Kushiel's Mercy
Page 21

“Does Cleon of Naxos suggest cures?” I asked.
“No.” Regret darkened her gaze. “He died some two hundred years ago. There’s a note at the end of the compendium stating he meant to compile a volume of occult cures, but so far as I know, he never did.”
“Damn.” I closed the book. “Well, it’s somewhat.” I remembered the searing pain of Sunjata’s needle plunging deep into my flesh and shivered. A madman’s sweat and toad-slime. Gods.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Jeanne asked.
“I’ll manage.” I handed the book back to her. “Jeanne, listen. It was Barquiel L’Envers who helped me get this far. He’s the only ranking peer of the realm who wasn’t in the City that night. He’s planning to raise a delegation to petition Ysandre to step aside and let Alais assume the throne until we can find a way to undo this.”
“L’Envers helped you?” Her voice held an incredulous note.
“He’s desperate, too.” I smiled briefly. “Or eager to be rid of me. Tell him about this. If nothing else, it’s one more piece of proof that I’m not remembering fever-dreams. And mayhap there are other texts no one’s ever heeded that might hold other answers.”
Resolve strengthened her features. “It’s worth looking.”
“Will you help me get to Cythera?” I asked.
Jeanne gave me a long look. “I shouldn’t. I’m not sure it wouldn’t be violating my chirurgeon’s oath.”
“Do no harm,” I said softly, thinking of Canis’ medallion. “My lady, believe me when I tell you that you will do me far greater harm if you withhold your aid.”
“The Dauphine?” she asked with sympathy.
I nodded, suddenly bereft of words.
Jeanne sighed. “I’ll do it.”
“Thank you.” I caught her hands and kissed them. “Thank you. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Silence fell between us. Jeanne de Mereliot freed one hand, touched my cheek with that healing gentleness I remembered so well. Her grey eyes were clear and grave and lovely. “I keep a private chamber here at the Academy if you’d prefer to stay here tonight.” She smiled a little. “I promise you, it’s much tidier than my study.”
Respite.
Eisheth’s mercy.
I understood what she was offering, and I wanted it more than I would have reckoned. A blessing to carry with me, a memory of grace to ward off the memories of madness that racked me with shame. A night’s haven, a talisman against the thoughts of Sidonie in Astegal’s bed.
But it would blur other memories, too.
Sidonie, silvered by moonlight, her face in shadow. The sweat of love-making drying on our skin.
I love you. Very, very much.
Always, I’d said. Always and always.
I needed to cling to it. It was that memory which lent me purpose and courage. I couldn’t afford to let go of it, to lessen it in any way. I was afraid I’d fall apart if I did.
“You are as kind as you are beautiful,” I said to Jeanne. “And there is a large part of me that would like nothing better. But, my lady, I’m very much afraid that your kindness would prove my undoing.”
She smiled again, but there was sorrow in it. “Then I’ll send word to Cadmar of Landras at the inn. Promise me you’ll have a care for yourself.”
“It’s a long sea voyage,” I said. “I’ll have naught to do but rest idle.”
Jeanne frowned, a belated thought occurring to her. “Why is L’Envers sending you alone and in secret? Do you reckon he is hoping to be rid of you?”
“I don’t think so, no.” I shook my head. “It’s a long story, and there are parts of it that are dangerous to know. But the one who drove the needle into me, the one who bade me go to Cythera and seek out Ptolemy Solon—my mother sent him. He told me as much.”
She drew a sharp breath. “Melisande?”
“The same,” I said wryly.
“Why?” Jeanne asked in bewilderment.
“She’s Solon’s mistress,” I said. “I’d learned that much on my own. Beyond that . . .” I shook my head. “Blessed Elua alone knows. But if he’s willing to help, it’s only because I’m her son.”
“Melisande,” Jeanne repeated. “Name of Elua!” She gave a short laugh. “What a piece of irony that would be if Melisande Shahrizai’s intrigues provided the key to Terre d’Ange’s salvation.”
I hadn’t thought about it in those terms.
