Kushiel's Mercy (32 page)

“Oh, I know.” I folded my arms behind my head. “But she’s
not
in love with him. That truth is in there somewhere. And I’m hoping that I bear just enough resemblance to her beloved Imriel to unlock it. We’re kin, you know, albeit distantly.”

“Yes.” Sunjata gazed at me. “I scarce had a chance to speak with him in Terre d’Ange. You spent time with him. What’s he like?”

“Prince Imriel?” I thought about it. “Intense. But I suppose he was rather desperate when I met him.”

“Do you think he actually loves her?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “Gods above, it would be unlikely as all hell. But if he doesn’t, he’s as skilled a player as her ladyship, which is entirely possible.” I freed one arm and reached out to run my fingers through the soft cloud of Sunjata’s hair. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, does it? What matters is whether or not
she
loves him, and given that she defied her royal mother and half the nation, I’d say she does. Or at least thinks she does,” I added. “It may be nothing more than a girlish infatuation.”

“No.” Sunjata rolled onto his belly, propping his chin on cupped hands. “I don’t think it is. And I think he does love her.”

I smiled at him. “I didn’t know you had such a romantic streak.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” he replied. “So, do you want to have a look at the lady in question?”

“Why not?” I said. “It can’t hurt.”

At the appropriate hour, I summoned my bearers. We went to the flower market, I in my palanquin and Sunjata walking alongside it. There, I bought a great armload of roses and a basket. I put Kratos and the lads to work plucking the roses and filling the basket with petals while Sunjata and I visited a wineshop. Kratos thought I was mad—and I daresay the others did, too—but he did it willingly enough.

The sun was low in the sky when we made our way up the hill to Astegal’s villa, drenching Carthage in golden light. The villa was easily three times the size of mine, although most of it was hidden behind high walls. There was an imposing gate with a marble arch above it set with a seal depicting the House of Sarkal’s insignia, a stylized hawk. A handful of young men were gathered there. They gave us curious looks, but asked no questions as we took places among them.

I tucked the basket of petals beneath my arm. “Let them see how a D’Angeline pays tribute to a woman,” I said to Sunjata.

We didn’t have long to wait. The gilded light was just beginning to deepen to amber when the princess’ palanquin appeared. It was an ornate affair, large and heavy with gold leaf, the sides worked with the same hawk insignia. The bearers were all of a height, strapping fellows in scarlet tunics. Four additional men flanked the palanquin. They were an odd sight, clad in flowing indigo robes, their heads and faces wrapped in burnooses, swords hanging from their belts.

“Amazigh,” Sunjata murmured. “Very fierce, and when they give their loyalty, they mean it.”

“So I noticed,” I said. “These are loyal to Astegal?”

“Very.”

The young Carthaginian admirers began to cheer as the palanquin came through the gates. I caught my first glimpse of its inhabitant. Her profile held a young, delicate beauty. Honey-gold hair coiled atop her head, a few curling locks hanging loose.

“She’s fair,” I mused. “Fairer than I expected. One wouldn’t suspect she was half-Cruithne.”

“Gods, D’Angelines can be insufferable,” Sunjata muttered.

“Jealous, my dusky plum?” I shot him a quick smile. “I spoke of her coloring. My father took me to see the Cruarch’s entourage pass once when I was a boy. They’re not as dark as you, but believe me, there wasn’t a fair-haired head among the Cruithne.”

“Perhaps there’s been a cuckoo in the Queen’s nest,” he said.

“Perhaps,” I agreed.

At that moment, the palanquin paused to allow the princess to acknowledge the cheers. She turned her head, smiling graciously at her admirers.

“Or perhaps not,” Sunjata commented.

Her eyes were black. For no earthly reason I could conceive, that fact hit me like a punch to the gut. Her gaze shifted, meeting mine as though I’d called her name. Her smile turned puzzled. If I’d felt before as though I walked atop a high ledge, now it seemed to me that the drop below had suddenly become infinitely deeper.

I stepped forward and bowed, then reached into the basket and grasped a handful of rose petals, tossing them high into the air. Petals rained down between us. We gazed at one another through the shower.

“Ho!” One of the Amazigh came over and grabbed my basket. He rummaged briefly in it, searching for a hidden dagger or somewhat. I stood stock-still, staring at the princess. She returned my gaze, frowning with bemusement. And then the Amazigh thrust the basket back at me and gave an order, and the palanquin moved on.

I stared after it, long after the other seeming admirers had drifted away.

