Kushiel's Mercy (31 page)

I sipped my tea. “A sapphire. Deep, deep blue to match the eyes of the lady who gave it to me. She will be most wroth to find it missing.”

“Ah!” Jabnit beamed. “A love-token. Fear not, we shall find its very likeness.” He clapped his hands. “Sophonisba! Tell Sunjata to bring a selection of sapphires.”

“My thanks, good Jabnit,” I said.

The gem-merchant popped a pastry into his mouth. “Not at all.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sunjata enter. I saw him pause briefly, a slight hesitation only a Guildsman would have caught. Our eyes met. His full lips moved in the faintest twitch. I wondered if he’d suspected it was me when the girl announced my arrival. He bowed silently, then lowered a silk cushion strewn with several sapphires to the table.

“Sit, sit!” Jabnit waved hand at him. “For goodness’ sake, you know the wares better than I do, Sunjata.”

“As you wish, my lord.” Sunjata sank to the cushions with fluid grace, legs crossed.

Jabnit reached for another pastry. “Go on, tell him.”

Calm and professional, Sunjata described the various gems to me, one by one, pointing out their flaws and merits. By the Goddess, he really
had
become proficient; but then, he’d always learned quickly. I watched his dark, slender fingers dance over the cushion, picking up this stone and that one.

“This would fit the setting well,” he murmured in his clear voice. “Little alteration would be required. Does it match your lady’s eyes?”

I smiled at him. “I nearly think it does.”

“I could have it ready for you on the morrow,” Sunjata said.

“Might it be possible to have it delivered?” I inquired.

Sunjata smiled back at me. “I would be honored to deliver it myself. Where are you lodging?”

I told him, then watched him depart after promising to deliver it in the morning.

“Such a gifted young man!” Jabnit said cheerfully. “He can be a merciless scold, but he was on good behavior today.” He nudged me with one elbow. “Very popular with the patrons, too.”

“I’m sure he is.” I returned my thoughts to the matter at hand. “So! How much will this lighten my purse, good Jabnit?”

He named a figure, and I haggled long enough to make a good show of it. I stayed for another cup of tea, consenting to alleviate Jabnit’s curiosity about my presence in Carthage as an emissary of Ptolemy Solon’s, then left feeling well pleased with myself.

“Home, my lord?” Kratos asked, rising.

“Home,” I agreed, climbing into the palanquin.

I returned to find a reply awaiting me from one of the Carthaginian lords, an old scholar named Hamilcar, inviting me to call on him at my leisure. He wasn’t one of the Council of Thirty, but he’d known Solon when they were boys, and he sounded eager to speak with me. And one entry into Carthaginian society, accepting me as Ptolemy Solon’s legitimate envoy, would ease the way for others.

They would come.

Bodeshmun . . . Bodeshmun might be the toughest nut to crack, guarding access to the princess. But I’d a feeling curiosity would wear him down. Like my lord Solon, he was a man who valued knowledge above all else. In the end, I thought, it would get the better of him. Then all I had to do was convince him I was harmless, and exactly what I seemed. And on the morrow, I’d have the benefit of Sunjata’s advice on how to do that very thing.

All in all, it had been a good day.

On the morrow, I idled in my private chambers until Anysus came to announce Sunjata’s arrival.

“Excellent,” I said. “Pray, send him in. I’ve a mind to speak with him regarding another commission.”

The steward bowed. “As you wish.”

He left and returned shortly with Sunjata in tow. This time, Sunjata’s handsome face was perfectly composed. Not until the door was firmly closed behind him and we heard the steps of Anysus departing did he smile.

“Well, well,” Sunjata murmured. “Leander Maignard.”

I grinned. “Pleased to see me?”

Sunjata came forward and put his arms around my neck, kissing me. His lips were as soft as a woman’s, but firmer. “Yes,” he said. “And curious as hell.” He tilted his head, regarding me beneath long lashes. “What in the name of all the gods is her ladyship up to?”

“Destroying Carthage,” I said softly.

His brown eyes widened, lit by a sudden spark of hope and bitter ferocity. “Do you jest?”

I shook my head. “Not today.”

“Tell me.” Sunjata’s body tensed. “Tell me everything.”

I led him into the farthest reaches of my chambers, where there was no risk of being overheard. He sat cross-legged on my bed opposite me and listened without a word while I told him all of it. How Prince Imriel had survived his madness and come to Cythera to beg his mother’s aid. How her ladyship had persuaded Solon to give it. The details of the intricate web of spells binding Terre d’Ange and its young princess, and how they might be dismantled.

