Kushiels mercy torrent

The first edition of the novel was published in May 31st , and was written by Jacqueline Carey. The book was published in multiple languages including English, consists of pages and is available in Hardcover format. The main characters of this romance, fiction story are Phedre no Delaunay, Joscelin Verreuil.

The book has been awarded with , and many others. Please note that the tricks or techniques listed in this pdf are either fictional or claimed to work by its creator. The following year. It might have been the night I killed him, or it might have fallen afterward.

It was gorgeous beyond all expectation. One bolt was black velvet, a black so dense it seemed to absorb light. The other was silk. It was a pale gold hue, almost white, like the radiance of the sun at high noon; but to describe it thus does it no justice. It flowed like liquid sunlight, shimmering with its own inner brilliance.

Favrielle handled it with reverence. When I first had my own salon, I nearly beggared myself to buy it. Favrielle held up a length. The days grew short; the nights grew long. Our costumes took shape. Our fittings were held separately. Mine was exquisitely simple: breeches and a doublet of unadorned black velvet, flat and fathomless. When she was done, it fell over my shoulders like a cloak of the night sky itself.

It was a simple domino of muted silver, a crescent moon rising like horns on my brow. When at last I saw Sidonie, it took my breath away. Her guards came to fetch me that we might enter the ballroom together. All I could do was stare at her. It was simple, too—and subtle, infinitely more subtle than the Sun Princess costume. The pale silk glowed with soft luminosity, unadorned, clinging to the curves of her body in a way that made my mouth go dry.

She wore long gloves of the same white-gold fabric, but her creamy shoulders and the length of her back were bare. Her golden hair was coiled in an artful coronet, a radiating sunburst affixed to the back of her head. Behind the softly gilded domino, her eyes looked like pools of night. For a long time, it promised to be.

There was a little hush when Sidonie and I made our entrance, but it passed. This was the Longest Night, a time for joy and revelry. We had a good many friends and supporters amid the throng, and even Ysandre managed to greet us with considerable aplomb.

Both of you. We drank joie, danced and mingled with friends, sat at the laden table and dined together. As the hour of midnight drew nigh, the usual sense of anticipation mounted. There were no surprises this year.

The horologist called the hour, and the great hall was plunged into darkness. The Winter Queen hobbled out of her false crag, leaning on a blackthorn staff. The Sun Prince entered in his chariot to a drumroll and resounding cheers, pointing his spear at her and restoring her to youth.

The oil-soaked wicks were lit, light returning in a sudden blaze. The sun in my sky and the moon in my heavens. Catching sight of us returning to the dance floor, one of the musicians grinned and gestured to his fellows. They switched smoothly into a slow, romantic melody. As we danced, I thought about all the Longest Nights I had known.

I thought about all the times I had danced with Sidonie. The first time, it had been on the Longest Night, too. It seemed impossible now, remembering how formal and careful we had been with one another. Sidonie had held me at a distance. It made me laugh aloud to remember it. Now it was the Longest Night, and it was a simple, blessed pleasure to hold her in my arms with no barriers between us—no mistrust, no awkwardness, no pretense. The music swooped and swirled in long, poignant arcs.

We danced effortlessly. Tomorrow the world of politics and its burdens would be awaiting us. Tonight there was only music and joie. The song ended, and another began. We stood without moving; night and day, reflecting one another.

Sidonie gazed up at me. The epithet was harsh and shocking. A violin screeched to a halt. A very drunken lord costumed as a Tiberian imperator staggered onto the dance floor, his purple-edged robes disheveled, a laurel wreath askew on his dark hair. Everyone knows. I edged my body in front of her. Spreading your legs for that traitor-spawn, rutting like an animal all night. Your guards talk. They laugh. He caught my eye and gave me a mocking salute.

Pushing your suit after it had been settled fairly. Lending you his advocate. Le Blanc had turned pale, but he found a measure of his dignity. Not to some of us. Many times. She killed herself. His hands tightened into fists. You were urged to bring a foolish suit and misled about its outcome. So tell me, my lord, where your anger lies. Her highness has acted correctly in all legal matters, which is all that need concern you.

You may apologize and leave. He left, though, miserable and stumbling, a pathetic figure. I felt sick at heart. Her guards cleared the throng. No one likes it, except mayhap the Night Court and folk too young to remember. But Name of Elua! Whatever it takes to bring Melisande Shahrizai to justice, I will provide. Bribery, diplomacy, force of arms. Only find her, Imriel. It was a calculated risk.

