And we were together.
The war-ship drew alongside and men scrambled to secure the ships—ours heedless of the stares, theirs wondering.
“Who’s in command?” I called.
A brown-haired man in the tattered jacket of the Royal Navy approached the railing. “Captain Henri Voisin,” he said hesitantly. “Your highness?”
“Imriel de la Courcel,” I said in confirmation. “We come bringing her highness Sidonie de la Courcel, the Dauphine of Terre d’Ange, home.”
“So I see.” Henri Voisin’s gaze slid toward Sidonie. “Is she . . . ?”
“Sane?” Sidonie inquired. “Mercifully, yes. What passes here, my lord?”
His expression was torn between hope and doubt. “A great deal. We thought you were a ship out of Aragonia. You’re flying Aragonian flags. We hoped you’d have news.”
“We do,” Sidonie said. “Come aboard and we’ll share it in exchange for yours.”
With some difficulty, Voisin made the crossing. He was breathing hard as he clambered over the railing onto our ship. The realization that our crew was not Aragonian did nothing to alleviate his trepidation. I couldn’t blame him. Insofar as I was aware, the last he knew of either of us, Sidonie had gone off to wed Astegal, and I’d vanished after screaming my throat raw in a month-long fit of madness. Still, he gathered himself and made a careful bow. “Well met, your highnesses.”
“And you, my lord,” Sidonie said. “Tell me, who do you serve?” He didn’t answer. “Is Terre d’Ange at war?”
“No,” Henri Voisin said. “Not yet.”
“But it’s divided? And growing worse?” She read the answer in his face. “Who do you serve? My mother or my sister?”
His throat worked. The fact that the question could put a man in fear made my blood run cold. “Your sister.”
“So the City of Elua remains under a foul enchantment?” she asked. “No key to undoing the madness was found?”
The D’Angeline captain licked his lips, glancing from one to the other of us. “No. There was some talk, some wild rumors of magic, after . . .” He nodded at me. “After you vanished, your highness. But it came to naught.”
“Let me be swift,” Sidonie said. “There was a spell cast, a dire spell. I was bound by it myself. It was Imriel who freed me from it.” I started, struck by an awful realization. Sidonie continued. “Since then, we have been working to undo what was done. Carthage’s forces were dealt a grievous defeat at Amílcar. General Astegal is dead.” Her face hardened. “Even now, his head adorns a pike in the Plaza del Rey. And Imriel and I possess the key to undoing the spell that binds the City of Elua and all who were in it that fateful night.”
“Sidonie.” I touched her arm. “You can’t go ashore.”
She stared at me. “What?”
I felt sick. “I’m a fool. In all that’s happened, I forgot. You’re free of the spell that had you believing yourself in love with Astegal. The one that was worked on you alone. Not the other, not the ghafrid-gebla. The demon-stone.” I could see Henri Voisin’s expression out of the corner of my eye and I realized I sounded mad, but it couldn’t be helped. “Ptolemy Solon said it would reassert itself if you—or anyone—returned to D’Angeline soil.”
Sidonie closed her eyes. “Ah, gods!”
Sixty-Eight
If it hadn’t been for what had befallen Drustan mab Necthana earlier in the year, I daresay Henri Voisin would never have given full credence to our tale.
It wasn’t swift. In the end, all of us talked ourselves dry. Sidonie and I related the entire tale of what we had endured. In turn, Voisin told us what had happened in our absence.
Some of it, we knew. Barquiel L’Envers had raised a delegation and sent for Alais. She’d come. All together, they’d sought to persuade Ysandre and Drustan that they and the entire City were ensorceled. Ysandre had declared them in rebellion against the Crown. Alais and L’Envers had retreated to Turnone and begun the reluctant work of raising an army. Since late autumn, Alais had served as the de facto ruler of Terre d’Ange, aided by a shadow Parliament of lords and ladies from the Lesser Houses, with L’Envers serving as her Royal Commander. Throughout much of the realm, Turnone was regarded as the new seat of rule.
