“Imriel was injured in a battle. And we’re being careful because we’re not safe, dear,” Sidonie said in a gentle voice. She turned out her hands, showing the bindings on her wrists. “Imriel’s charm in the only thing standing between me and madness.”

Alais gave me a startled look. “You wrought an ollamh’s charm?”

“So it seems,” I said. “And if we survive this, I’d love to hear your thoughts on it. But it’s not just that, Alais.” I took a deep breath. “We need that gem. And if it means Sidonie and I have to go to the City to search for it, I’d sooner your mother think us allies than enemies.”

“The grieving widow and her deranged but harmless cousin,” Sidonie murmured.

“Widow?” L’Envers asked sharply. “Is Astegal dead?”

“Very,” I said.

“So you really did marry him,” Alais said to her sister in wonderment. “You sailed away to Carthage and married him.”

“Yes.” Sidonie didn’t offer anything further.

After a moment, Alais gathered herself. “I’ll go speak to the chamberlain.”

In a short while, Sidonie and I donned our hooded cloaks and were shown to a bedchamber where a steaming bath awaited. When I asked Alais if the household staff would find our mysterious presence suspicious, she gave me a look that was world-weary and old beyond her years.

“These days? No.”

Once we’d bathed, there was a discreet knock at the door. A voice beyond it announced himself as Nathaniel Montague. I admitted the chirurgeon, who was a slight fellow with blond hair and brown eyes that lit with a spark of hope at the sight of us. He bowed low. “It is my very great pleasure, your highnesses.”

The gash was knitting cleanly, and Montague confirmed that the stitches should be pulled. I sat on the bed while he knelt and snipped each stitch with a tiny pair of shears, then tugged the lengths of black thread out of my flesh. Sidonie stood at my side. When Montague had finished, he remained on his knees, gazing up at us like a supplicant.

“We’ve tried,” he said simply. “All of us who follow Eisheth’s teaching. Tried and tried to find a cure for this madness. Tried and failed. Is it true you bring hope?”

“A very slender thread of it,” Sidonie said.

He kissed both our hands, then rose. “I will pray.”

I glanced at Sidonie when he’d left. Her shoulders had slumped under the burden of so many folks’ hope, but when she saw me looking at her, they straightened. She lifted her chin. The warm lamplight illuminated her fair skin, the mark of Astegal’s sword healing but visible on her bare throat.

“I’m not giving up,” she said. “No matter what happens.”

“Good.” I kissed her. “Nor am I.”

Seventy

I was right; we talked until dawn.

Sidonie and I told our story first. If anything happened to us, it was important that the truth be known. And I don’t think I’d ever seen Barquiel L’Envers astonished, but he was astonished that night. Alais gasped aloud when Sidonie told of bidding me to cut the mark of the House of Sarkal out of her flesh.

“And you did it?” she asked me in horror.

“I had to,” I said.

Alais looked at her sister. “May I see?”

It was an odd request, but I understood it. It was such an outrageous tale, I didn’t blame Alais for needing to see the physical truth of it. Sidonie must have understood it too, for she didn’t answer, only turned her back to me. I unlaced her stays carefully, parting the back of her gown. Her hair was coiled in a loose chignon. The slender line of her back was bare, the disk-shaped scar showing like a brand between her shoulder blades, fresh and pink.

“Gods!” Alais breathed. Barquiel L’Envers hissed through his teeth.

I laced Sidonie’s stays and we told the rest of the tale. Bodeshmun’s death, finding the talisman. Our flight from New Carthage, our desperate entrance into Amílcar and our violent escape from it. The Euskerri and their insistence on an act of good faith. That part, they had learned from Nuno Agirre.

“I nearly throttled him,” L’Envers said shortly.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Sidonie murmured. “And the Euskerri paid an awful price in the end.”

The war.

Astegal’s death.

