“You’d be safe,” I said. “I’ve no doubt my mother would be delighted by you. And they speak Hellene.”

Kratos looked at me as though I’d gone mad. “My lord, after all this, do you think I’d miss seeing the tale through to its end?” He shook his greying head. “Oh, no! Besides, without me, you’d still be trying to figure out how to get that damned ring off Astegal’s finger.”

I smiled. “All right, my friend.”

It was late in the afternoon before Henri Voisin’s ship signaled us, the slanting sun turning the harbor’s waters to gold. The oarsmen brought us to the wharf and secured the ship’s moorings. The ship rocked gently on the protected waters. Voisin was waiting ashore. He had managed to clear the harbor of onlookers and to procure an unmarked carriage and mounts and pack-horses for a dozen men.

“Resourceful fellow,” I commented.

Sidonie shivered beside me as the gangplank was lowered. “If the charm doesn’t work, you promise you’ll send me back to Amílcar no matter how much I rage and protest?”

“I promise,” I said.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” she said. “I don’t want to lose me again.”

“Sidonie.” I grasped her shoulders. “You don’t have to do this. I have the key. Emmenghanom. I have Bodeshmun’s foul talisman in my purse. You can go back to Amílcar with Voisin and his men. Or even stay anchored in the harbor if he’s willing to spare a ship.”

“I can’t.” She looked past me at the land beyond the city, the gentle hills beginning to green with the advent of spring. “What if we’re both needed, Imriel? I have to try.”

I released her with a sigh. “As you will.”

We said our farewells to Captain Deimos and his men. Henri Voisin and his were waiting. Better if we didn’t delay. Every minute gave rumor a chance to spread. Kratos went before us, carrying the trunk that held our few possessions and lashing it to the carriage.

Sidonie caught my hand in a terrified grip. Her face was white, black eyes stark. “Let’s find out.”

We descended.

Nothing happened when we stepped onto the wooden docks. When we stepped off the dock onto the cobbled stones of the harbor square, her body jerked and her hand tightened on mine. “They itch and burn,” Sidonie said in wonderment. She lifted her free hand and regarded the binding of red thread around her wrist. “And this . . .” She touched the croonie-stone lying in the hollow of her throat. “It feels heavy.”

My throat tightened. “And you?”

She let go my hand and reached up to cup my face, kissing me in answer.

She knew me.

She knew herself.

I kissed her back with relieved, desperate ardor, then lifted my head to find that every D’Angeline sailor in the harbor had gone to one knee and bowed their heads. To her. To us. I saw tears in Sidonie’s eyes.

“Your highnesses.” Henri Voisin rose to his feet, his face grave. “I am not entirely certain what has transpired here this day, but I sense the hand of Blessed Elua in it. Tell Princess Alais and his grace the Duc that the Royal Navy of Terre d’Ange has obeyed the orders of the Dauphine. We wish you the gods’ own speed.”

Sidonie drew a deep, shaking breath. “And you, my lord. And you.”

Our escort mounted.

Kratos opened the carriage door and ushered us inside. The stiff cushions creaked as we settled ourselves. Kratos himself took a seat atop the carriage alongside the driver. A whip cracked and hooves drummed on the paving-stones.

We were off.

Sixty-Nine

We made our way in haste to Turnone.

The city lay some sixty leagues west of the City of Elua, perched atop a steep hill. Marc Faucon, the sensible young lieutenant that Henri Voisin had appointed to lead our escort, told us that Barquiel L’Envers had selected it because it was easily defensible.

“So he would make a stand if my mother makes good on her threat?” Sidonie asked soberly.

Faucon, riding alongside the carriage, glanced through the window at her. “Nothing is certain, your highness. If it comes to it, he’s chosen a place that could be defended for long months without engagement. But in the end . . .” He shrugged and didn’t finish the thought.

“She couldn’t possibly succeed.” I felt sick at having to utter the words. “Not against the entire country.”

“No.” Faucon’s expression was grim. “But her majesty has a very large, very well-trained army at her disposal. If she will not relent, we face the choice between suffering ourselves to be ruled by madness and lies or enduring terrible bloodshed.”