Irony be damned. Let the gods laugh, let old scores be settled, let old wounds heal. I was sick unto death of them anyway. All I wanted was to undo this madness. I wanted to erase this grief and confusion that haunted the land. I wanted Terre d’Ange back. I wanted the memories of my loved ones back. I wanted Sidonie back.
Back in my arms, back in my heart, where she belonged.
Where we fit so well together.
“I pray they do,” I said.
“So do I,” Jeanne murmured. “Elua forgive me, but so do I.”
Seventeen
Around midday on the morrow, a message arrived from Jeanne de Mereliot.
I’d gone for a ride in the early hours of the morning, taking the Bastard outside the city into the countryside, where I could fling back the hood of my cloak and give him free rein to stretch his legs, working off the pent frustrations of our barge trip.
I shouldn’t have taken him. It had been pure selfishness on my part. I knew I had to do this alone. Still, it felt good to have the companionship of one living creature.
The Bastard was blown by the time we returned, his nostrils flaring and his spotted hide damp with sweat. I tipped the ostler at the inn an extra coin to be sure he was well-tended.
Inside, the message awaited.
“Messire Cadmar?” The innkeeper passed me a sealed letter. “For you.”
I read it and laughed.
Jeanne had booked passage for me aboard the Aeolia, the self-same Tiberian ship that had brought me to Marsilikos . . . how long ago? Not quite four years. It felt like a lifetime. But then, I had lived a lifetime in those few years.
The Aeolia was scheduled to depart at dawn the next day. I passed a quiet evening in Marsilikos, nursing tankards of ale and dining on lamb shanks, listening to the continued profound confusion and dismay on the part of my compatriots.
It hurt.
They hurt.
They were scared, bewildered, and confused. It worried me. I prayed that L’Envers was able to keep his temper in check, that the delegation he assembled was able to make Ysandre see reason. Because if they weren’t, fear and confusion would begin to give way to anger. L’Envers, the minor lords, and the commonfolk had numbers on their side, but Ysandre had Ghislain nó Trevalion and the Royal Army. If things got ugly, they could get very ugly.
I slept poorly that night, my dreams troubled, and woke in the dark hour before dawn. A yawning chambermaid fetched me bread and honey to break my fast, and then I fetched the Bastard from the inn’s stable and made my way to the harbor.
The sky was beginning to lighten by the time I arrived, and I found the Aeolia without any trouble. There was a familiar rotund figure giving orders on her decks.
“Greetings, Captain Oppius!” I called from the dock.
He leaned over the rails, plump chin quivering. “You!”
“Cadmar of Landras,” I agreed.
Oppius da Lippi’s shrewd eyes narrowed. “Well, if you’re her ladyship’s mysteriously urgent passenger, we’d best get you aboard before someone recognizes that spotted hellion you ride, man!”
Elua, I was an idiot. To be sure, there were other spotted horses in the realm, but the Bastard was fairly distinctive looking—enough so that if there was any kind of search afoot for poor Prince Imriel who’d lost his wits and gone missing from the City, a man wearing a hood and cloak astride a spotted horse in this heat would be an easy target for suspicion. It was sheer dumb luck that I hadn’t been noticed earlier.
It made me realize that despite my protestations, I wasn’t thinking at the height of clarity these days. I dismounted and unslung my saddlebags, making myself breathe slowly while Oppius’ men hurried to lower the plank. Of course the Bastard balked at being led aboard, and I had to use my cloak to bind his eyes. Step by trembling step, bare-headed and exposed, I managed to coax him up the plank and into the hold, all the while conscious that the sun was rising and sailors were beginning to stir around the harbor. I didn’t permit myself to heave a sigh of relief until we were both safely aboard, the Bastard was hidden from view, and I was able to don my cloak.
“So.” Captain Oppius strolled toward me with his rolling waddle as I emerged from the hold, pale and shaking. He extended his hand. “Cadmar of Landras, is it?”
I clasped his hand. “Until we’re at sea, yes.”
“Heard some odd things about you.” Oppius tilted his head. “In fact, there’s precious little news out of Terre d’Ange these days that isn’t odd as all hell.”
I nodded. “I know, my lord captain. All too well.”