“Well.” Sunjata’s light voice interrupted my reverie. “If you sought to give the impression of a man besotted at first sight, I’d say you did a fair job of it.”

I shook myself. “Do you think so?”

“I do.” There was an inexplicable edge of sorrow to his tone. “And I’ll venture to say her young highness took notice of it.”

“So it seemed.” I cleared my throat. “Well. We’ll see what this brings. Will you come back to the villa with me?”

Sunjata shook his head. “I think not. I’m meeting early on the morrow with Hannon, my purported master in the Guild.” He smiled crookedly. “I’m to report on
you
, as a matter of fact. The pompous dolt thinks I’ve been very clever to get myself into a position to spy on you.”

“Oh, excellent,” I said absently. “I revealed myself as a Guildsman to Gemelquart of Zinnrid the other night. He thinks I’m here to assure the Council that Ptolemy Solon merely wishes to be left in peace with her ladyship and will happily cooperate with Carthage to that end.”

“Good.” Sunjata nodded. “I’ll confirm it. The gods know, it’s a good deal more believable than the truth.”

“True.” I felt strange and thoughtful, unaccountably stirred by my first sight of the woman I meant to seduce. Excitement and anticipation, I reckoned; but there was an odd tinge of melancholy, too. Like as not, I was overtired from all my intrigues. “Could you have ever imagined the old ape would take such a risk for love?”

“You wouldn’t?” Sunjata asked.

I shuddered. “Gods, no!”

He reached out and touched my cheek. “Don’t be so sure,” Sunjata murmured. “I suspect we’re all capable of things we couldn’t have imagined.”

I caught his hand and kissed his fingers, ignoring a sidelong glance from a passing palanquin. After our first tryst, it had occurred to me that there was a considerable benefit in having Carthage—or at least Bodeshmun—believe I was enamoured of Jabnit the gem-merchant’s assistant. Harmless. I’d worry later about convincing the princess otherwise.

“Tell me what you learn,” I whispered.

“Don’t I always?” Sunjata asked.

“Always,” I echoed. The word seemed lodged in my chest, heavy as a stone. “Always and always. Actually, no. You don’t.”

“Ah.” His fingers slid from mine. “Well, we all have our secrets.”

With that, Sunjata took his leave of me. It was growing late, twilight falling. In another half an hour, one would need a torch to navigate the city. I stood outside the gates of Astegal’s villa, watching Sunjata walk away from me. My bearers waited patiently beside my palanquin.

“Home,” I said to them, seating myself.

They bent their backs to the poles and lifted, hoisting me. Clever Kratos with his squashed nose, offering no comment. The Carthaginian brothers, growing stronger by the day. Ghanim. I’d have to ask him about the Amazigh who guarded the princess.

Sidonie.

I said her name aloud, tasting it. “Sidonie.”

It felt good on my tongue.

I said it again.
“Sidonie.”

My bearers trotted. Blue dusk was settling over Carthage, stars emerging as pinpricks in the veil of night. I closed my eyes. Behind my closed lids, I saw her face. Perplexed. A shower of petals falling between us.

Black eyes.

Why did it make my heart ache?

“Sidonie,” I whispered for a third time, my head lolling. Petals fell. Her dark gaze met mine and held it, hard and intense. I searched for a word and found it.
“Always.”

Twenty-Nine

B
odeshmun’s response was swift.

He’d had my letter requesting an audience with the princess. Sidonie. He’d doubtless had spies watching me, Sunjata ostensibly among them. I was certain he’d received a full report from Gemelquart. Whether or not Bodeshmun was a Guildsman, I didn’t know. Even Sunjata was unsure. It didn’t matter. Like Ptolemy Solon, Bodeshmun was filled with knowledge beyond the Guild’s scope. The Chief Horologist made his own rules, and it seemed my appearance among Sidonie’s admirers had goaded him into action. He summoned me to a private audience the following afternoon.

Of course, I responded promptly. I brought with me the gift of a book of arcane lore I’d found in the tribute manifest, guessing it was intended for the magus.

“So.” Bodeshmun accepted the book with no visible reaction. He regarded me with deep-set eyes. “You seek audience with my kinsman’s wife on behalf of the Governor of Cythera.”

I bowed to him, exacting and correct. “Yes, my lord.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

I spread my hands, helpless. Harmless. “May I speak freely?”

“Please do,” Bodeshmun said curtly.

