Gilbert’s terse orders.
And then there was the sound of oars dipping. The barge slid slowly into the darkened river.
“How long do you suppose?” Sidonie murmured.
“About a day and a half,” I said. “We’re like to reach the City on the morning after tomorrow.”
A single lantern hung from a hook in the cabin’s ceiling, swaying gently. “Imriel.” Sidonie gazed at me. “Will you forgive me in advance for all that I might have to say or do to convince them of our tale?”
“Need you ask?” I said.
She smiled sadly. “For my sake, yes. I fear Alais and my uncle are right. This is going to be harder than either of us imagine. And I fear . . .” She laughed, but it was a tired, broken sound. “I fear I’ll have to find a new way of thinking about the pain of these damned bindings. Once we’re in the City, I don’t think I can allow myself the risk of thinking about you as I do.”
“Not while playing the grieving widow,” I said.
Sidonie nodded. “I’ll need to pull away from you. Elua knows, I don’t want to. I need you beside me now more than I ever did. But I’m afraid I can’t do this if I don’t.”
“I understand.” I reached out and she came over to take my hand. “And yes, I forgive you in advance for aught you might have to say or do.”
“Thank you.”
“Always.” I squeezed her hand. “Do you need me to leave you alone tonight? I can sleep in the bunks below.”
“No, not yet, please.” Sidonie shivered. “If you don’t mind, tonight I’d like you to hold me and tell me for the hundredth time that we will succeed, because the closer we get, the more frightened I am.”
“Then I will,” I said.
And so I did, over and over, while the barge glided through darkness, bearing us toward the City of Elua and our fears. I spun a tale of gladness and joy and made promises there was no way I could possibly keep. It didn’t matter. If we failed, no one in the world would care that for once I hadn’t kept my promise. And Sidonie knew my promises for lies, but the words comforted her nonetheless.
At length, she slept.
I lay awake and prayed to Blessed Elua and his Companions to grant mercy to their children and turn my lies to truth.
Seventy-Three
The next day, Sidonie withdrew from everyone, spending long hours in the prow of the barge, cloaked and hooded, kneeling in a private vigil.
“Is her highness wroth?” Marc Faucon asked me with concern.
“No.” I shook my head. “Only preparing for what lies ahead. Leave her be.”
I passed the day helping Kratos acquire a few more words of D’Angeline. All along the banks of the Aviline, there were signs of spring’s return: trees bursting into green-leafed glory, flowers blooming. Any other time the sight would have gladdened my heart, but it didn’t. Last night’s false promises tasted like ashes in my mouth. I was frightened, too. Elua knows, I’d known fear before, but not the kind of fear that accompanied having the fates of so many people I loved riding on my shoulders.
And my role was easier than Sidonie’s. She had to convince the entire City she was mourning a man who had violated her very will, had to convince them to believe an intricate web of lies and truth. All I had to do was let them go on believing I was disordered in my wits. We’d considered telling them I’d been cured in Carthage, but that raised in turn the problem of explaining why the rest of the realm couldn’t be cured of their own apparent madness. In the end we had decided that the simplest, safest course was to let them continue believing as they did.
When the sun was sinking low on the horizon, Sidonie rose. She paused briefly to address us. “I’ll be retiring for the night. Kratos, would you be kind enough to bring me something to eat?”
He rose. “At once, my lady.”
Her gaze shifted to meet mine. She gave me a quick, sad smile that broke my heart. “I’ll see you on the morrow.”
“On the morrow,” I agreed.
That night I made my bed belowdeck on a narrow bunk, surrounded by the snores and wheezes of men deep in slumber. And if I’d let myself, I could have lain awake all night in futile thought or desperate prayer, but there was no merit in it. My thoughts would only turn in helpless circles, and if Blessed Elua hadn’t heard our prayers by now, he never would. So instead, like a soldier preparing for battle, I forced myself to sleep.
By the time I rose and made myself break my fast, the City was in sight.
Like spring, the sight of those white walls shining in the distance had always been cause for gladness. Not today. I remembered all too well watching them recede as this very barge had carried me away. It had been summer then. Three seasons had passed since I’d left. The spell that gripped the City was malevolent at its core.
How much worse had it gotten?
Some distance from the City, Gilbert Dumel ordered his oarsmen to cease progress. We waited until Sidonie emerged into the sunlight. She looked pale and hollow-eyed. I didn’t think she’d slept like a soldier. She gazed toward the City, expressionless.
“We’ll not be able to enter unchallenged, your highness,” Gilbert informed her. “They’ll raise the chain and insist on searching the barge before we’re allowed to enter the harbor.”
“I’ll speak to them,” Sidonie said.
Gilbert gave a curt nod. “We’ll take our lead from you, highness.”
The oarsmen resumed their stroke. Before long, we could see that the massive chain used to protect the harbor from invasion was already raised. A swift, sleek galley with a ballista mounted on its prow hailed us.
“State your business!” came the shout.
Sidonie was silent.
We followed her lead.
The galley bore down on us fast. As it drew nigh, I saw there were additional ballistae mounted on the sides and aft. Every one was manned, and there was a sizable contingent of armed men aboard, a thicket of crossbows pointing at us.
“Halt the barge,” Sidonie said quietly. Gilbert gave the order. As we drifted slowly to a halt, the galley turned broadside to us.
“State your business,” the galley’s captain repeated. He had a hard face. They all had hard faces. Sidonie stood in the prow without moving, Kratos and I a few paces behind. Although the captain didn’t notice me, I watched his face as he recognized her. It only got more grim. “Your highness.”
