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

Kushiel's Mercy (Imriel's Trilogy #3) Page 46

“You don’t need my permission,” I said. “Go.”

He looked back at me, his expression softening. “I’ll return in a week’s time.”

I shrugged. “As you wish.”

So the matter was decided. Sunjata made his preparations to travel. Kratos haunted the bath-house, observing the daily movements of Astegal’s favorite attendant. And I tormented myself with second-guesses, trying to think of another way.

The problem was, there wasn’t one. Right now, everything hung in stasis. New Carthage’s port was closed to foreign trade under Astegal’s orders and we weren’t getting news from elsewhere. Insofar as I knew, the game that Carthage had set in motion was at a stalemate, albeit a temporary one.

And it wouldn’t last long.

We waited until Sunjata’s ship had sailed. I didn’t blame him for wanting to be gone when this took place. As Justina had noted, the Aragonians hated D’Angelines almost more than Carthaginians. The girl at the bath-house might agree to aid us. She might refuse. Or she might say anything we wanted to hear, and then betray us.

Under ordinary circumstances, the bath-house would close its doors for some hours overnight, opening at dawn. In occupied New Carthage, it never closed. There were soldiers who had taken up permanent residence there. Still, Kratos had noted that it was at its quietest in the hours before dawn when the attendants crept about the place, trying to clean and tidy it.

“They must have had pride in their work once,” he’d observed.

It was still dark when we left the palace. By the time we reached the bath-house, there was merely the faintest suggestion of charcoal-grey in the eastern sky. Our footsteps echoed slightly in the marble halls. All the lamps were burning low. Here and there, soldiers slept, snoring. The pool-rooms were empty and unlit, dark water shimmering eerily.

Kratos led me directly to the girl. She was in the chamber where I’d seen Astegal taking a massage, carefully filling small flasks of scented oil from a large jug. Another woman was with her, neatly folding clean linen towels. Both of them jumped when they saw us.

“Go,” Kratos said to the second woman, jerking his thumb at the door. He didn’t speak Aragonian and she didn’t speak Hellene, but his meaning was clear enough. She gave us a glance filled with contempt, but she went.

“Where do they take them?” I asked Kratos.

He pointed at a storage closet with a slatted wooden door.

I grabbed the girl’s arm and dragged her into the closet. She went without protesting, though I could feel her reluctance. Inside, I pressed her up against the shelves and put my hand over her mouth. Her face was striped with dim light filtering through the slatted door, and I could see the glaring hatred in her gaze.

“Listen to me,” I said in a low voice. “Terre d’Ange did not betray Aragonia willingly. There are dark magics at work here. You have a chance to help us undo them. Will you hear?”

Her eyes widened and she nodded.

I took my hand away and fetched the suede pouch from my pocket. I showed the ring to her. “Have you seen this?”

“Astegal wears it,” she breathed.

“He wears one like it. It is one of the sources of his power.” I’d thought it wiser not to try to explain further. “Every time he comes here, he takes a massage from you. Do you think you could exchange the rings?”

“Yes.” She gave me a calculating stare. “I want money.”

“How much?” I asked.

“Enough to leave this place until the soldiers are gone,” she said. “Ten gold doubloons.”

I nodded. “Done. You’ll get it when I get Astegal’s ring.”

A look of world-weary cynicism settled over her face. “You’ll cheat me.”

“Hold out your hand,” I said. She obeyed cautiously. I put the ring in her palm and closed her fingers over it. “What’s your name?”

She looked wary. “Esme.”

“Esme,” I echoed. “Esme, you’re holding my life in your hand. If you choose not to trust me, show this to Astegal and tell him what I asked of you. He will have me tortured and killed. He will likely reward you, mayhap with more than ten gold coins. And Aragonia will lay beneath Carthage’s yolk for the next hundred years, with Terre d’Ange and other nations like to follow. If you believe nothing else in your life, believe this. I will not cheat you.”

Her hand clenched on the ring. “This will weaken him? You swear it?”

“In the name of Blessed Elua and his Companions, I do,” I said.

