Read Online Kushiel's Mercy by Jacqueline Carey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jacqueline Carey
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the tawse, the smack of the paddle—yes. Even the keen whistle and sharp cut of the cane.
“Really?” I whispered in Sidonie’s ear.
“Mmm.” There was a smile in her voice. “We’ll see.”
One of Mandrake’s adepts tossed a rose, gave an order. A Valerian adept crawled on all fours, retrieved it in his mouth. He raised his head for approval, lips bleeding from the stem’s thorns. His mistress retrieved it, stroked his cheek with the rose’s petals. He bowed his head, kissing the tips of her boots. I felt Sidonie’s body tense.
“No?” I murmured.
“No.” She tilted her head back. “I’ll kneel for you, but I won’t crawl.”
I stroked her hair. “Good to know.”
When it was over, after I gave Mavros a purse to present to the adepts as a patron-gift, all three of us shared a cordial in the salon. For the first time, he looked at Sidonie with frank curiosity. She returned his regard with perfect equanimity.
“Did you enjoy the Showing, your highness?” Mavros inquired, studiously polite.
“Very much so, my lord Shahrizai,” she replied, echoing his tone exactly. Mavros narrowed his eyes at her, trying to decide if she was teasing him. Sidonie laughed and finished her cordial, then got to her feet. “Yes, Mavros,” she said in her own voice, bending down to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for arranging it. I’m glad Imriel has a kinsman he can trust.”
“Of course,” he said, bemused. “You’re welcome.”
We didn’t act on what we’d seen that night, nor for several nights. I wanted to approach this with a mind clear of other images, and a heart purged of fear. I made offerings at the temples of Blessed Elua and all his Companions. In the Temple of Kushiel, I stood for a long time, simply gazing at the effigy’s face. I had come once to offer penance, making expiation for the lives I’d taken in Lucca, for all my dead. I hadn’t been there since.
Kushiel’s marble arms were crossed on his breast, his rod and flail held in either hand. His gaze was fixed on the distance, his features stern and calm. There was a trace of sorrow in his marble eyes, hinting at a compassion beyond the mortal compass. I thought about Berlik of the Maghuin Dhonn, whom I had killed in Vralia. He had knelt beneath a barren tree, bowing his head as the snow swirled around us. After I’d killed him, I’d wept.
I hadn’t done penance for his death. I didn’t think it would be fitting. That one, I was meant to carry.
And I thought, too, about Sidonie. About her strength and determination, and the unexpected desires that accompanied them. About the wondrous gift of her trust, and what I needed to do to be worthy of it. Trusting her, trusting myself. That was the hardest part of all. The thought of engaging in violent play with her thrilled me to the very marrow of my bones, so deep it made me shudder, stirring echoes of my worst fears. It was a dark, surging desire, tinged with cruelty and laced with tenderness.
I wanted it.
Blessed Elua, I wanted it.
And I loved her.
Somehow it made all the difference in the world. There in Kushiel’s temple, I gathered up all my fear, took a deep breath, and let it go.
Sidonie knew. We had dined apart that evening. The Queen was entertaining an ambassador from Euskerria, a territory that lay betwixt Aragonia and the south of Terre d’Ange, and she wanted her heir present. The dinner ran late, and I was in her chambers before she returned, thoughtful and talkative.
“Imriel, you spent your childhood in Siovale,” she said in absent-minded greeting. “What do you know about . . .” Her voice trailed off as she glanced around the salon. It was ablaze with candles.
“The Euskerri?” I suggested.
Sidonie nodded.
“Not much,” I said. “In the south, they were made scapegoats in the same way the Tsingani were, blamed for goat stealing and the like. I daresay there’s as much truth to it. Do you want to talk about it now or later?”
Her throat moved as
“Really?” I whispered in Sidonie’s ear.
“Mmm.” There was a smile in her voice. “We’ll see.”
One of Mandrake’s adepts tossed a rose, gave an order. A Valerian adept crawled on all fours, retrieved it in his mouth. He raised his head for approval, lips bleeding from the stem’s thorns. His mistress retrieved it, stroked his cheek with the rose’s petals. He bowed his head, kissing the tips of her boots. I felt Sidonie’s body tense.
“No?” I murmured.
“No.” She tilted her head back. “I’ll kneel for you, but I won’t crawl.”
I stroked her hair. “Good to know.”
When it was over, after I gave Mavros a purse to present to the adepts as a patron-gift, all three of us shared a cordial in the salon. For the first time, he looked at Sidonie with frank curiosity. She returned his regard with perfect equanimity.
“Did you enjoy the Showing, your highness?” Mavros inquired, studiously polite.
“Very much so, my lord Shahrizai,” she replied, echoing his tone exactly. Mavros narrowed his eyes at her, trying to decide if she was teasing him. Sidonie laughed and finished her cordial, then got to her feet. “Yes, Mavros,” she said in her own voice, bending down to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for arranging it. I’m glad Imriel has a kinsman he can trust.”
“Of course,” he said, bemused. “You’re welcome.”
We didn’t act on what we’d seen that night, nor for several nights. I wanted to approach this with a mind clear of other images, and a heart purged of fear. I made offerings at the temples of Blessed Elua and all his Companions. In the Temple of Kushiel, I stood for a long time, simply gazing at the effigy’s face. I had come once to offer penance, making expiation for the lives I’d taken in Lucca, for all my dead. I hadn’t been there since.
Kushiel’s marble arms were crossed on his breast, his rod and flail held in either hand. His gaze was fixed on the distance, his features stern and calm. There was a trace of sorrow in his marble eyes, hinting at a compassion beyond the mortal compass. I thought about Berlik of the Maghuin Dhonn, whom I had killed in Vralia. He had knelt beneath a barren tree, bowing his head as the snow swirled around us. After I’d killed him, I’d wept.
I hadn’t done penance for his death. I didn’t think it would be fitting. That one, I was meant to carry.
And I thought, too, about Sidonie. About her strength and determination, and the unexpected desires that accompanied them. About the wondrous gift of her trust, and what I needed to do to be worthy of it. Trusting her, trusting myself. That was the hardest part of all. The thought of engaging in violent play with her thrilled me to the very marrow of my bones, so deep it made me shudder, stirring echoes of my worst fears. It was a dark, surging desire, tinged with cruelty and laced with tenderness.
I wanted it.
Blessed Elua, I wanted it.
And I loved her.
Somehow it made all the difference in the world. There in Kushiel’s temple, I gathered up all my fear, took a deep breath, and let it go.
Sidonie knew. We had dined apart that evening. The Queen was entertaining an ambassador from Euskerria, a territory that lay betwixt Aragonia and the south of Terre d’Ange, and she wanted her heir present. The dinner ran late, and I was in her chambers before she returned, thoughtful and talkative.
“Imriel, you spent your childhood in Siovale,” she said in absent-minded greeting. “What do you know about . . .” Her voice trailed off as she glanced around the salon. It was ablaze with candles.
“The Euskerri?” I suggested.
Sidonie nodded.
“Not much,” I said. “In the south, they were made scapegoats in the same way the Tsingani were, blamed for goat stealing and the like. I daresay there’s as much truth to it. Do you want to talk about it now or later?”
Her throat moved as
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