I told that portion of our story while Sidonie was silent. I left out Astegal’s goading comments, but I told them of Sidonie’s role in Astegal’s death. That was the part that had Barquiel L’Envers staring in astonishment at his eldest grandniece. Sidonie returned his gaze with equanimity. Alais wasn’t surprised. She knew her sister far better than most people did.

And then it was our turn to listen.

Some of it we’d already heard from Henri Voisin, but I listened carefully lest there be some further clue in the details. There wasn’t. What there was instead was a palpable sense of how awful it had been when Ysandre had turned on them in a rage, accusing them of sedition and betrayal.

“She’s not herself, Sidonie,” Alais whispered. “She’s just . . . not.”

“And Father?” Sidonie asked.

Alais shook her head. “He’d left before I arrived and she’d expelled us before he returned. Our paths didn’t cross. I never saw him in the grip of it.” She shivered. “I’m just as glad.”

I swallowed. “Did you see Phèdre and Joscelin?”

“Yes.” Alais looked at me with sympathy. “They’re not . . . I don’t think it’s taken them as hard as some. Phèdre wasn’t angry or harsh. She’s heartbroken at your disappearance. She just kept pleading with us to see reason and seemed hurt and confused when we wouldn’t.” She looked at her uncle. “And Joscelin was just . . . Joscelin. Only worse.”

“I gave them your letter,” L’Envers said dryly. “Apparently it wasn’t convincing—or at least I was an unconvincing messenger. Messire Verreuil thinks I’ve disposed of you in some dreadful fashion.”

I raised my brows. “Do you blame him?”

To his credit, he answered with candor. “No.”

Sidonie sighed. “Well, we’re going to have to face them all. Because if we stand any chance of averting this conflict, Imriel and I have to go to the City and find this damnable demon-stone before the full moon.”

“What if it’s not there?” L’Envers asked. “What if it doesn’t even exist?”

She glanced unerringly toward the east. “There’s somewhat there.” Sidonie rubbed unthinking at the bindings on her wrists. “I feel it. I feel it tugging at me. Even here, even now. It’s better, but I still feel it.”

I laid my hand over hers. “Don’t fret at them, love.”

She stilled. “Tell us where you searched, Uncle.”

To the best of his ability, Barquiel L’Envers had done a thorough job. He’d searched the entire contents of the Royal Treasury. Those folks he’d recruited had scrutinized everyone with whom they came in contact, every inch of the City that they could scour. But a gem was a small thing and the City was large.

And in the end, they’d found nothing.

“So how do you propose to better my search?” L’Envers asked frankly.

“Does my mother know about it?” Sidonie asked.

He shook his head. “She had an inkling I was up to something, but I didn’t tell her what it was. When matters worsened, she accused me of trying to loot the Treasury for my treasonous plans.”

“Good.” Sidonie allowed herself a faint smile. “Then I’ll get the entire City searching for it.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” L’Envers inquired.

“I’ll tell them it’s an extremely valuable talisman that Bodeshmun left behind to defend the City against all who would assail it,” she said steadily. “And that its charm must be invoked anew after Bodeshmun was foully murdered by an Aragonian assassin. With his dying breath, he bade me to flee to the City and see it done . . . but tragically, he perished before he could tell me its whereabouts.”

Barquiel L’Envers ran a hand over his cropped hair. “Not bad, child,” he said thoughtfully. “It plays to their paranoia.” He looked at her with concern. “Are you sure you’re up to the task? It’s going to take one hell of a performance, especially on your part. Right now I’m not convinced you can utter Astegal’s name without sounding like you’re spitting poison, let alone play the grieving widow.”

“She can do it,” I said.

“I appreciate the feat the two of you managed to achieve in New Carthage,” he said. “This will be different. You’ll not be dealing with enemies. You’ll be dealing with folk you know and love turned horribly against everything they hold dear.” L’Envers sounded more somber than I’d ever heard him. “It’s going to break your hearts.”