The Royal Army was ensconced in the City of Elua, guarding it fiercely. Quintilius Rousse and his six ships were blockading the harbor of Marsilikos, monitoring who came and went. L’Envers had ordered Henri Voisin and his ships, those who had not been present in the City the night of the marvel, to ward the mouth of the Aviline River, fearing an assault from Carthage should they prevail in Aragonia.
As far as an incised emerald gem went, Voisin knew nothing.
But what he did know was that Drustan mab Necthana had returned to Alba with the intention of bringing an Alban army to Terre d’Ange to support the Queen. And there, his wits had cleared.
Until he returned to Terre d’Ange with a larger force at his back, bent on talking sense into Ysandre.
“It’s only rumors,” Voisin said. “But they say the Cruarch went mad again once they landed. Him and the honor guard that had travelled with him the first time. When his officers tried to reason with him, he accused them of treason and lit out for the City with his guards. No one tried to stop him.”
“It’s the spell,” I murmured. “It’s malevolent at its core.”
“Mayhap,” he said cautiously. “As her highness said, matters are growing worse.” He paused, then delivered the worst news yet. “Last week, at the spring equinox, her majesty issued a threat.” He spoke the words as though they pained him. “She said if her highness Alais and your uncle and every man and woman aiding them did not surrender and plead for clemency by the next full moon, she would declare war on them.”
I stared at him in shock. “That soon? Was she serious?”
“I don’t know,” Voisin said. “But I’m afraid it’s possible.”
“Ah, gods! That means we’ve precious little time. We need to talk to Alais and my uncle,” Sidonie muttered. “We need to know. We don’t dare ride blind into the City of Elua.”
“You can’t, love,” I observed. “I’ll have to go alone.”
Her eyes glittered. “Is there no way?”
I opened my mouth to say no, and my thoughts went to the croonie-stone I carried in my purse—smooth and polished granite, a hole at its center. A reminder of what I had endured. A reminder of what I had lost—Dorelei and our son. I remembered its weight around my neck, the bindings of red thread around my wrists and ankles. Alban magic. It had been given me by an ollamh. It had protected me from the power of a talisman wrought of my own aching desire.
I didn’t know if it would protect her.
“Mayhap,” I said, as cautious as Henri Voisin.
“Tell me,” Sidonie demanded.
I told her.
Henri Voisin looked sickly fascinated by it all. I don’t know how much of it he believed. Enough to give us a chance.
“I mean to try it,” Sidonie said with grim determination. “If it works, so much the better. Our stories are stronger together. If it fails . . .” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I’m the only one it will affect. I give you leave to overpower me and haul me back to Amílcar. At least it will give proof to our claims.”
“You’re sure?” I asked.
She nodded. “We have to try. My lord captain, will you hear my orders?”
He gave her a dubious look. “I’ll hear them.”
“I would have you keep our presence here quiet for the time. Bid your men to do the same. Find us a discreet escort to Turnone, then take your fleet to Amílcar,” Sidonie said in a steady tone. “With or without me, depending on how matters fall. There’s naught to be done at sea here. I would have Terre d’Ange honor her alliances. The presence of a D’Angeline fleet will hasten negotiations with a weakened Carthage.”
It heartened him. “I believe your sister and uncle would agree.”
“Good.” She looked at me. “Shall we attempt the charm?”
I racked my wits, trying to remember the items the ollamh Aodhan had used when he wrought the charm of protection that warded me against all who sought to bind me. “I need salt. Salt, and rowan and birchwood.” I closed my eyes, grateful for Phèdre’s training, and recalled the scent of camphor. “And pennyroyal. Oh, and red thread, of course.”
“Of course,” Henri Voisin echoed doubtfully.
In the end, he had to return and put ashore to collect some of the items—and failed to find them at that. Salt, we had aboard the ship, and Sidonie picked red threads out of the Euskerri wedding dress that Bixenta had given her, braiding several lengths. Voisin found incense imbued with oil of pennyroyal in a small Temple of Azza, but rowan and birch were a lost cause. He returned with dried bundles of juniper and wild rosemary instead, claiming an old herb-wife in the marketplace insisted they held protective properties.
“It’s worth a try,” I said.