I was circumspect in what I wrote. I alluded to our conversation in roundabout terms. I implied that if he had learned aught of the origins of a certain medallion, I might be willing to ply whatever influence I wielded in exchange for the knowledge.

Of a surety, that was true. The wedding had been postponed a number of times. The lines of succession in Alba were matrilineal. Our son would have been his heir. Now Alais was pressing for change. She was willing to wed Talorcan. I daresay there are any number of Alban women who would support her in this, and a few men, too, when you come to it. It was yet another event that had happened long before we were born.

He had restored the matrilineal lines. There would be a fearful outcry against the hypocrisy if he overturned them now.

It had been one of the factors, a big one, in my decision to contact Diokles Agallon. Ysandre had made her decree in a public forum, heard and acknowledged. There was simply no way my mother was unaware of it. No, if I tried to trace her trail, years old, amid a tangled maze of allies and enemies, Melisande would know. She would know my next step before I took it.

Taking her by surprise was our best chance. The decision came at a price, though. Seeking to bargain with the Guildsman might have been the most expedient course with the best chance of success, but no one could know of it. I had been allowed to walk away from the Guild, but there was a price for that, too. When it suited their purposes, the Guild had provoked a dangerous riot. I remembered Claudia, careless and dismissive.

Not that night, not then and there, but it was the injuries he sustained in the riot that killed him in the end. Spring blossomed. A letter came from the Master of the Straits.

Wherever she was, it was beyond the limits of the gaze of his sea-mirror, which could not see past the lands bounded by the Straits. This news, we did not divulge. The celebrations were muted. Claude de Monluc had been furious, had wanted to dismiss them altogether. Sidonie, cool-headed and pragmatic, had refused. Let them serve in the regular Palace Guard.

Give them my thanks and a generous purse. Make the same offer to any who want it. There were three men who took it; there were thirty who applied for their posts. Young men, mostly, half in love with the notion of our star-crossed romance.

They doted on Sidonie, which startled her a bit. The nights. Elua, the nights were still wonderful. Knowledge that our time was beginning to dwindle lent a constant sense of urgency. Still, I could feel the tensions at Court rising. There were moments of respite. Sidonie accompanied me, her mother reckoning that having the both of us out of sight for a few weeks might help reduce the sense of unease.

It was strange and wondrous having her there. I took her to the spring-fed pond hidden in the mountains. There in the meadow, I plaited long stalks of grass. The memory stirred all that old, aching adolescent yearning, banishing the fear that had accompanied it. I ended up tumbling her there in the meadow, the sun warm on my naked back, the sweet scent of bruised grass rising all around us.

At times like that, it almost seemed it would be worthwhile to give up the quest in favor of a flawed joy. I saw them begin to see her as I did. We all laughed until we wept. And when we had done, I prevailed on Sidonie to re-create an imagined scene from the youthful courtship of Ysandre and Drustan, somewhat she and Alais had concocted between them as children.

It was wickedly funny—Sidonie had a knack for mimicry. She emulated her mother at her coolest, uttering declarations of undying passion and high-minded romance in a crisp, exacting tone, until even Joscelin was wiping his eyes. When it was laid aside, it could be an unexpectedly delightful thing. Not an anguissette, no. But she was fearless in her desires, and utterly unapologetic.

When we returned to the City of Elua, there was another glad surprise awaiting us. Amarante of Namarre, who had served as a lady-in-waiting, among other things, to Sidonie for a number of years, had returned to take service in the Temple of Naamah. During the year she had been gone, Amarante had been fulfilling her own final duties before taking her vows. Now she was back, and a priestess in her own right.

He had long maintained an obsession with Amarante, which I knew. I do believe he genuinely liked her. What had passed between them, no one knew for certain. I knew what Amarante had predicted, because Sidonie had told me. It was the first time I found myself jealous; and to my surprise, there was a certain smoldering pleasure in it.

And she had done a damnably good job of it. Mavros punched me hard in the shoulder. I hate you with the blistering heat of a thousand fiery suns. The three of us passed the night together; and it was a night impossible to describe, except to say that it was surpassingly beautiful, and when it was over, there was no jealousy left in me.

Priests and Priestesses of Naamah are trained in the same arts of pleasure as adepts of the Night Court, but the year of Service they undertake differs. Afterward, they are free to choose patrons or lovers at will. When Naamah stayed beside Blessed Elua during his wanderings, she gave herself to strangers that he might eat, to the King of Persis that he might be freed. I could feel her presence lingering over Amarante like a touch, a claim, and a blessing at once.