“My business is the business of Terre d’Ange.” There was a raw edge to Sidonie’s voice, but it held a note of command, too. “And I will state it only to her majesty the Queen.”
The captain gestured and his men lowered their crossbows. “You bring tidings out of Carthage?”
“I bring tidings of woe,” Sidonie said, low and savage. “Tidings of death and defeat and bitter betrayal. But I will not deliver them to you, messire. Lower the chain and let us pass, or you may go join my sister and her rebel army.”
If the captain harbored any doubts, those words erased them—that, and the unfeigned emotion behind them. She didn’t have to pretend. All of the very real grief and fury at what had befallen Terre d’Ange was there.
“Lower the chain!” the captain shouted. “Send to the Palace! Tell them the Dauphine has returned! Now!”
Unseen gears ground somewhere ashore. The mammoth chain sank beneath the waters. Our would-be adversary became our escort as the galley swung back around to precede us into the harbor. As our progress resumed, Sidonie stood motionless, her black cloak hanging in folds around her. The garment that had served as a tool of concealment now appeared a badge of mourning.
Our oarsmen bent their backs. The barge slid past the white walls.
We entered the City of Elua.
I couldn’t sense any immediate change, but I saw Sidonie’s shoulders tighten and I knew the pain had gotten worse. I prayed that was all it was. “Are you all right?” I asked under my breath.
She nodded without turning. “Thus far.”
Gods, it was hard not to go to her, to offer the simple comfort of my presence. To share the burden. But I couldn’t, or at least Sidonie couldn’t accept it if I did. Not with the eyes of the City watching.
So I didn’t.
The response to the galley captain’s order had been swift. By the time we were docked at the wharf, there was a royal escort awaiting us: a company of soldiers led by Ghislain nó Trevalion himself. His broad, good-natured face was set in harsh lines. And unlike the galley captain, Ghislain noticed me immediately as we disembarked, his eyes widening in shock. “You!”
“Have no fear, my lord,” Sidonie said. “He’s no danger.”
Ghislain’s face darkened, but he proffered a bow. “We will see, your highness. I would welcome you home, but I fear your return portends ill.”
“Yes.” She met his gaze squarely. “I need to speak to my mother. Immediately. Is my father in residence?”
“He is.”
She nodded. “So much the better. Take me to them, please.”
There was a carriage with the insignia of House Courcel waiting. When I made to follow Sidonie into it, Ghislain caught my arm. “I think it best if you ride, Prince Imriel.”
“My lord Ghislain!” Sidonie’s voice was sharp. “I tell you, it’s fine. Imriel labors under the delusion that he’s enamored of me. It is inconvenient, but he poses no threat.” She pointed to Kratos. “And Kratos here is . . . was . . . my lord Astegal’s most trusted and loyal bodyguard. No harm will come to me while he is present.”
Kratos folded his arms and looked impassive.
Ghislain hesitated, then shrugged. “As you will.”
Inside the carriage, we sat in silence for most of the ride. Unlike the rest of Terre d’Ange, the City of Elua was abuzz. People thronged the streets, staring as our entourage passed. But there were no greetings shouted, only a rising tide of speculation. It held an edge of anger that made my skin prickle.
“Feels like a hornets’ nest,” Kratos muttered. “This isn’t how I imagined one of the great cities of Terre d’Ange.”
“It’s not how it is.” Sidonie glanced at him, pain in her eyes. “All that you will see and hear in these days . . . it’s a lie, a foul lie wrought by Bodeshmun’s magic. I beg you to believe me.”
“I do,” he said gently.
And then there was no more time for talk. We clattered into the courtyard of the Palace. There were more guards on duty than I ever remembered seeing, and the ostlers who came to attend to mounts and carriage-horses worked with martial efficiency.
“This way.” Ghislain snapped his fingers and his men formed a cordon around us, ushering us into the Palace.
It was another moment come around full circle. Members of the Court turned out to stare, wondering at Sidonie’s unexpected return, wondering at my unexpected presence. There were hard-eyed guards posted everywhere. When we passed the Hall of Games, there was a scuffle taking place. A woman’s voice rose to a shriek, haranguing some unseen companion with accusations of cheating. It should have been a shocking breach of decorum, but no one batted an eye.
Sidonie was right.
This was not our City.
We halted outside the door of one of Ysandre’s private salons while Ghislain exchanged a word with the guards. I watched Sidonie’s shoulders rise and fall as she took a deep breath, bracing herself. Kratos placed himself at her side, unbidden. She gave him a look of gratitude. Good. That was all right. No one had cause to believe he was aught but Astegal’s loyal man. He could lend her the support I couldn’t, and no one would think twice at it.
The door was opened.
We were ushered into the salon.
Ysandre and Drustan were awaiting us. They stood side by side: the Queen of Terre d’Ange and the Cruarch of Alba, united. I saw Ysandre take in my presence, and I saw suspicion dawn on her features. Drustan’s expression was unreadable behind his woad tattoos. Ghislain and a dozen of his men remained as the door was closed behind us.
“Sidonie.” Ysandre uttered her daughter’s name without a trace of warmth. Drustan said nothing, only watched his eldest, the black eyes she’d inherited hard and appraising. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Your majesties.” Sidonie curtsied deeply and held it. She spoke without lifting her head. “My husband Astegal, Prince of the House of Sarkal, General of Carthage, is dead.”