Kushiel's Mercy (Imriel's Trilogy #3)

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.”

“I see.” Bodeshmun resumed his pacing.

I refrained from interrupting him, watching him guilelessly. The Chief Horologist wore long black robes, dense and concealing. There was no way of telling where on his person the talisman Solon had told me about was hidden. At a guess, I’d venture to say an inner pocket. He’d want to keep it close. I wondered if he slept with it. I wondered what vices he had. It wasn’t going to be easy to get at him. I entertained a brief vision of Bodeshmun and I getting blind drunk together at a wineshop, of helping him stumble home, putting him to bed and undressing him.

Not likely.

“You present a dilemma, Leander Maignard,” he said abruptly. “I would prefer to send you away. Unfortunately, your appearance last night has piqued the princess’ curiosity.” Bodeshmun gave a tight smile. “Which is considerable and plaguing. Now I am of two minds as to what to do.”

I shrugged. “Oh?”

“It is imperative that she be kept content.” He unleashed another quelling stare. “Her willing presence here is key to confounding Carthage’s enemies. And I am unsure whether or not you would prove an amiable distraction or a dangerous goad.”

“Yes, I see.” I smiled. “Well, as to that, I cannot say. But if you wished to advise me on how best I might serve as a distraction, I would be pleased to comply. Our interests here are the same.”

“Except for Solon coveting my secrets,” Bodeshmun observed.

“Well, yes.” I laughed. “Except for that.”

More pacing. Bodeshmun’s robes swirled. Twice, he touched his chest absentmindedly. I marked it, wondering if that was where the talisman was hidden. Clever or no, I suspected he wasn’t a Guildsman if he’d given himself away like that.

“You must not speak of Terre d’Ange,” Bodeshmun said, coming to a decision. “She believes that all is well there. She believes that the war in Aragonia was provoked by an act of aggression on their part. And she believes that when it is concluded, in time, she and Astegal will preside over a vast and peaceable empire.” He smiled sourly. “And perhaps they shall when it is sufficiently subdued.”

“What of her former beloved?” I inquired.

“She has no memory of him,” he said. “None at all. It was necessary. And I will ask you not to speak of anything that might touch on it, including Solon’s mistress.”

“What mistress?” I said lightly.

“I am not jesting.” Bodeshmun’s face hardened. “I don’t care what tale you conceive that places you in Ptolemy Solon’s service without mention of Melisande Shahrizai, but you will do it.” He bent over me and took my chin in his hand. “Listen well, Leander Maignard. If you fail in any of these things, I will have your eyes put out and that flippant tongue torn from your head. Do you understand?”

My shudder was unfeigned. “Yes, my lord. I do.”

“Good.” He released me. “Remember it.”

I left the audience shaken, which was probably a good thing. Sunjata was right; this was a dangerous business. I was going to have to tread very, very carefully with Princess Sidonie. I had to find a way to reach her, but if Bodeshmun suspected what I was about, I didn’t have any doubt that he’d carry out his threat.

I was on my own here.

And if I failed . . . if I failed, Ptolemy Solon would be placed in a very difficult situation, forced to explain my actions to an angry Carthage. But me, I’d just be blind and tongueless.

Not a pleasant thought.

Thirty

The next day, I received official word from Sidonie de la Courcel, Dauphine of Terre d’Ange and princess of the House of Sarkal, that my request for an audience had been granted and that I might call on her on the morrow. It was written on thick vellum in a neat, tidy hand, the letter sealed with the hawk crest of the House of Sarkal.

I wondered if she’d written it herself.

I had one of the chambermaids polish the chess set with its ivory and onyx pieces until their jeweled eyes gleamed. I summoned Ghanim and one of the Carthaginian brothers—I had a bad habit of forgetting which was which—to translate and asked about the Amazigh who guarded the princess.

Ghanim spat on the floor.

“No friends of his, I take it?” I asked the Carthaginian brother.

There was a long exchange in Punic.

“No,” he said eventually. “They are men who betrayed their brothers for gold and promises. They are men who sold their honor cheaply. Ghanim was betrayed, too. His brother stole his wife and accused him falsely of murder. That is how he became a slave. He means to seek revenge once you free him.”

Well and so, there wasn’t much to be learned here. Ghanim stared fixedly at me, his eyes glittering. I felt an odd sense of kinship with him. After all, in a strange way, I was seeking to avenge another wronged man.

“Soon,” I promised. “I don’t mean to stay here forever.”

The day passed slowly. Patience, patience. I willed myself to be calm. The ledge I walked was high and narrow. On one side was Bodeshmun’s threat. I could still feel his strong fingers gripping my chin. And on the other side . . .

Sidonie.

I kept seeing her face in my thoughts, that dark, perplexed gaze. I wanted . . . gods, I wanted. I didn’t even know what. I wanted to hear what her voice sounded like. I wanted to know if Bodeshmun was right, if she had no inkling of what had been done to her. I couldn’t imagine it was true. Surely there must be bits of awareness in there. A haunting shadow, a sense that something was wrong.

Or perhaps not.

I took especial care with my appearance on the day of my audience with her. I brushed my hair until it gleamed, applied a pomade I’d discovered among the villa’s owners’ toiletries, plaited it in careful braids. The weather was growing a bit cooler, and I rummaged through my trunks, selecting a sleeved tunic of deep crimson silk and a pair of loose striped breeches. I decided the latter was too gaudy and abandoned them for a dark, more somber pair. Then I reconsidered, and put the striped breeches back on.

“Leander,” I muttered to myself in the mirror. “What ails you?”

My mirrored face gazed back at me without comment.

I blew myself a kiss. “Charming and harmless. For now, that’s the course.”

Sunjata paid a call on me before I departed. He regarded me with quiet hilarity, his nostrils flaring. “Did you bathe in a vat of perfume?”

“It’s a pomade I found,” I said. “Mine ran out. Too much?”

“That would be putting it kindly,” he observed. “And I fear it’s a woman’s scent, not a man’s.”

There wasn’t enough time to wash it out. I sighed and scrubbed at my hair with a clean linen towel, trying to remove the worst of the scent. It helped, but it rendered my careful braids frazzled. I unplaited them, gave my hair another rub, and started over. “Any news?”

“The good news is that you seem to have played Bodeshmun well,” Sunjata said. “To hear Hannon talk, he’s satisfied that you’re harmless and easily dealt with. Old Blackbeard’s quite tickled at the notion that he’s stymied Lord Solon.”

“What’s the bad news?” I asked.

“You may not have much time here,” he said soberly. “Astegal’s on the verge of having New Carthage thoroughly secured. The rumor is that he’s considering wintering there and sending for the princess.”

I paused mid-braid. “When?”

“A matter of weeks.”

“Well.” I continued braiding. “I’ll just have to work quickly and find a way to get myself invited to New Carthage. I need Astegal’s ring anyway. Have you begun creating a replica?”

Sunjata shook his head. “Not yet.”

“You’d better make haste.” After our first tryst, I’d asked him to create a replica of the ring he’d stolen from Prince Imriel, and I was rather irked to find that he’d not yet begun.

He was quiet a moment. “It’s a lot of risk, Leander. Bodeshmun’s talisman. Astegal’s ring. And you don’t even know what you’re looking for on the princess.”