Esme gave a sharp nod. “I will do it.”

I touched her cheek lightly. “Be careful, Esme. May Blessed Elua hold you in his hand and keep you safe.”

So it was done.

I left the bath-house in a strange state of heightened awareness, Kratos at my side. Either I’d just advanced a pawn in the deadliest game I’d ever played in my life, or I’d sealed my own fate along with Kratos’ and the girl’s. It was a terrifying sensation. Oddly, it was an enlivening one, too. The sun was rising and the light felt brighter and clearer than I remembered. This, I thought, was what it was like to play the game as her ladyship played it. At the highest possible levels, with the greatest possible stakes.

And with fearful repercussions for innocent lives.

I will own, that part troubled me more than I liked to admit.

Kratos read the thought in my face. “She’s been around those men day in and out, my lord. She knows the risk as well as you do. Mayhap better.”

“Still,” I said.

“I know.” He laid a hand on my shoulder. “It’s hard.”

“My thanks.” I laughed. “Gods, Kratos! You were the best purchase I ever made in my life.”

He smiled wryly. “It’s an odd compliment, but I’ll take it.”

It was another piece of irony in an affair fraught with it. I’d arrived in New Carthage with one highly trained ally at my side. I’d thought I’d stumbled over a piece of great good fortune to find another in place, poised to do exactly what needed to be done. But for all the Guild training and skills her ladyship had imparted to her people, my fate now hinged on an idea conceived by an aging wrestler and executed by a young bath-house attendant.

I wished I were better at praying.

We wandered the streets of New Carthage for a time, buying spicy sausage pastries in the market once it opened. They were hot enough to burn my fingers and scald the roof of my mouth. I ate slowly, savoring the taste. If Esme betrayed us, it might be the last meal I enjoyed. And if she failed and was caught . . . well, I’d have to confess. There was nothing else for it. If the girl didn’t confess my role immediately, Astegal would have her tortured until she did. I would take the blame on myself, claim to have threatened her. Claim that Kratos had obeyed me with no knowledge of my plans. Mayhap Astegal would be merciful.

Although I doubted it.

After eating, we returned to the palace. Bodeshmun passed us in the great hall. He actually gave me a curt nod of acknowledgment. Astegal, hells! I hoped Bodeshmun would be merciful. Ptolemy Solon had told me what the man had done to create his demon-stone. He’d slit open an infant’s belly and stuck a gem inside it, managed to keep the babe alive long enough for a demon to devour it. I suspected the Chief Horologist was a fellow who knew a thing or two about inflicting hideous torment.

Astegal didn’t go to the bath-house that day. The next, he spent most of the day closeted with Bodeshmun and other trusted advisers. I knew, because Sidonie told me when she invited me to call on her for another game.

“Are they nearing terms for a full surrender?” I inquired.

“No, I fear not.” She frowned at the board. “It’s to do with some grievance of King Roderico’s. Astegal says he’s addled. I met him when we arrived and he didn’t seem addled.”

“No doubt this has been a trying time for him,” I said diplomatically.

Sidonie captured one of my pawns. “Well, I wish Astegal would permit me to join his conferences. Wait, wait, he keeps telling me. For what?” She gave me a level look. “I’m perishing sick of waiting.”

“Patience is a virtue worth striving for, my lady,” I said. “I’m sure your husband knows what he’s about.”

“I hope to Blessed Elua someone does,” she murmured.

To that, I made no reply. Since no one had come to take me away in chains, it seemed that for the moment, Esme had not decided to betray me, for which I was profoundly grateful. It might still happen, or like Justina, she might simply lose her nerve. But the thought had struck me that if she tried and failed, this might be the last time I saw Sidonie.

The notion was so ungodly painful, I felt unexpected tears sting my eyes.

“Are you all right, Leander?” Sidonie asked in surprise.

“Yes, of course.” I forced my voice to lightness. “Your beauty dazzles, your highness. Nothing more.”

She gazed at me a moment, then shook her head. “Some days I think everyone here is addled but me.”