A mantle of grace lay over us that night: love, desire, and selflessness all intertwined. There were no violent pleasures, only tender ones, but I learned somewhat of myself.

I learned I was capable of sharing and being shared, of holding fast and letting go all at once. And I realized I was surpassingly grateful that Amarante had returned, albeit altered. I was glad she would be here while I was gone.

In the morning, Sidonie was thoughtful. Their eyes met in a manner born of long familiarity, and Amarante smiled. It came only a few days later, in the midst of sufficient uproar at Court that it easily passed unnoticed. Queen Ysandre had been unable to broker any lasting peace between Aragonia and the Euskerri, and now fighting had broken out between them in the mountains south of Siovale. Delegates from both nations were beleaguering her—the Aragonians begging her to honor her alliance and stay out of the matter, the Euskerri begging for acknowledgment of their sovereign rights—and the Siovalese lords worried that the fighting would spill across the border.

In the midst of that came the news that a sizable delegation from General Astegal of Carthage—who had thus far done not the slightest thing to justify the rampant unease his appointment had provoked—was lying off the shores of Marsilikos, begging leave to sail up the Aviline River and pay tribute to Queen Ysandre. To all appearances, it was a love-missive, written in a feminine hand, tied with ribbon and scented with perfume.

This one was unsigned. It contained an innocuous love poem written on thick vellum. I fingered them, thinking back on the day in the Temple of Asclepius when the priest had taken my hand and shown me similar notches etched in a clay medallion. Claude de Monluc shrugged. Since Sidonie was in conference with her mother, I went straightaway to the townhouse. Once I finally did, I laid it open on her desk, studied the maddeningly intricate chart of slashes and crosshatches it contained, and set about transcribing the message.

It was painstaking work and I daresay I made a few errors, but eventually the gist of it came clear. I do not hold the answer you seek, but one of Carthage does. If the Queen receives their tribute, he will tell you. And that I wanted it done in secrecy. Emile laid a finger alongside his nose. Do not fear.

We do not forget who freed Hyacinthe from his curse. The purse vanished. Strange but true, I trusted the Tsingani more than I trusted most of my peers. In fairness, the Tsingani did take a certain delight in bilking outsiders whenever possible, but they could be fiercely loyal friends. If not for that, I would have been dead years ago. When at last she entered her quarters, she took one look at my face and stopped dead.

We met in private, just the three of us. She glanced briefly at the text of the letter itself, then examined the vellum edges, lingering over my transcription and checking it against the chart in the Hellene book.

At length, her fair brows rose. For some reason, Diokles Agallon has transferred his favor to Carthage. He seeks to align himself with their interests, which, at the moment, appear to be courting your favor. If it succeeds, and the axes of power shift in their favor, well and good. If it fails, he may yet distance himself—and Ephesium—from it. She tapped the vellum idly again, thinking. Imriel, I thank you for your candor in bringing this to me.

I have taken counsel with the Royal Admiral Quintilius Rousse, who sees no harm in their overture. I will take counsel with Drustan when he arrives, convene Parliament, and give my answer.

The days that followed were fraught with tension. I spoke to the City Guard, but any number of foreign women had come and gone in the past two days. What mattered was what we would decide regarding it. And so we waited. The Carthaginians awaited a reply. Quintilius Rousse awaited word to bring it. Alba awaited a clear line of succession. Parliament awaited a voice and a vote.

I felt myself wound tight and restless. For the first time, things went awry between Sidonie and me in the bedchamber, our desires staggering out of rhythm.

She wanted reassurance, and I sought to lose myself in violent pleasure. She glared at me. Tonight, you do what I say. Do you trust me? I heard her pick up the tawse and circle me. My skin prickled. The edge of the tawse scraped along my skin. My muscles tightened further. She tugged off the blindfold, tangled her fingers in my hair. I blinked up at her, feeling the heat of her body, breathing in the scent of honeyed musk.

Lengthy, lengthy penance. That I did, freely and joyously. And she was right. I lost myself in her pleasure and hers alone, worshipping her with lips and tongue until she cried out, fingers clenched in my hair, and I had to grasp her hips to steady her.

It was the following day that everything began to converge. Drustan and his escort of Cruithne arrived at last. The Queen and Cruarch spent a day closeted in consultation, while I did much the same with my foster-parents. There was no implication that it implied a favor, a bribe? She studied it absently. There are only six ships, lightly armed. We can advise Ysandre to be wary, but Parliament has the final say.

It was true, but it was also true that no one with a seat in Parliament—with the exception of me and Sidonie, who had gained a vote upon reaching her majority—knew about the Unseen Guild.

