Kushiel's Mercy
Page 40

“Do not presume to give me orders,” Bodeshmun said in a voice of quiet menace. “I have wrought my life’s work with these spells. The world has never seen their like before. What does the Council know of what is entailed in such magics?”
“Nothing,” Gemelquart said lightly. “Nothing at all!” He forced a laugh. “I should return. We don’t want to give the princess further cause for suspicion.”
Bodeshmun watched him go, resting a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Do you know,” he said wistfully, “I almost wish Ptolemy Solon were here. I have no peers capable of appreciating my work, only acolytes and fearful allies.” His hand tightened on me. “But you’ll tell him, won’t you?”
“Yes, my lord,” I murmured.
He laughed deep in his chest. “Have you discovered how I bound the princess?”
“No,” I said truthfully. “Not yet.”
“Ah, well! Keep trying.” Bodeshmun laughed again, giving my shoulder a rough shake. “You acquitted yourself well today. You’re a useful tool, Solon’s pretty little monkey.”
I smiled at him. “I try.”
Thirty-Five
For a day, I heard nothing. I was in an agony of suspense. Ah, gods! The irony abounded. Bodeshmun, sodding Bodeshmun, trusted me. The man Ptolemy Solon himself admired for his cleverness—I’d fooled him. That was good. That was very, very good.
But it was Sidonie’s trust I needed.
And that, I feared I was in danger of losing.
Such a difficult game it was. Lies and a marrow of truth. Everything I’d said cut close to the bone. Again and again, I relived that moment in the olive grove. Her hand clutching my wrist, the quiet panic rising. She had listened. She’d heeded me. But she didn’t trust me. Why should she? I’d seen the fear dawning in her eyes.
I was afraid, too.
For the first time in years, I drilled with my sword. I practiced in the privacy of my chambers, feeling woefully inadequate. I wasn’t a swordsman, wasn’t a warrior. I knew how to hold a blade, a few rudimentary thrusts and parries. Nothing more.
Still, I drilled.
“My lord.” It was Kratos who interrupted me. “The princess has sent word wondering if you would care for another game of chess.”
“Has she?” I snatched the letter from his hands.
“So I’m told,” Kratos said laconically. “Not succeeded in bedding her yet, have you, my lord?”
I lifted my gaze from the vellum. “That would be an offense against General Astegal, would it not? Against Carthage itself?”
Kratos shrugged his heavy wrestler’s shoulders. “Do I care?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Do you?”
He laughed. “Not much.”
“If you value your tongue, you’ll watch it,” I said in warning. “I mean it.”
Whatever Kratos saw in my face, it impressed my seriousness on him. He merely gave a brief nod and went to fetch the other bearers.
By the time I arrived at the Sarkal villa, my stomach was in knots. Whatever Sidonie wanted, I didn’t think it was a game of chess. And as pleasant as the thought was, I was fairly sure it wasn’t a dalliance. I suspected she wanted answers. And while I would like nothing more than to give them to her, I didn’t know how in the name of Blessed Elua I could accomplish it without alerting her guards.
In the salon, the chess board was set on the table. The ranks of onyx and ivory figures faced off across the board, their ruby eyes glittering. Sidonie stood beside it, her back very straight, her features calm and controlled. Behind her, one of the ever-present Amazigh stood with his back to the wall.
“Good day, your highness,” I greeted her. “I’m pleased to see you’re feeling better.”
“Thank you.” She turned to the Amazigh. “Masmud, you may go.”
His eyes widened between veils of cloth. “General Astegal has ordered us to protect you at all times.”
“Messire Maignard is a concerned friend and no threat.” A hint of steel crept into her voice. “And in Astegal’s absence, I command here. I am commanding you now. Go.”
The Amazigh hesitated.
Sidonie’s voice cracked like a whip. “Now, or I will have you dismissed!”
He went.
She rounded on me. “Now. Tell me. What is it that passes here? What is it you know that I do not? Why do I find myself unable to recall simple things? And what is it you fear from Bodeshmun and my guards?”
Oh, gods.