We played out our game, which I lost. I wished I could make the time last forever, slow the passage of the sun in the sky. But in time I had to take my leave of her. I went with a heavy heart and slow steps.

The next day, all hell broke loose.

Kratos and I were both losing our wits with the suspense of waiting. He went to the bath-house to seek a bout to distract himself. I went to the market, having conceived the notion of purchasing some romantic token for Sidonie that I could leave in my things to be found if matters went awry. At a bookseller’s, I found an Aragonian translation of a famous correspondence between a pair of star-crossed D’Angeline lovers. I’d not actually heard of it, but the bookseller assured me it was a popular gift among courting couples.

At any rate, he was eager to make a sale, eager enough that he treated me with more courtesy than most Aragonians I’d encountered in New Carthage, and eager enough that he gave me a good price. I daresay Astegal’s men weren’t doing much to keep the fellow in business.

So I bought the book, and then spent another hour wandering the streets and pondering what inscription I would write.

I returned to the palace to find it in an uproar.

Astegal was in a fury, shouting at Bodeshmun in the great hall. The Chief Horologist stood with folded arms and bore it, but his deep-set eyes glittered with rage of his own.

“I did my part,” Bodeshmun said ominously when Astegal finally paused to draw breath. “Why didn’t you forbid her?”

“Because she was compliant!” Astegal roared at him.

There was a considerable crowd gathered. I spotted Kratos’ hulking form and made my way to his side. “What’s happened?”

He gave me a sidelong glance. “Seems a short time ago, the princess took it in her head to go call on King Roderico.”

“—precious Amazigh should have stopped her!” Bodeshmun retorted.

“They’re not—” Astegal gritted his teeth. “No mind. The damage is done. And you”— he pointed at Bodeshmun—“you need to trot over there and fetch her back before it worsens, cousin.”

Bodeshmun went still. “Do not speak to me thusly, cousin.”

Astegal took a step toward him. “I’ll speak as I please.”

They were both big men, both dangerous men in different ways. We all went quiet as they faced off against one another. Astegal’s face was suffused with blood, his handsome features distorted. His hand hovered over his sword. Bodeshmun radiated dark, brooding rage. If Astegal moved against him, I thought, he’d best kill him quickly. Because if he didn’t, Bodeshmun would make him suffer. I didn’t know how, but I knew it would be unpleasant.

A faint voice broke the tension. “My lords, why do you quarrel?”

Astegal whirled. “Sidonie!”

She stood in the entrance to the great hall, four Amazigh flanking her. Her face was very pale, and she was unsteady on her feet. “Is somewhat amiss?”

“No.” Astegal strode to her side, the crowd parting for him. “I was frightened for you,” he said, cupping her face. “You shouldn’t have done that. I keep telling you, it isn’t safe yet. Are you all right?”

Sidonie shivered. “No.” She fixed her gaze on his face. Her eyes were like pools of darkness, wide and fearful. “I’m sorry. Astegal, you were right. Roderico’s mad. He said things, terrible things . . .”

“Hush.” Astegal unclasped his purple cloak and slid it solicitously over her shoulders. “I know. I kept trying to tell you. I’m sorry, my dear. I was trying to spare you that ugliness.”

“I know.” She shivered again. “I’m sorry. I should have trusted you. I think . . . I think I would like to lie down. I haven’t felt quite myself since the sunstroke. Do you mind?”

She was lying.

She was lying, and she was doing it so damnably well that I wanted to cheer and shower her with flowers. Oh, she was frightened and shaken, that was no act. And there was nothing she was doing to give herself away, not even anything a trained Guildsman could spot. But I could tell. I knew her.

Astegal steered her through the crowd, his hands on her shoulders. The Amazigh guards trailed behind them, looking as crestfallen as veiled warriors could under Bodeshmun’s withering glare. When their procession passed me, I bowed.

“Messire Maignard.” Sidonie paused long enough to give me a tremulous smile. “You were kind to me before when I was ill. Mayhap when I feel stronger, we’ll have another game. It seems chess calms my nerves.”