Sidonie and I discussed the matter endlessly. After hours of talking, none of us were any the wiser. A simple majority of those present would constitute a binding vote.

It was rare to have the full complement of members present when Parliament was convened, and if the matter was a delicate one, many members chose to abstain; but for that session, we very nearly did. Those unable to attend sent a properly authorized delegate.

Word had leaked out across the realm that the Carthaginian tribute was impressive, and curiosity and greed made for a powerful incentive. It was an open session in the Hall of Audience, every seat along the long, curved tables filled, and a throng of avid onlookers pressed together in the back of the hall. The place was buzzing like a beehive, but it fell silent when Ysandre, seated at the center of the table, raised her hand. There was a chalice tucked under one arm. He swept a deep bow, then placed it on the table before Ysandre.

Ysandre eyed the chalice. It was wrought of translucent red carnelian, the stem shaped like a pair of clasped hands, the base adorned with gold. I come at the behest of the Council of Thirty, anxious to dispel this shadow and restore amity between us.

Rousse cleared his throat again. I dare to present this small token, this chalice, in the hope that the clasped hands wrought thereon might prove emblematic of a restored amity between us. These gifts are as follows. In his resounding voice, Quintilius Rousse read a long litany of the tribute-gifts that Carthage offered. Gold, gold in abundance. Ivory and salt. Spices, exotic seedlings gathered from many places. There's only one way they can truly be together.

Imriel must perform an act of faith: search the world for his infamous mother and bring her back to Terre d'Ange to be executed for treason. Facing a terrible choice, Imriel and Sidonie prepare ruefully for another long separation. But when a dark foreign force casts a shadow over Terre d'Ange and all the surrounding countries, their world is turned upside down, alliances of the unlikeliest kind are made, and Imriel and Sidonie learn that the god Elua always puts hearts together apurpose.

Read Now List Chapter or Page 93 : 1. Page 1 2. Page 2 3. Page 3 4. Page 4 5. Page 5 6. Page 6 7. Page 7 8. Page 8 9. Page 9 Page 10 Page 11 Page 12 Page 13 Page 14 Page 15 Page 16 Page 17 Page 18 Page 19 Page 20 Page 21 Page 22 Page 23 Page 24 Page 25 I knew it was love, real and enduring; we both knew it.

When it began, Sidonie asked me. Imriel, tell me truly, she said. How much of what lies between us is just the lure of the forbidden? I knew I wanted her, fiercely. I knew there was a dark fire in her depths that fed my own desires. Nor, I daresay, did she. And when Dorelei and my unborn son died, Sidonie and I both bore a measure of guilt for it. If we had been more certain, more courageous, it would never have happened. We took the sensible route and waited. There was no triumphal reception in the City of Elua when we returned from Alba after overseeing the burial of the skull of the man who killed my wife and son.

A great many of them turned out in support the day we rode into the City, cheering wildly. There were Tsingani and Yeshuites among them, too, for which I take no credit. For as long as I live, deserved or not, I will coast on the goodwill she and her consort Joscelin have engendered among folk who long for heroes. Not many, but enough. Knots of folk, here and there, amid the throngs. Men and women of middling age, sporting black armbands, eyes hard and faces grim.

Where they congregated, the cheers were dampened. As we passed, they held out their hands, thumbs outthrust, rotating their hands to give the ancient signal of Tiberian imperators.

Hers were dark and troubled. Cruithne eyes, the only sign of her mixed heritage. They have a right to their anger, Imriel.

No one said this would be easy. Are you willing to face it? Somewhat shifted in the depths of her black eyes, a certitude settling into place. Her slender shoulders were set and squared. I reached out to lay my hand over hers briefly. For as long as you will have me, and longer, I will stand at your side. Neither of us knew for a surety what we would face upon our return. The Queen was opposed to our union, that much was certain. Whether or not she would actively seek to part us, not even Sidonie could say.

Our company parted ways in the City of Elua. I meant to continue on to the Palace with Sidonie and her personal guard. Queen Ysandre had granted them to me herself, delighted with my impending marriage to Dorelei, niece of the Cruarch of Alba.

She knew now. Still, there was no way to find out but to try. It might be easier. I shook my head. It made me smile a little. I need to face this myself. She hugged me in farewell. Everyone will want to see you. I turned in the saddle to glance after them as they rode toward the town-house. Sidonie caught my eye when I turned back and read my thoughts. The chamberlain accorded me a bow only slightly less formal, as was fitting.