Not only did Kushiel’s Mercy mirror events from the previous two Imriel books but it touched upon Phèdre’s trilogy as well. Imriel and Sidonie’s. KUSHIEL’S MERCY CHAPTER ONE. There are people in my country who have never travelled beyond the boundaries of Terre d’Ange. Indeed. Kushiel’s Mercy is the third and final book in the Imriel trilogy. It begins with Imriel returning from Alba with Sidonie after burying Berlik’s head at the foot of.

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Indeed, there are many who have never left the province in which they were born; contented crofters tilling the land, tending orchards or raising sheep, never venturing further than the nearest market.

Already, as a young man, I have gone further than I could have imagined as a boy daydreaming in the Sanctuary of Elua where I was raised. It did not begin by choice — as all the world knows, I was abucted by Carthaginian slave-traders, sold into slavery in Menekhet, and from thence taken to the land of Drujan, ruled by a madman who consorted with a dark and ancient god.

It was a short time ago kusiels historians reckon such things, but a long time ago in my life. I will never bear those memories lightly, but I have learned to bear them.

Since that time, since I was rescued and restored, I have ventured as far south as Jebe-Barkal and lost Saba; and as far north as Vralia, an unlikely kingdom arising in kshiels harsh glory of the cold north.

And I have fallen in love, which is somewhat altogether different.

Kushiel’s Mercy

It was not with my wife, Dorelei, although she was worthy of such devotion and in the end, I did come to love her. Love of my wife is what drove me to Vralia, seeking justice on her behalf.

I found it, too, although it was not entirely what I expected. Still, the man who killed her is dead, and his skull lies buried beneath her feet in Alba. But there is a difference between loving and being in love; that maddening passion that expands the heart and exalts the soul, that shakes the heavens and roils the depths of hell. That, I have known but once. Betimes I wish it was with Dorelei and her thoughtful, kushiles ways.

Betimes I kushieels it was with anyone, anyone else. Anyone whose station in life would raise no alarms. Who would allow me to stay in one place, to live and love and be happy. Whose bedchamber would not become a political battleground, raising the unwelcome specter of my treasonous mother and her eternal scheming.

I knew it in Alba, when I was still bound by strange magics, struggling to shed my youthful self-absorption and fulfill my duties as a man. Too young, too uncertain. What had begun between us was always more than casual dalliance, although I daresay she knew the stakes better than I did. 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 jercy. And when Kushjels 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.

Kushiel’s Mercy (Imriel’s Trilogy, #3) by Jacqueline Carey

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. ukshiels

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 Kushielw was opposed to our union, that much was certain. Whether or not she would actively seek to part us, not even Sidonie could say.

Did Not Finish – Kushiel’s Mercy (Kushiel’s Legacy #6 / Imriel’s Trilogy #3) | Fantasy Findings

Our company parted ways in the City of Elua. I meant to continue on to kushielw 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.

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. Your quarters are in readiness. Her majesty will send for you at a later time to express her gratitude in person for your brave deeds. Sidonie and I glanced at one another. She tilted her head, smiling slightly. I watched her walk away, surrounded by her kushielx in their blue livery with the pale stripes.


We had years of lost time to make up. But we had agreed that once we reached the Palace, diplomacy and tact would serve us better merdy flagrant public displays of passion. So I watched her go, took a deep breath, and made my way to my quarters.

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That was something, anyway. They were pleasant quarters, nicely appointed, with a fresco of Eisheth gathering herbs on the msrcy, and a balcony overlooking one of the gardens. I sent a chambermaid to order a bath drawn, then wandered the rooms, waiting for the bath to be filled and servants to bring the trunk filled with my clothing and possessions that had been in our train.

I lingered in the bedroom, overcome by memory. I twisted the knotted gold ring on my finger without thinking, clenching my fist until it bit into my palm. It was here that Sidonie had given it to me. But in truth, this bedchamber held more memories of Dorelei.

I mrcy have become a cold and bitter monster, like the vision I saw of our grown son. I might have died in the far reaches of Vralia, bereft of all reason to live. Such things are never given to us to know, and in my experience, it is best not to meddle. A year since she burst into fury, speaking words that singed my ears.

But in those few days, Sidonie and I had done a fair job of overturning the entire Court. The servants brought my trunk. I unpacked my things myself. Everything else, I carried on me. My sword and dagger. The etched vambraces Dorelei had commissioned for me.

The gold torc that marked me as a Prince of Alba. And in the purse at my belt, a smooth stone with a hole in the center; a croonie-stone, the ollamhs called it. It had been part of the bindings that protected me from Alban magic, and I carried it for remembrance. I never wanted to be bound like that again, ever. I might never have learned to love her, and grown from a pining, self-absorbed youth to a man in the process.

The chambermaid hesitated, sympathy and avid curiosity warring on her pert features. I dismissed Mireille from the bathing-chamber, sinking into the warm water and enjoying a few minutes of luxurious privacy before I heard a familiar voice arguing at the door to the antechamber. His midnight-black hair was loose and rippling, his blue eyes vivid with emotion. We bore an unmistakeable family resemblance.

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