“Everything is so green,” Sidonie observed. “It’s hard to believe it’s winter.”
“Southern climes,” I said. “On Cythera, the first orchids will be blooming soon.”
We continued for some time in this vein, exchanging meaningless pleasantries. Bit by bit, Sidonie’s pace increased, until we were walking quite briskly. I realized she was trying to put some distance between us and her guards.
It didn’t work. The Amazigh quickened their own pace, trailing behind us like so many indigo spectres. Sidonie gave an imperceptible shrug and slowed.
“Mayhap we might sit for a moment,” I suggested, nodding at a marble bench beside a fountain in the shape of a fish spewing water. I was hoping that the sound of splashing water might provide some cover.
It wasn’t enough to drown out our conversation. Gods, this was ridiculously frustrating! After a few more moments of inane talk, Sidonie sighed. “Thank you, Leander, you’ve been very patient. Mayhap I should return.”
I rose and bowed. “Of course, my lady. You shouldn’t tire yourself.”
We returned the way we’d come. And what happened next, I couldn’t have said for the life of me how I knew. A lifetime of training to be observant, I suppose. It was the second gardener we encountered, one we’d passed before. This time it was different. Somewhat about him, the way he peered furtively at us as we approached. The way his hands slid and twisted on the pruning shears he held. The way he collected himself and set his shoulders. It wasn’t until we’d actually passed him that it all came together in my mind. I glanced over my shoulder.
Between two of the Amazigh, there was the gardener behind us. He held the blades of his pruning shears by the tip, poised for the throw. His arm shot forward. Metal flashed.
“Elua, no!”
I flung myself on Sidonie without thinking, my weight bringing both of us crashing to the earth. Somewhat sharp stung my scalp as we fell. I landed hard atop her, driving the breath from her lungs. Her startled eyes stared into mine. Wet warmth trickled though my hair. Behind us, there were shouts of alarm and fury.
Oh, gods.
The feeling of her body beneath mine.
Neither of us moved.
And then strong hands yanked me off her, pulled me upright. The Amazigh surrounded us, asking questions in a garbled panic. Behind them, the gardener’s body was slumped on the ground. His head was a few feet away.
“I’m fine.” Sidonie’s voice shook. “That man—why?”
They exchanged glances.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. My heart was racing, and I couldn’t tell if it was fear or the sudden shock of desire. “You’re safe, love. That’s all that matters.”
She searched my face. “You’re hurt.”
I touched the back of my head. My fingers came away bloody, but not terribly so. “It’s just a nick. Scalp wounds bleed a lot.”
“He tried . . .” Sidonie swallowed. “Oh, gods.”
“I know.” I rounded on the Amazigh. “Name of Elua! Why did you kill him? You should have taken him alive to be questioned!”
One of them shrugged. “Desert justice.”
“Desert idiocy, more like!” I wrestled my temper under control. “No mind. Let’s just get the princess safely back to the palace. Now.”
The Amazigh formed a tight square around us. Sidonie clung to my arm, holding it pressed hard against her. I could feel her trembling. This time, I didn’t think it was feigned, not in the least. Oh, gods, that had been a near thing! Fury and terror and tenderness broke over me in waves.
I loved her.
I loved her so much.
And I’d nearly lost her.
Pandemonium broke loose the minute we entered the palace. One of the guards was dispatched at a run to fetch Bodeshmun, who came with alacrity, his black robes swirling around him.
“Are you harmed, your highness?” he asked Sidonie grimly.
“No.” Her nails bit into my forearm. “Leander saved me. He’s hurt.”
“Escort her highness to her quarters,” Bodeshmun said to the Amazigh. “Send for the physician. After he’s examined her, have him report to me.” To me, he said, “Come.”
I accompanied him to his quarters. There, Bodeshmun bade me sit and tell him all that had transpired. He listened intently, nodding into his black beard.
“Idiots,” he said when I told him the Amazigh had killed the gardener. “They’re fierce and loyal enough, but they’ve no head for intrigue.” He sighed. “I’ll have every Aragonian attendant on the palace rounded up for questioning.”