There was a stone firebox on the deck of the ship used for what little cooking was done; mostly we subsisted on sailor’s fare of hard biscuits and salt cod. I kindled a fire with the fragrant wood under Captain Deimos’ watchful eye and cast a handful of incense on it. I had Sidonie remove her shoes and stockings and stand barefooted on the deck while I poured a line of salt around her in a circle. Henri Voisin and his men watched the proceedings as though we were absolutely mad, for which I didn’t blame them; but Deimos and the Cytherans took the matter in stride. They served Ptolemy Solon.
Kratos merely shrugged. “After what I’ve seen, I’ll believe most anything.”
“I don’t recall the exact words of the invocation,” I said to Sidonie. “But I’m praying it doesn’t matter. When Firdha had to renew my bindings, her invocation wasn’t exactly the same as Aodhan’s. She said it was due to differences between the traditions of the Dalriada and the Cruithne. But they both worked.”
“Do as you think best,” Sidonie said, her face pale.
I knelt and bowed my head before I began. I prayed silently to Blessed Elua and his Companions that they would guide my hand this day. And I prayed to all the gods of Alba, great and small, that they would lend me their magic. I had honored them and done my duty as a Prince of Alba in joy and in sorrow, and Sidonie was the Cruarch’s eldest daughter. I prayed to Dorelei’s merciful shade to intercede with Alba’s gods on our behalf. I prayed they would listen. I held the solid weight of the ollamh’s croonie-stone in my hand and prayed that it retained enough of Aodhan’s magic and learning to anchor my fumbling spell.
I thought of Berlik bidding me do my duty with a humble heart, and I prayed to sea and stone and sky as the Maghuin Dhonn did. I prayed that there was some debt owed for the honorable death I’d granted him.
I made my heart humble.
I prayed without words for a miracle.
And then I began.
“The charm of Nerthus ward thee, the charm of Lug defend thee, the charm of Brigit protect thee, the charm of Crom shield thee,” I chanted. There was a faint stirring in the air. The trickling smoke rising from the fire smelled sharp and pungent. I thought it would be meet to include the gods of Terre d’Ange. “Blessed Elua and his Companions hold thee and keep thee from all harm.”
I circled her three times. “To ward thee from the back,” I said, tying the red threads around her right wrist. “To guard thee from the front.” I tied another length around her left wrist, then stooped and did the same to her ankles. “From the crown of thy head to the sole of thy foot, be thou protected.”
I stood and hung the croonie-stone around her neck, its weight settling into place. “From all that seeks to bind thee, be thou protected!”
I clapped my hands as Aodhan had done.
Unlike me, Sidonie didn’t jump. “Is that all? Is it done?”
“All I can remember,” I admitted. “I think so. Do you feel anything?”
“No.” She shook her head. “But then I suppose I wouldn’t, would I? Not until I set foot ashore.”
I rubbed my sweating palms on my thighs, then began to scoop up the circle of salt, giving it back to the sea from whence it had come. “I reckon we’ll find out.”
Henri Voisin returned to his ship and preceded us. We would be putting ashore at the harbor of Pellasus. Voisin would secure the harbor and procure an escort from among his men, then signal us to make landfall.
I spoke to Captain Deimos and thanked him for his service, which had gone so far beyond aught he could have imagined when he gave his oath to Ptolemy Solon. “I’ll ask no more of you, my lord,” I said to him. “Return to Cythera and tell my mother you saw me safely delivered to Terre d’Ange.” I hesitated. “And . . . thank her for me.”
Deimos smiled wryly. “Mothers, eh?”
In the matter of Melisande, it was such an understatement it made me smile in return. “Tell her I’ll send word when I can, Elua willing,” I said, surprising myself by meaning it. “As well as a generous reward for you and your men. Terre d’Ange owes you a great debt.”
He put out his hand. “Luck, your highness. I gather you’ll yet have need of it.”
I clasped it. “Safe travels to you.”
I spoke to Kratos, too, giving him one last opportunity to return to Cythera with Deimos and his men to take service with my mother rather than continue on into unknown danger with Sidonie and me.