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

Kushiel's Mercy (Imriel's Trilogy #3) Page 36

I gritted my teeth at the thought.

I was losing my damned mind.

“Halt!” I called to my bearers. They lowered the palanquin, and I climbed out. Kratos regarded me skeptically.

“Are you well, my lord?” he asked.

“Well enough,” I said shortly. “I need to walk. I need to clear my thoughts.”

He shrugged. “As you will.”

I stalked alongside the empty palanquin, reliving the encounter in my mind. All right. I’d acted a perfect dolt. That was good and bad. Harmless, yes. The gods above knew I’d reinforced that belief. I’d amused and distracted her. Bodeshmun would be pleased. From what I’d seen, he had cause to worry. A butterfly’s wings, battering. A considerable and plaguing curiosity.

She thought me a dolt.

I hated that fact.

But there had been that moment, that charged moment. When I’d crossed the line of propriety, called her by name as though we were intimate. Asked her a question I’d no right to ask. It had struck a chord within her. I’d seen it. And she’d never given an answer.

I whispered her name. “Sidonie.”

My heart leapt at the sound of it.

I pressed my own fist against my chest, willing my pounding heart to subside. It felt strange and heavy to me. A stone lodged in my chest. It ached. It threatened to drag me down into deep waters. It threatened to burst and splinter. I breathed slowly and deeply, thinking on the lessons her ladyship Melisande had taught me.

Bit by bit, the feeling eased.

“Name of Elua!” I said aloud. “I’m not even sure I like her.”

The following morning, I’d arranged to meet Sunjata at the baths. They were massive, laid out in the grand Tiberian style, although the architecture itself was Carthaginian. I found Sunjata in the palaestra, stretching his limbs. Ordinarily, I thought, it would likely be a crowded place, filled with young men wrestling and boxing with one another, practicing for foot-races, but it was quite empty today. I reckoned a good many of Carthage’s athletes were serving in Astegal’s army.

“Run with me?” Sunjata asked in greeting, nodding at the footpath circling the exercise arena.

“A lap or two,” I said. “You know I can’t keep up with you for long.”

He merely shrugged. For as long as I’d known him, Sunjata had had a fondness for running. It gave him a sense of freedom; and too, eunuchs had a propensity to gain weight as they grew older, their figures growing more womanish. Sunjata would never let that happen. He wasn’t vain, but he was proud.

After I’d limbered, we set out on the footpath together. Sunjata paced himself slowly so I could match him stride for stride.

“So,” he said when we’d reached the far end. “How was your audience?”

“Aside from the fact that I reeked of attar of roses?” I asked, and he laughed. “Gods, I don’t even know what to say. I found myself acting an idiot, and she spent most of the time laughing at me.”

“Did you gain a second audience?” Sunjata asked.

“I did that much,” I said glumly. “But I’ll have to summon considerable more charm if I want to be reckoned aught but a performing lap-dog.”

“Lap-dogs don’t give Bodeshmun cause for concern,” he observed. “Which is to the good.” We fell silent on reaching the central stretch of the arena, waiting until we were out of earshot of the few folks availing themselves of the palaestra. “What did you think of her?”

“Disconcerting,” I said. “She’s quick-witted and bored. I can see why Bodeshmun’s worried.”

Sunjata increased his stride. “What did you think of her, Leander?”

I pushed myself to match his pace, feeling my muscles warm and loosen. It came easier than I remembered. Our bare feet thudded softly on the path. “I’m not entirely sure of that, either. But whatever it is, I find myself thinking a good deal too much of it.”

Another stretch of silence. I could hear Sunjata’s breathing, steady and even. I matched him breath for breath.

“Perhaps you’re falling in love with her,” he said when next we reached the turn at the far end of the footpath.

“At one meeting?” I laughed. “Don’t be absurd.”

“At a glance,” Sunjata said. “At a single, devastating glance that stripped clever Leander Maignard of all his smooth beguilements and left him standing in the street, staring after her palanquin like a man besotted.”