There was so much, I barely knew where to begin. And I had a feeling there wasn’t much time. I didn’t know to whom the Amazigh reported directly, but I desperately hoped it wasn’t Bodeshmun.
“Sidonie,” I whispered. “All is not as it seems. You’ve been ensorceled. Parts of your memory are missing. Parts are false. Terre d’Ange is not allied with Carthage. And you are not in love with Astegal.”
Her face was rigid. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s a spell,” I said helplessly. “There’s somewhat on you, somewhat on your person, some token of Astegal’s that binds you. I thought it was the signet ring, but it must be somewhat else. If you can find it, remove it; it will weaken the spell.”
“There’s nothing on me!” Her voice rose. “I’m passing familiar with my own person, Leander, and I think I would know! Who are you? What do you want? What does Cythera want?”
“I’m trying to help you!” I hissed. “And if Bodeshmun finds out, I’ll be lucky if he settles for killing me. For the love of Elua, my lady, you’re in danger! Please believe me. You cannot let them suspect.”
“Suspect what?” she demanded in frustration.
“That you know about the spell!” I ground my teeth. “All right, mayhap Ptolemy Solon was wrong about part of it. But the ring, Astegal’s ring—”
“Take it if it concerns you that much!” Sidonie wrenched the heavy signet ring from her finger and hurled it at me. It bounced off my chest and fell clinking to the floor, rolling beneath the table.
“No!” I took a deep breath. “Not that ring—” There were footsteps hurrying in the hallway outside the salon. I dropped to my knees. “Sidonie de la Courcel, in the name of Blessed Elua and his Companions, by all that is holy, by all that I’ve ever held dear in my life, I swear to you that I mean you no harm and all I have told you is true. In your heart, in your deepest heart, you know somewhat is amiss. Please, please, please, if you do nothing else, do not let them suspect it. Bring me to New Carthage with you. I swear to you, I will prove my words and my loyalty. I am begging you, please, to look into your heart and trust me in this.”
Sidonie stared at me without answering.
“Your highness!” The steward bustled into the salon, his voice distraught. “Forgive me, but it is unseemly . . .” He paused. “Is all well here?”
“Yes,” Sidonie said slowly. “I’m afraid I dropped my ring. Messire Maignard was retrieving it for me.”
“I see.” The steward eyed me with relief as I reached beneath the table and found the signet ring. I rose without comment, bowed, and handed it to Sidonie. She examined it, then slid it onto her finger. “Is it damaged?”
“Happily, no.” She smiled briefly at the steward. “Why are you here, messire? Is there somewhat that demands my attention?”
“No.” He swallowed. “But the guard . . . Forgive me, your highness. In my lord Astegal’s absence, it is unseemly that you should meet alone with another man.”
Her brows rose. “Surely you do not suspect me of dallying with Messire Maignard?”
“No, no, of course not!” The steward wrung his hands. “And I am sure that if his lordship were here, he would countenance it without a thought. But in his absence, it falls to me to ensure that there is no cause for misunderstanding or idle gossip. I merely seek to do my duty, your highness. I beg of you, please do not punish me for it.”
“I see.” Sidonie gazed at him for a long time, during which the steward went white, then red. “You must understand, in Terre d’Ange, matters are very different. But I suppose I am in Carthage now, albeit for only a few more days. Very well, since you have such concern for semblances, you may stay and observe our game for yourself. I’m weary of my lord’s Amazigh guards hovering over me as though to dispatch an assassin at a moment’s notice.”
The steward sighed. “A thousand thanks, your highness.”
Sidonie and I sat at the table opposite one another. I felt strung tight, quivering like a plucked harp-string. Oh, gods, that had been a near thing! I’d never known fear before, not like that. Fear for me, fear for her. As long as it served his plans, Bodeshmun wanted her undamaged. But I didn’t doubt for an instant that he would throw her to the wolves the moment she was no longer useful to him.
A moment I was trying to hasten.