Sidonie buried her face in her hands. “Oh, gods! It’s not their fault. The spell . . . it’s like an awful sickness.”

“Then I pray your highnesses possess the cure in truth,” Faucon said gently. “Because if you don’t, I fear thousands may die of this disease.”

We eschewed the towns and made camp along the roadside, choosing isolated stretches. Neither Sidonie nor I wanted word of our return to be known—not until we knew what we were going to do. Marc Faucon apologized profusely for the discomfort. Sidonie, who had endured worse during our sojourn among the Euskerri, waved his apologies aside. For my part, I couldn’t have cared less.

At night we watched the moon rise.

In a little less than three weeks, it would be full; and Ysandre would make good on her threat.

War.

I checked Sidonie’s bindings obsessively, still half-disbelieving that the charm had worked. It seemed too good to be true. I’d seen the hours and hours that it had taken Ptolemy Solon to wreak his charm of semblance, and I knew the horrific measures to which Bodeshmun had gone to create his vast spell. It was true that Aodhan’s charm had been wrought as swiftly as mine, but he was an ollamh. It took years and years of study to attain that rank.

“Mayhap the magic lies in the croonie-stone,” Sidonie offered. “After all, it was an ollamh’s gift.”

I shook my head. “It wasn’t enough alone. Morwen was able to summon me when one of the bindings broke.”

“Well, mayhap there’s an untapped gift for magic in your bloodline,” she said. “Or mayhap it was some arcane gift of the Maghuin Dhonn in exchange for granting Berlik a noble death and urging mercy for those who remained. Mayhap it’s because the spell that lies over the City wasn’t meant for me and me alone.” She rubbed her left wrist. “Or mayhap it’s simply that every now and then the gods do grant our prayers. Whatever it is, I’m grateful.”

“Does it still itch and burn?” I asked.

“All the time,” Sidonie said. “Yours didn’t?”

“No.” I frowned. “Only when Morwen summoned me or when I thought of you. It was all tied to my desire and longing.”

“I suppose Bodeshmun’s spell is a constant.” She glanced involuntarily toward the east. “It does seem to get a little easier to bear as we travel. Or mayhap I’m merely growing accustomed to it.”

“It’s possible,” I said. “At any rate, we’ve plenty of quandaries for the academy of magic you envision us founding for our legacy to study.”

Sidonie shuddered to the bone. “At this point, I’d be overjoyed to earn the legacy of having averted civil war in Terre d’Ange.”

It took us three days to reach Turnone. We arrived shortly before sunset and waited at the base of the steep, winding road while Marc Faucon and a couple of his men went to alert the palace and ensure our entry into the city was secure. I leaned out the window of the carriage and gazed up at the forbidding walls. It would indeed be a difficult place to besiege; in that L’Envers had chosen wisely. But in the end that would only prolong the inevitable.

Dusk was falling as Faucon rode back to inform us that all was in readiness. We closed the carriage curtains and began our ascent, jolting upward in muffled darkness. It seemed to take forever, but at last the road leveled. We heard Faucon exchange a word with the guards in the gatehouse, then the creak of the gates being opened. The carriage moved forward.

I could hear the sound of other horses, other carriages, occasional voices calling out greetings to friends. Not many. For a D’Angeline city at nightfall, it was quiet. Then again, I suppose there wasn’t much revelry in the cities of Terre d’Ange these days. I remembered the uncertain mood that had gripped Marsilikos before I left. That could only have deepened.

Our carriage drew to a halt.

“Put up your hoods,” Marc Faucon said in a low voice beyond the window. That had been part of Henri Voisin’s resourcefulness; he’d provided us both with heavy cloaks with deep, concealing hoods.

I tucked an errant lock of Sidonie’s hair into hers. “Mind it doesn’t blow off this time, love.”

She nodded without smiling.

I couldn’t see much of the palace as we entered. I kept my head lowered, and the hood obscured the sides of my vision. It was large enough that our footsteps echoed. By the chill that permeated the place, I guessed it was old and poorly heated. It smelled like stone. I could hear Kratos’ heavy, familiar tread behind me. His presence felt reassuring. He believed more strongly than anyone that this unlikely tale into which he’d found himself thrust would end happily. I wished I had his faith.