“That only happens in poets’ tales,” I scoffed.

He gave me a sidelong glance. “Are you sure?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but Sunjata pulled away, his effortless stride increasing once more. Irritated, I pulled abreast of him. My lungs were working hard now. He pushed his pace and I struggled grimly to keep up with him, running too hard for conversation. Another lap, then another and another. My lungs felt like they were bursting and I had a stitch in my side. Even Sunjata was breathing hard. Still, I managed to keep up with him this time.

“There!” he gasped at last, slowing to a panting halt. “See, I told you. We’re all capable of things we can’t imagine.”

I braced my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. “You’re out of practice.”

“Not so.” Sunjata shook his head. “This is my one great escape. I suspect you’ve been training at somewhat.”

I eased myself upright. “Not that I recall.”

Sunjata gave me one of his opaque looks. “Let’s get you into the baths. I can still smell that damnable pomade.”

We passed a pleasant time lingering in the baths. I kept my promise to Princess Sidonie and bathed thoroughly, washing my hair several times over. Afterward, we bought food from one of the many vendors there and dined while strolling the colonnade. I felt an unaccountable excitement rising as morning gave way to noon.

“I’ve got to be on my way,” I said to Sunjata outside the baths. “Shall I see you later?”

“I’ll meet you here on the morrow.” He smiled wryly. “I’ve a commission to work on. A particular ring.”

“Ah, I see,” I said. “Good. Tomorrow, then. But why don’t you come to the villa? I had some business I wished to discuss.”

“I prefer this,” he said.

“Fine.” I threw up my hands. “As you wish.”

“Leander.” Sunjata caught my arm as I turned to go. He lowered his voice. “Listen . . . whatever you’re feeling for her, don’t fight it. It might be exactly what you need.”

“I’m not,” I said. “It feels more like it’s fighting me.”

He let go my arm. “That may very well be true.”

Before I could ask what in the world that was supposed to mean, Sunjata turned on his heel and set off at a brisk walk. I let him go. There was no reasoning with him when he was in an obstinate mood.

Besides, I had a date to keep.

Once more, I presented myself at the villa of the House of Sarkal. This time, I was bade wait a moment before I was escorted within. When I was, I found the princess already awaiting me, seated in the sunlight alcove and pondering the chess board. One of the Amazigh had taken up his customary position, his presence warning me to be discreet. Today the princess wore a silk gown the color of apricots. The decolletage wasn’t low enough to be unseemly, but I could see the swell of her breasts. My mouth went dry.

“Leander Maignard.” Her gaze flashed up at me.

I nearly greeted her by name. I swallowed it and bowed. “Your highness.”

“Are you thoroughly scoured and ready to match wits?” she asked.

“Both, my lady.”

“Well, then.” She smiled and gestured at the table. The chess board was positioned so that I would be playing white. “The opening move is yours.”

I sat opposite her and moved an ivory pawn. “So it begins.”

The princess mirrored my move with an ebony pawn. A heavy signet ring glinted on her right hand. I marked it, remembering she’d worn it yesterday, too. “Tell me, Leander Maignard, how do you spend your days when you’re not entertaining bored royalty? What business is it that his eminence of Cythera wishes you to conduct?”

I slid a second pawn onto the board in a deliberate gambit. “Lord Solon merely wishes me to obtain assurances of Carthage’s goodwill.”

She gave me a sharp glance. “Does he fear he has cause for concern?”

“Your husband is an ambitious man,” I said ambivalently. “His eminence is merely being cautious.”

“I see.” She declined my gambit, advancing a second pawn of her own in a countering move. “Believe me, Astegal has no ambition beyond securing the peaceable future of both our nations, and Carthage did not seek this quarrel with Aragonia. Once it is settled, he will look no farther.”

I said nothing.

“You doubt me,” the princess observed.

