Kushiel's Mercy Read Online Free PDF Page B

chambers, no one knew for sure, but all had seen them arrive.
    Speculation swirled, and a day after the meeting, Ysandre announced that there would be a public audience in the throne hall at three hours past noon on the morrow.
    “Do you think she’ll heed their advice?” I asked Sidonie.
    “Elua, I hope so,” she said fervently.
    “And if she doesn’t?” I watched her expression change. “I know it’s your choice, Sidonie. But I have a voice in it.”
    “You have a very pleasant voice.” She kissed me. “Not in this.”
    “We’ll see,” I said.
    The audience was enormous. The throne hall was a vast space, big enough to swallow up the two hundred chairs placed toward the front of the room for peers of the realm. There were at least three hundred peers in attendance, and many hundreds more ordinary citizens, jostling for standing room.
    It was easy to see the realm was divided. Sidonie and I were seated in the first realm of peers to the right of the Queen, as was befitting our status. Those who chose to sit or stand on the right side were allies and supporters. House Montrève, of course. House Shahrizai. Sidonie’s personal guard. My old friends Julien Trente and his sister, Colette, now wed to Raul L’Envers y Aragon, who was also there. And too, although he wouldn’t meet the Queen’s eyes, their father, Lord Amaury Trente. Gerard de Mereliot, representing the Lady of Marsilikos. Marquis Tibault de Toluard, the avid inventor, who maintained a friendship with Joscelin. A number of young peers I didn’t know by name.
    There were Tsingani and Yeshuites among the throng, too; and adepts of the Night Court, hundreds of them, glittering and lovely. It tugged at my heart for reasons I couldn’t explain.
    But there were others, too. The left side of the throne hall was nearly as crowded, and there were victims of the Skaldi War among them, sporting grim expressions and black armbands. And, of course, the contingent wouldn’t be complete without Duc Barquiel L’Envers, who had long detested me for inexplicable reasons of his own.
    At the precise hour, a horologist struck a gong. An impressive silence fell over the hall, broken only by the faint creak of hinges as the great doors at the rear of the hall were closed. A pair of guards opened the doors to the inner throne chamber and Ysandre emerged.
    The Queen mounted the dais and stood before the audience, tall and fair, her carriage erect and regal. Sidonie lacked her mother’s height, but she had the same carriage. I wondered if Ysandre had the same capability as her daughter for utterly abandoning it in private. Somehow, I didn’t think so.
    “All rise for her majesty Queen Ysandre de la Courcel!” the herald called.
    Those who were seated rose, bowing or curtsying. The packed throngs toward the rear followed suit. Ysandre inclined her head.
    “All be seated for her majesty Queen Ysandre de la Courcel!”
    We sat.
    Ysandre took the throne. She looked tired, shadows under the violet eyes that were nothing like her eldest daughter’s. A gold crown with delicate spires sat atop her fair hair. For all that it was finely wrought, it carried a visible weight. I felt an unwanted pang of guilt and sympathy. I couldn’t even imagine what Sidonie must feel.
    “My lords and ladies, good folk of the realm.” The Queen’s clear voice carried in the stillness. “Even in the annals of Terre d’Ange, I imagine this is an unwarranted occurrence,” she continued more softly. There was an edge of sadness in it. “I daresay it is known why I have called this audience.”
    There were nods and murmurs all around.
    “So.” Ysandre gathered herself. “Sidonie de la Courcel, my eldest child and heir, the Dauphine of Terre d’Ange, desires to be united in love with her kinsman, Imriel nó Montrève de la Courcel. Is this still your claim?” she asked Sidonie.
    Sidonie rose, according her mother a second curtsy. “It is, your majesty.”
    “And is it also your