“Good,” I said, angry enough to mean it. “Why do they blame her? Surely they must know—”
“No,” Bodeshmun interrupted me. “No, they don’t, young Maignard. They may suspect something amiss, but they do not know it. Not for a surety. And I’d prefer to keep it thusly. Folk are a good deal easier to control when their anger is scattered and misplaced.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
“You did well out there.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “How did you know? How did you notice what trained warriors failed to observe?”
“Warriors are trained to fight,” I said. “I’m trained to observe.”
“Ah, yes.” Bodeshmun gave a thin smile. “The Guild’s infamous arts of covertcy. Well, it was well done.”
I inclined my head. “My thanks, my lord.”
The Carthaginian physician arrived in short order. He reported that Sidonie was unharmed, but distraught in the extreme, demanding that Astegal and the army be returned to protect her.
Bodeshmun snorted. “Give her a sleeping draught.”
“I tried,” the physician said. “She refused.”
The Chief Horologist waved a dismissive hand. “See to this young man’s head and try again. Tell her if she’s breeding, she needs to rest for the child’s sake. There is a good chance of it, is there not?”
The physician bowed. “’Tis too early to tell, my lord. But her highness’ weariness and distress augur well for it.”
I swallowed, tasting bile.
I took my leave of Bodeshmun and went with the physician, whose name was Girom, to his quarters. There, he undid my braids and cleaned the wound, swabbing it with something that stung like hell, then closed it with two stitches using a needle and waxed silk thread, which also stung like hell.
Once it was done, Girom dismissed me. I returned to my quarters and washed the drying blood out of my hair in the basin, telling Kratos and a wide-eyed Sunjata what had transpired.
“Name of Elua!” I said in disgust. “Sidonie’s as much a victim in this as any bath-house attendant. What are they thinking?”
Sunjata shrugged. “They’re thinking they saw her kiss General Astegal farewell outside the gates of the city before he rode off to conquer the rest of Aragonia. What else?”
I yanked a comb through my damp hair. “We need to speak to Justina. If this is part of a larger conspiracy, she may be able to find out. She can help spread the word covertly that Sidonie’s no more to be blamed than—”
There was a knock at the outer door that made all three of us startle and fall silent. Kratos went to answer it.
“My lord Maignard.” It was Girom, the physician. He looked harried. “Forgive me, but I require your assistance. Her highness has consented to take a sleeping draught if you will sit at her side until she sleeps.” He cleared his throat. “It seems she feels you are the only one to protect her in General Astegal’s absence. My lord Bodeshmun has consented.”
Oh, clever girl.
I rose. “Of course. I’ll come immediately.”
Fourty-Four
“Out!”
An earthenware cup shattered against the wall of the bedchamber. One of the Amazigh dodged flying shards. Girom the physician raised his hands pleadingly. “My lady—”
“All of you, out!” Sidonie said in a perfect fury, pacing. She was wrapped in a dressing-robe, clutching it to her. Her hair was loose and unbound, falling over her shoulders. Her face was stark white, save for two spots of hectic color on her cheekbones. “Everyone but Leander! You’re worthless, all of you!”
“Go.” Girom gestured to the Amazigh.
Sidonie pointed at the physician. “You too.”
“Yes, yes,” he said in a soothing voice. “As I promised, once you drink the sleeping draught.”
Her breast rose and fell with sharp breaths. “You’ll go, then? You’ll go if I do?”
“As I promised,” Girom repeated.
“I want him to stay.” Sidonie pointed at me. “I want Leander to stay until I fall asleep. And then I want him to keep watch outside my door. He saved my life, and you won’t bring me Astegal.”
The physician sighed. “Drink your draught, your highness.”
Sidonie fixed her gaze on me. “You won’t leave?”
“I swear it,” I said to her. “I’ll stay at your side until you sleep, and then I’ll guard your door until you wake. No one will pass.”
“And you’ll go if I do?” she asked Girom.