“I understand,” Sidonie said quietly. “All I can do is try.”

“You won’t have much time.” Alais’ brow furrowed with anxiety. “No matter how well you spin your tale, it’s bound to be exposed soon. Sidonie, you and Imriel killed Astegal with all of Amílcar watching. Now that they’re not under a blockade and trade will be resumed, that news will spread. We can try to contain it, but you know what gossip’s like.”

“We can contain it until the full moon, Alais,” L’Envers said. “If they don’t find this cursed gem by then . . .”

He fell silent.

We all did.

I cleared my throat. “I suppose . . . I suppose we need to discuss what’s to be done if we fail.”

“I believe that decision falls to the Dauphine,” Barquiel L’Envers murmured.

It surprised me a bit. It had always irked L’Envers that Ysandre had proved more strong-willed and independent than he’d hoped, and I would have expected him to have wrung every possible ounce of power and control out of this situation. But instead it seemed the opposite had occurred. He looked old and tired and more than willing to let Sidonie take responsibility for the decision. Alais just looked relieved. It wasn’t a decision anyone wanted to make.

I watched Sidonie square her shoulders once more. “What are our choices?”

“We can withstand a siege for a few months.” L’Envers rubbed his temples. “I chose Turnone with that in mind. To buy time if things worsened. Unfortunately, it seems Ysandre has found a means to counter that gambit.” His mouth twisted. “In hindsight, we should never have sent so many delegates. We should never have let her know that the entire country is arrayed against her. I thought it would help convince her, but it didn’t. It angered her. She remembers. And she’s prepared to . . .”

Whatever it was, he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Alais did.

“Mother’s threatened to start sacking villages if we don’t surrender.” Her voice shook, but she continued. “One a day until Uncle Barquiel and I kneel at her feet and beg for clemency.”

I felt the blood drain from my face.

“Elua have mercy!” Sidonie whispered.

“I tried to tell you.” Alais shivered. “It is worse than you can imagine, Sidonie. We tried everything we could think of. We tried reasoning with her. We offered proof from the archives, testimony from hundreds of delegates from outside the City. All she could see was a vast conspiracy.” She shivered again. “We tried pleading, too. Uncle Barquiel and I offered to stand down, to beg for clemency, to do aught that she desired if only she would come with us to Alba. Nothing worked. And it’s not just her. It’s all of them. Everyone who was in the City that night.” Alais fell silent, and Barquiel L’Envers reached over to squeeze her hand.

Sidonie met her sister’s gaze. “Do you truly think she means it?”

“I do,” Alais said in a broken tone. “This spell . . . it’s horrible. It twists everything. And yes, I am very much afraid that Mother means to make good on her threat.”

L’Envers nodded in mute agreement.

“I see.” Sidonie gazed into the distance for a long time. When at last she spoke, her voice was low and anguished. “Then I think we all know the answer. Do I have to say it aloud?” No one replied. She closed her eyes briefly. “Do we at least have the numbers to prevail?”

“Yes,” L’Envers said gently.

“Then if Imriel and I fail, Terre d’Ange must fight.” She dashed impatiently at her tears. “Rouse the countryside. Send urgent word to Talorcan in Alba for as much additional aid as he can send. Is there aught the Master of the Straits can do?”

“He’s reluctant,” Alais murmured.

“Beg him to think on it,” Sidonie said. “If you can amass enough strength and numbers to overpower them, and with his magic, mayhap . . . mayhap you can force them to surrender without giving battle. Take them prisoner. And then you could ferry the survivors and the women and children to Alba.”

“Once the army takes to the battlefield, I fear none will allow themselves to be taken prisoner, no matter how overwhelming the odds,” L’Envers said. “You can’t think about them as though they’re rational.”

The entire Royal Army, slaughtered. It would be worse than the carnage at Amílcar.

Sidonie shuddered. “The women and children, then.”

Barquiel L’Envers nodded. “As many as we can save.”