“Much of the world wonders what strange manner of madness has befallen Terre d’Ange,” I said. “They speculate and murmur, wondering, wondering. Surely you must know there is one man in the world who does not.” I gave him another deep bow, this time with a flourish. “My lord Bodeshmun, his eminence Ptolemy Solon wishes to confess himself to be truly and profoundly amazed. You are the architect of a spell the scope and impact of which he could never have envisioned.”

A smug, satisfied smile touched Bodeshmun’s lips. “Oh, he’d dream it, all right. It’s just he’d never
dare
it.”

“That may be so,” I said diplomatically. “Nonetheless, his lordship is sincerely impressed. And, I daresay, a bit envious. He is eager for a firsthand report of the workings of your charms.”

“Oh?” His heavy brows rose. “Were Solon that eager, he’d have sent you to Terre d’Ange. Plenty to see there. But the Ape of Cythera is in no hurry to curry favor from the half-mad Queen, is he? No, he’s sent you sniffing around Carthage for reassurances.”

“Well, no. There is that. And there is another matter.” I lowered my voice. “He knows about the demon-stone, my lord. The . . .” I snapped my fingers. “Oh, I can’t remember the word. Any mind, ’tis the other he can’t fathom. How you’ve managed to bind the princess all the way across the sea.” I smiled disarmingly. “D’Angelines are notoriously difficult to sway in matters of the heart, as my lord Solon knows all too well.”

It was a calculated gamble. My grasp of the workings of magic was tenuous. Still, if I understood correctly, much of the spell that bound Sidonie hinged on Prince Imriel’s stolen ring. There were plenty of folk who could have described the preparations for the spell that bound the City of Elua. Aside from Sunjata, who was ostensibly doing the bidding of his Carthaginian masters, no one but the prince himself knew about the ring. I prayed like hell that knowledge of the prince’s arrival on Cythera hadn’t gotten out. Of course if it had, like as not all of this was in vain, so I reckoned it worth a try.

It hadn’t.

Bodeshmun smiled again, a broad gloat that sat ill on his grave, bearded face. “Does Ptolemy Solon seek a means to keep his mistress in line? He’ll have to look elsewhere. I’ll not divulge my secrets.”

“Oh, of course not.” I returned his smile. “But if I might meet with the princess . . .”

His smiled vanished and Bodeshmun gave me a look meant to quell. I looked suitably quelled. It wasn’t hard. He was an imposing fellow.

“Sidonie,” he mused. My heart gave an unexpected thump at her name. I ignored it and concentrated on looking quelled. Bodeshmun rose and paced the room, his hands clasped behind his back. “Yes. That was a clever stunt you pulled last night.”

“I merely hoped to hasten her response,” I murmured. “It had been some days since I sent a letter requesting an audience.”

“Her
highness
had not yet received your letter,” Bodeshmun said, pronouncing her title with distaste. “I had not made a decision regarding Ptolemy Solon’s unlikely emissary.”

“His lordship thought the princess would be comforted by a D’Angeline face,” I said.

“Comforted, and apt to spill secrets she doesn’t know,” he said cynically. “Believe me, Leander Maignard. She’s not got the least inkling of what was done to her.” Bodeshmun’s gaze dwelled on my face. “And I’ve every intention of keeping it that way.”

“Well, of course!” I said in surprise. “My lord Bodeshmun, you are singularly well-informed, and I trust you’re aware of my lord’s situation. To be blunt, the continued peace of my lord Solon and her ladyship Melisande rests on the princess’ continued ensorcelment.”

Bodeshmun gave his head a shake. “I never thought to see the day Ptolemy Solon would become a fool for love,” he said half to himself.

“Nor did I,” I admitted. “But her ladyship is a singular individual. And, I may add, pleased and grateful that she no longer has a vengeful son seeking her life.”

He studied me. “I understand he’s gone missing. Does she know his whereabouts?”

“No.” I met his gaze, willing my expression to one of perfect clarity and transparency. “No. She knows the shock of your spell broke his wits. And yes, of course we know he vanished. Unfortunately, her own spies within the City were in considerable disarray in the aftermath and were unable to trace him. Has there been word?”

“No,” Bodeshmun said shortly.

I nodded. “Well, my lord Solon keeps a guard posted, just in case. Who knows where his madness may lead him? There were rumors he spoke of Cythera in his ravings. And to be truthful . . .” I lowered my voice again. “No mother prays for a child’s death, not even her ladyship. But I do not think Solon would grieve if the poor mad prince met an untimely end.” I put a finger to my lips. “That is between us.”