“Yes,” he said wearily. “Please, your highness. It’s for your own good.”
“All right.” Sidonie picked up another cup from her night-stand, this one brimming with dark liquid. Her hands shook and the liquid trembled. She eyed Girom with suspicion. “You promise?”
“Yes, your highness!” he said in frustration. “I promise.”
She drank. “There. Now go.”
Girom heaved another sigh, this one filled with relief. I didn’t envy him. “Thank you, my lady,” he said to her. “Now lie down and rest. Leander will stay by your side. It’s a potent draught; it will take effect swiftly.”
She sat obediently on her bed. “All right. Go away now.”
He backed through the door, closing it behind him.
We were alone.
Sidonie buried her face in her hands and shuddered. I crossed the room swiftly, kneeling before her. “Are you all right?” I whispered.
“No.” She dropped her hands. “Not really.” Her tone was unwontedly dry. “I’m scared half out of my wits, and that was the single most mortifying performance of my life.” She touched the back of my head with infinite gentleness. “Are you?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “How long until the sleeping draught takes effect?”
Her fingers slid through my hair, trailed along my cheek. “The one I poured into the vase hidden behind the chamberpot under my bed and replaced with unwatered wine? A few more minutes at least if I’d actually drunk it. Talk fast.”
My entire body shivered beneath her touch. “I’ll try. Only—”
“I know,” Sidonie whispered, cupping my face with both hands now. There were tears in her black eyes. “I know.”
The lover showers kisses on the face of the beloved . . .
It was gentle, it was frantic, it was terrified, all at once. I knelt before her, my face upturned. She kissed my eyelids, my temples, my cheeks, the corners of my mouth. Sweet, so sweet! I hadn’t imagined so much sweetness existed in the world. She kissed my mouth.
My lips parted beneath hers, the tip of her tongue touched mine.
Imriel.
Ohgodsohgodsohgods! Knowledge and memory burst like a ripe seed-pod inside my skull. It filled me to overflowing.
Imriel.
I was Imriel.
I gasped and tore myself away from her, huddling and clasping my own arms, rocking on my knees and shuddering.
I was Imriel.
Sidonie drew back from me in alarm, her eyes widening. “What?”
It flooded me; it flooded every part of me. Memories, crashing and churning. I remembered everything. I knew myself. I knew what had happened. Everything. All the plans, all the risk, all the uncertainty. All the fear and horror. My madness. My quest. Ptolemy Solon and his needle, stitching and stitching. Leander’s voice, stitching a new tale, binding his memories to my flesh. I drew a breath, ragged and raw. “Oh, Sidonie!” I murmured. “It’s me. I’m me. Imriel.”
She shrank back against the headboard of her bed. “Leander?”
She didn’t know me.
Of course she didn’t know me.
“I love you,” I said in anguish. “Oh, Name of Elua, Sidonie! I’ve loved you since you were sixteen years old. I’m what you’re missing. I’m what you’ve forgotten. You and I.”
“No!” She hissed the word at me, eyes showing the whites all around in sheer terror. “Leander, please! Don’t do this to me. I can’t do this!”
I reached for her. “Sidonie . . .”
She shrank back farther. “Go away! Please, go away!”
I sat back on my heels. “Will you just please listen?”
“No.” Sidonie shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut as though to block out the world. A pulse in the hollow of her throat beat frantically. “No, no, no, no. I thought you were . . . I don’t know, but you’re not. Just please, go away.”
Ah, Elua.
I knew everything.
“Sidonie,” I said, desperate to reach her. “Alais’ dog was killed by a bear!”
For a long moment, she didn’t speak or react. I knelt silently, waiting, acutely aware of time dwindling. And then slowly, slowly, Sidonie’s eyes opened. She watched me without speaking, breathing hard through parted lips.
“It happened in Alba,” I said. “But you were right; there was a boar, too. Years earlier, at a hunting party. We stumbled over a boar. Your horse bolted. Alais’ dog, Celeste, was gored, but she survived. I stitched her wound in the woods using Amarante’s embroidery kit.”