Some of it, of course, Sunjata knew—he’d been the one to alert her ladyship to Carthage’s plans. But he hadn’t known the inner workings of the horologists’ magics nor the extent of what they had planned, only bits and pieces of their preparations, gleaned through his supposed apprenticeship. It was Solon who’d guessed at what Carthage intended and sent the charmed needle he’d used on Prince Imriel, and Solon who had now determined how the spell might be undone.

“Do you truly mean to attempt this?” he asked me.

“Of course,” I said in surprise. “Why ever not?”

“It’s dangerous.” His eyes were shadowed.

I took his hand. “So is what you do.”

“I’m merely a spy.” Sunjata’s full mouth twisted. “Eyes and ears. Does her ladyship ask more of me?”

“Only your counsel,” I said. “Well, or so I think. She sent a trunk for you.” I rose and fetched it. “Here.”

I watched him open it, picking the lock with an easy skill I envied. There was a letter on the top. Sunjata unsealed it and read what was written there. It took him some time, and I guessed it was written in coded language. He sat motionless, only his lips moving silently. Once, a little tremor ran through him. When he had finished, he bowed his head slightly, then straightened. He put the letter back in the trunk and closed it without meeting my eyes.

“Bad news?” I asked.

“No.” His gaze shifted to my face, his expression as guarded as I’d ever seen it. “But it’s naught I can tell you, Leander.”

“All right,” I said gently. “What
can
you tell me? I’ve learned that Bodeshmun guards access to the princess. How might I convince him I’m harmless?”

Sunjata’s expression eased somewhat. “Flatter him,” he said. “Let him believe Ptolemy Solon is amazed at his achievement and wants a report on the effects. Bodeshmun’s as clever as the devil, but there’s a spark of vanity there.”

“Good.” I nodded. “How about the princess herself? Does he keep her under lock and key?”

“Not exactly.” He tapped his lower lip in thought. “He’s . . . careful. She’s no prisoner, but she’s insulated and fed lies. I don’t believe she’s any idea what’s happening in Terre d’Ange. You’ll have to convince Bodeshmun you’ve not the slightest intent of telling her.”

“I will,” I said. “What
is
happening in Terre d’Ange?”

“Nothing good,” Sunjata said soberly. “The last I heard, the Queen’s accused her kinsman of fomenting rebellion.”

“The Duc L’Envers?” I asked, searching my memory. He nodded. “Are they at war with one another?”

“Not yet,” Sunjata said.

“The prince was to send L’Envers a letter with Solon’s advice,” I said. “If the Queen can be convinced to send Terre d’Ange’s army to Aragonia, it will remove them from play.”

“Perhaps.” He sounded doubtful. “I fear the advice may come too late. She’s not likely to commit her forces overseas if she fears a coup at home.”

I shivered a little. “What a fearful thing it would be to have one’s wits stolen.”

“Yes.” Sunjata gazed at me. “Fearful.” He gave himself a shake. “Ah. Your ring.” He reached in his purse and brought it out. “That was a clever piece of subterfuge.”

“Thank you.” I took it from him. “I’m not bad at this, am I?”

“No,” he said wistfully. “Not at all.”

A silence fell between us.

“So.” I cocked my head. “Jabnit implied that you were wont to tryst with patrons. Is it for business or pleasure?”

Sunjata’s mouth twisted in another cynical smile. “What do you think? It’s always business, Leander. Her ladyship’s business . . . sometimes even the House of Philosir’s business. Happy patrons are generous customers.” He laughed harshly. “No one thinks of a eunuch’s pleasure.”

I touched the smooth curve of his cheek. “I do.”

“Yes.” Unexpected tears brightened his eyes. “You always did.”

“Only did?” I leaned forward to kiss him lightly. “Must it be
did
?”

I didn’t press him; one didn’t press Sunjata. He was proud and he’d been used badly before her ladyship found him. I didn’t know what manner of lovers he had endured here in Carthage. But we had known each other well, once. And if I couldn’t give him back what had been taken from him, I’d been able to show him the beauty in what remained. He’d always said no one else had done that for him. So I waited.

“No,” he said at last. “All right.”

“If you don’t—”

Sunjata reached for me, kissing me with fierce passion, his tongue sliding past my lips. We tumbled on the bed together, half wrestling, tugging at one another’s clothing. I wanted to go at a leisurely pace, but he was unwontedly hurried and urgent at first.