Oppius studied me long enough that I began to grow anxious, then his plump face broke into a grin. “Well, you don’t seem like you’re raving, and the gods above know if there’s anyone in this city with a sane head left on her shoulders, it’s the Lady’s daughter.” He clapped my shoulder. “Let’s go to Cythera.”
I’d ridden out one of the worst storms of my life in a ship under Oppius da Lippi’s command. He was an able captain, one of the best, and though his men mocked him gently behind his back, they respected him and worked with cheerful efficiency. We were underway in short order.
Once we cleared the harbor where the last of Quintilius Rousse’s ships was anchored, I shed my cloak. I stood in the stern of the ship, getting accustomed once more to the roll of the deck beneath my feet, the snap and rustle of the sails, watching the golden Dome of the Lady dwindle behind us.
Another departure.
Another leavetaking.
It was to have been the last voyage I ever undertook in my life, this journey to Cythera. The one that paid at long last for all my mother’s sins. One way or another, I’d meant to return with Melisande in chains, leading her to her execution. I hadn’t looked forward to it. Sidonie was right; it was a lot to ask. But I would have done it. For our sake, yes; and for the sake of all those who had fallen during the Skaldi invasion, for the sake of those who survived and endured. Claude de Monluc, who had lost his father. Grainne, Lady of the Dalriada, who had lost her twin brother. Poor, pitiful Jean Le Blanc, whose wife had taken her own life after the abuse she’d suffered at the hands of the Skaldi.
All of them.
And now, instead, I was setting out to beg my mother’s aid to save Terre d’Ange and everyone I loved. It wasn’t a piece of irony. It was somewhat so far beyond irony, so vast, that I couldn’t even comprehend it. All I could do was pray, helplessly, that Melisande Shahrizai did indeed love her son that much.
It was a long journey, but at least the weather held as summer wore on toward early autumn. We followed the warmth, heading southward along the coast of Caerdicca Unitas. I kept my promise to Jeanne and didn’t press myself as hard. I kept up the Cassiline disciplines, but I didn’t practice obsessively.
Bit by bit, my strength and endurance returned. The ship’s cook was decent, and Oppius urged me to dine in the captain’s quarters with him. I ate well, putting on weight and muscle, until I began to look like myself and not a victim of famine. When I went shirtless in the sun’s warmth, my ribs no longer protruded. My skin grew brown, contrasting with the shiny pink scars.
You needn’t look so tempting.
This scarred thing?
The first time he saw me bare-chested, Oppius let out a low whistle. “Jupiter Optimus! What happened to you?”
“It’s a long story,” I said.
He shrugged. “We’ve time.”
I spent long hours dicing and talking with Oppius. I learned that the Aeolia had been in port to pick up a shipment of Namarrese wine that had never arrived, mysteriously diverted to Carthage. Jeanne de Mereliot had found him at loose ends, willing to take a commission to carry a single passenger to Cythera. She’d paid him a great deal of money to do it. I hoped I’d be able to make good on it someday.
Over the course of our journey, we spent a good deal of time speculating about Carthage. I told Oppius what I knew, leaving out the Unseen Guild. I’d not told anyone but L’Envers about the Guild. If there was a danger, I reckoned at least he could take his chances.
To my surprise, Oppius wasn’t inclined to disbelieve me. “Bad magic,” he said, making a sign against ill luck. “Sailors are a superstitious lot, but we’ve seen a lot of odd things in our time. I don’t like the sound of this. If Carthage conquers the west, they’re going to turn their eyes eastward.”
“What do you know about Ptolemy Solon?” I asked him.
Oppius pursed his lips. “A bit. In Cythera, they call him the Wise Ape.”
“The what?” I said, startled.
He grinned. “The Wise Ape. He’s got a name for being a deep scholar, dabbling in all manner of arcane study. Got a name for being ugly as sin, too. But fair,” he added. “Cythera’s been plagued by troubles in the past. It’s been occupied so many times, you’d have Hellenes and Ephesians at each other’s throats, Akkadians trying to quash them all. It’s been peaceful since Solon was appointed Governor.”
“What about a mistress?” I asked.