I glanced past her at the Amazigh guard. Between swathes of blue cloth, his eyelids flickered. This one, I thought, spoke more than Punic. “Of course not,” I lied. “Indeed, I have received similar assurances from one member of the Council already. I’m simply seeking to concentrate on our game.”

She sighed. “A courtier’s reply. Very well then, let us play.”

We played for a time in silence.

I found myself thinking about Sunjata’s advice. I watched the princess contemplate the board. The contrasts in her face elevated what might have been mere prettiness to beauty. Her features were fine-cut and delicate, but her eyebrows were drawn in a firm line. Not heavy, not by any means. Only strong enough to offset the delicacy, to create a suggestion of determination and vulnerability combined. A captivating contrast, like the one between her gilded fairness and those night-dark eyes.

“Messire Maignard,” she said. “You’re staring at me.”

Hot blood scalded my face. “Oh, gods! I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Again?” she asked in amusement.

“I’m a chef’s son,” I said helplessly. “I’ve spent almost all my life on Cythera, and yes, I’m staring at you like a provincial rube. Please.”

“All right, I forgive you.” There it was again, that brief, wicked smile. Honey and gall. “Only because you blush so prettily. It’s your move.”

I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer for forbearance, then bent my attention to the chessboard.

On the boat, when I’d found the chess set listed in the manifest, I’d entertained some idea of flattering her by losing a-purpose. Playfully demanding a rematch, mayhap. I’d envisioned myself very much in control, smoothly cajoling while the hapless young princess giggled and blushed. Instead, I was blushing like a maiden, while the princess uttered barbed witticisms. And I very much suspected if I didn’t best her in this game of wits, I’d seal her impression of me forever as a tame lap-dog.

She played well, but she played a cautious and meticulous game. I’d been doing the same, trying to draw out my time with her as long as possible. Now I went on the offensive and played boldly, giving the impression of being rash and distracted. Several moves later, I made a ploy that appeared careless. This time, the princess took my gambit and walked into a trap.

“Ah.” Realization dawned on her face before the endgame was played out. She studied the board for a moment, seeking an avenue of escape, then reached out and tipped over her king. “You’ve won.”

My brow was sweating. “You underestimated me.”

“So I did.” She continued to study the board, retracing her steps and committing her misstep to memory. “Will you give me the courtesy of a rematch?”

“Of course.” I began gathering pieces to reset the board.

“It grows late.” She touched my hand. “Tomorrow, perhaps.”

A spark leapt between us.

I felt it, and I knew, I knew she felt it. Her eyes widened, their darkness blurring. I wanted to close my hand on hers, pull her to me. Scatter the chess pieces, drag her to the floor. Pull the pins from her hair until it fell in glorious disarray, tear every scrap of fabric from her body. Rip the necklace from her throat, the earrings from her earlobes. Lay her bare, break the spell. Kiss her until I bruised her lips, take her there amid the scattered chess pieces.

Under the watching eyes of her Amazigh guard.

I drew my hand back as though her touch had burned me. “Tomorrow would be lovely.”

The pulse beat visibly in the hollow of her throat, but there was no other sign she was unnerved. Her voice was cool and calm. “The same time, then?”

I rose and bowed. “I would be honored.”

I made myself meet the gaze of the Amazigh as I left. Clear and transparent, I told myself, clear and transparent. I gave him a nod, a careless smile. He didn’t return the smile, but he accorded me a brief nod. There was no suspicion I could see in his eyes or the narrow strip of his face visible. Whatever had passed between the Princess Sidonie and me, it had gone unnoticed.

One touch.

A single glance . . .

Blessed Elua was not a gentle god.

Thirty-Two

Well played, your highness.” I tipped over my king, acknowledging defeat.

Princess Sidonie inclined her head graciously. “My thanks. It was a hard-earned victory. Who taught you to play so well?”

It was the fourth game we’d played over the course of as many days, and the first that she’d won. Since that first time, under the watching eyes of her guard, we had been careful not to inadvertently touch; and she’d been as careful as I had.