Faucon spoke to another guard. A door opened and Sidonie and I were ushered into a warmer room while the others waited. I could hear a fire crackling. The door closed behind us.

“It’s safe,” a man’s voice said. I recognized it.

I lifted my head and drew back my hood. Beside me, Sidonie did the same.

“Oh, Elua!” Standing before us, Alais covered her mouth. Her violet eyes glistened with tears as she gazed at both of us. “Is it true? Is it really true?”

“Yes, dear,” Sidonie said softly.

Alais caught her breath on an indrawn sob, took a step forward, and flung her arms around Sidonie’s neck. Sidonie closed her eyes and embraced Alais, whispering words I couldn’t hear into her ear. When all was said and done, I might regard Alais as the sister of my heart, but Sidonie was her flesh and blood. They were Ysandre and Drustan’s only heirs and the bond they shared ran deep.

I found myself left to meet Barquiel L’Envers’ gaze: the same lovely eyes as his niece and grandniece, set in a lined face grown ten years older since last I’d seen it. For the first time in my life, there was nothing but respect in it.

“So you did it,” he said. “You found her and freed her.”

“Yes,” I said simply.

Alais released Sidonie, although she caught her older sister’s hand in a hard grip. With the heel of her other hand, she rubbed at her tears. “I’m sorry. It’s just been so awful. You can’t imagine.”

“I know.” Sidonie squeezed Alais’ hand. “But I’ve a passing good idea, love. You need to tell us everything. Did our messenger not arrive?”

“The Euskerri lad?” L’Envers inquired. “Yes, he did.”

“He bore the key,” I said. “A word, the word.” I fumbled in my purse and fetched out Bodeshmun’s talisman. A scrap of lacquered leather, a whirlwind sprouting fangs and horns. “Emmenghanom. What happened? Did you not use it?”

Barquiel L’Envers spread his arms. “On what?”

Sidonie and I exchanged glances.

“You didn’t find the demon-stone,” I said quietly.

“No.” L’Envers’ face was set and hard. “I received the letter you sent from Cythera. Before matters with Ysandre came to a head, I searched to the best of my abilities. So did others. We found no emerald gem inscribed with sigils on the premises of the Palace or anywhere in the City.”

“It’s there.” Sidonie freed her hand from Alais’ clasp and scratched impatiently at her bindings. “It has to be. Did you search the whole of the treasury? Did you—”

“Sidonie.” I interrupted her. “Once we start this conversation in earnest, I suspect we’ll be at it all night. I know time’s short, but I’m road-weary, dirty, and hungry, and my leg aches. I imagine Kratos and Faucon and his men are waiting on us, too. Do you think it might wait an hour?”

“Elua!” It was Alais who answered in a guilt-stricken voice. “I’m so sorry. Of course you are! I ordered a room made ready for you and there’s space in the barracks for your men . . . Let me tell the chamberlain to have a bath drawn, and I’ll have supper served here so we can speak privately, and . . . Imri, do you need a chirurgeon?”

“No.” I smiled at Alais, my heart aching for her. “But I need a proper greeting.”

“I’m sorry,” Alais whispered. She wrapped her arms around me. I rested my chin atop her black curls and returned her embrace, feeling a measure of nervous tension ebb from her. Her body felt thin and frail. The months of strain and uncertainty had taken a fearful toll on her.

“It’s all right, love.” I forced all of Kratos’ assurance into my tone. “We’ll see everything put right. Don’t worry.”

Alais sniffled. “Don’t patronize me.” Still, when she pulled away, I could see she’d taken heart from it.

“And he does need a chirurgeon,” Sidonie added acerbically. “Even if it’s healing clean, I imagine it’s time for those stitches to be pulled.”

Her sister nodded. “I’ll send Nathaniel Montague. He can be trusted. Almost everyone here can. How were you wounded, Imriel?” Alais paused, knitting her brow. “And why do you both want to be so secretive? It would bring everyone a great deal of hope and joy to know that you’ve returned safely.”