I played very badly. Sidonie was quiet, concentrating on the board. I watched her annihilate me piece by steady piece. It seemed impossible to believe that no more than a week had passed since we’d played our first game. I didn’t feel like the same Leander Maignard who’d sat opposite her that day and blushed at her teasing barbs. The stakes had grown far too high.
“Have you had word from Lord Astegal?” I inquired presently. “You mentioned leaving within days.”
“Yes.” She captured one of my knights without looking up. “A courier came this morning. It seems matters have progressed swiftly. King Roderico has surrendered.”
“Then Aragonia has fallen?” I asked.
Sidonie shook her head. “There was a coup. One of his young cousins has declared himself regent in exile.” She watched my move. “Actually, he’s a distant kinsman of mine, too. Serafin L’Envers y Aragon. We’re related through my grandmother on my mother’s side.”
I didn’t know if that was a safe topic or not. “Ah.”
“Astegal says he’s holed up in Amílcar with what’s left of the Aragonian army. He doesn’t expect the fighting to resume until spring.” She deftly captured another piece. “I imagine Serafin will attempt to negotiate with the Euskerri and promise them the sovereignty Roderico refused to consider in return for their aid. I don’t know why we didn’t try to settle that matter earlier when . . .”
Her voice trailed off.
I saw it again, the perplexity and fear. There was a memory missing here. I had no idea what it was, some piece of political intrigue. All I knew was that I wanted to cup her face in my hands, shower her with tender kisses, whisper all of her missing secrets in her ear until the fear and uncertainty were gone.
“I’m sure that all will be well,” I said gently. “If King Roderico has surrendered, no doubt this young rebel kinsman will see his wisdom in time and follow. When do you leave?”
“In three days’ time.” With an effort, Sidonie focused her attention on the board. Her hand trembled slightly as she moved a rook. “So I fear this is our final game, Messire Maignard. Unless . . .”
I sacrificed a pawn in a hopeless gambit. “Unless?”
Her black gaze lifted to meet mine. “Unless you wish to accompany me.” Her tone was light, lighter than I could have managed. “You said you’d a fancy to see New Carthage, and a D’Angeline princess ought to have courtiers. Might your lord Solon see fit to allow it?”
Despite the fear, despite the tension, my heart soared. “I’m sure he would. I’m here to obtain Carthage’s goodwill, and I’ve obtained all the assurances he could hope for. I’ll dispatch them forthwith and place myself at your disposal.”
“Very well.” Sidonie declined my pawn’s gambit, moving her queen decisively. “Check and mate. I will be pleased to have your company.”
“And I to provide it,” I murmured. I studied the board, then tipped my king.
“So our game continues?” she inquired.
I wanted to say to her, It’s not a game; it’s in deadly earnest. But Sidonie knew. I didn’t need to hear her say it. I saw her, saw all of her. The raised chin and the firm, demanding brows, at odds with the delicate bones of her face. All the pride and determination, all the rising fury and suspicion, terror and vulnerability. A measure of trust I hadn’t earned. Fault-lines created through cruel artifice. It made my heart ache and my throat tighten.
I loved her.
No point in denying it, no point in doubting it. It was unlikely, improbable, and true. If I had to lay my broken heart on the altar of love and let it be destroyed in a glorious blaze to secure her happiness, so be it. I would do it.
“Always,” I said hoarsely. “Always.”
There it was again, that word.
The word lodged like a stone in my chest. It felt like a stone in my mouth, heavy on my tongue. Always. Always and always. Why did it make my eyes sting? I looked away. Sidonie looked away. Her steward, Astegal’s steward, cleared his throat.
“Then I will see you in New Carthage,” she murmured.
What I wanted to say was I will follow you to the ends of the earth. I will be whatever you ask of me: courtier, savior, lover, and husband, master and slave. Anything, everything.
Only ask.
What I said was, “Yes.”
“Good.” She nodded. “To New Carthage.”
Thirty-Six
I spent three days putting my affairs in order.
I wrote out a lengthy letter to Ptolemy Solon, employing one of the codes her ladyship had devised, one that owed naught to the Guild, but merely to her own prodigious intellect.