“Slow down,” I teased, easing his shirt over his head. I kissed his sleek dark-brown chest, slender and hairless as a boy’s. “You’re the one who told me men always rush too fast.”

“I can’t,” he whispered.

He did, though. When we were both naked, Sunjata grew quiet and still, gazing at me in the sunlight spilling into the bedchamber. His fingers stroked my hair, undoing my braids until my hair fell loose and waving over my shoulders.

“Take out your eardrops,” he murmured.

I laughed. “Now?”

He nodded. “I want to see you mother-naked.”

Giving him a quizzical look, I complied.

Sunjata gazed at me for a long, long time, lips parted as though to drink in the sight of me. I let him, wondering what in the name of the gods was going through his mind. But then, I often did. “You can put them back,” he said at last. “It was a mistake.”

I did. “Better?”

He didn’t answer, only closed his eyes and reached for me again.

Twenty-Eight

I
n the days that followed, I spent a pleasant afternoon drinking palm wine and listening to the old scholar Hamilcar reminisce about his youth and the intellectual shooting star that had been Ptolemy Solon when he had tarried in Carthage and studied in her academies. I received more invitations in response and attended a dinner party hosted by Gemelquart, a prince of the House of Zinnrid and a member of the Council of Thirty.

He was a shrewd, well-informed fellow who wasn’t taking part in Astegal’s campaign due to a childhood illness that had left him with weak lungs. According to Sunjata, he was a Guildsman, though I liked to think I would have discovered it quickly for myself. There is a certain tenor one learns to listen for when someone asks a question to which the answer is already known.

“So tell me,” Gemelquart said with deceptive ease. “How
does
a D’Angeline come to be in the bidding of the Wise Ape of Cythera?”

“Oh, ’tis a long tale of treason and exile, hardly fit for dinner conversation.” I glanced at a nearby lamp and offered one of the Guild’s coded phrases. “That burns with a passing clear flame, my lord. Is the oil pressed locally?”

His eyelids flickered. “Yes, indeed.”

I smiled at him. “I thought so.”

Gemelquart chuckled, then coughed. “I see. And what does Cythera hope to accomplish by your presence here?”

“I merely bring assurances of Cythera’s goodwill.” I spread my hands. “Inadvertent or no, Carthage’s actions have served to resolve a certain . . . dilemma. For that, we are grateful. If I may be indiscreet, let me say that whatever the future may bring, we hope this goodwill is reciprocated.”

“Of course.” Gemelquart steepled his fingers. “The Governor of Cythera enjoys a happy situation.”

“He does,” I agreed. “And he would be loath to see it change.”

“Doubtless.” The Carthaginian lord looked amused. “Well, you may surely tell Ptolemy Solon that Carthage has no designs on his happiness. Perhaps someday in the future he may return our inadvertent favor, given his intimate knowledge of the workings of Khebbel-im-Akkad.”

I hoisted my winecup to him. “Doubtless he would be pleased to do so, were his happiness assured.”

Gemelquart gave a wheezing laugh. “Yes, yes!” He lowered his voice. “Tell me, is
she
as beautiful as the rumors claim?”

“Yes,” I said simply, picturing her ladyship. “She is.”

“Ah.” He sighed. “I’d hoped so.”

It was an exhilarating feeling, like walking balanced atop a very high ledge. I’d seldom felt more alive than I did intriguing in Carthage. And the feeling only intensified when I got my first look at Sidonie de la Courcel.

The idea was Sunjata’s. I’d not yet received a reply from her or Bodeshmun or any representative of the House of Sarkal. But through his own sources, Sunjata learned that the princess was dining at the house of certain Carthaginian lady on a particular evening. He came to the villa to inform me.

“There’s a fashion among some of the young men left in Carthage to pay tribute to her,” Sunjata told me, lying propped on one elbow. “Loitering in the streets outside the Sarkal villa to catch a glimpse of her.”

“That’s unexpectedly charming,” I observed.

He shrugged a shoulder. “Don’t put too much stock into it. It’s some scheme Astegal dreamed up to reinforce the notion that this is a love-match that has all of Carthage charmed. He wants her kept happy and ignorant.”

“Thoughtful fellow,” I said. “He didn’t manage to get her with child before he left, did he?”

“Apparently not.” Sunjata smiled wryly. “Though not for lack of trying, I understand. You
do
realize that she thinks herself in love with him, Leander? She’s not about to fall into your embrace, lovely creature though you may be.”