Kushiel's Mercy (22 page)

I inhaled the sea air, the same air my mother breathed. A moist, salty tang, sweetened by blooming flowers and ripening fruit. Salt and sweet. My mind wandered. I remembered kneeling for Sidonie, wearing her discarded blindfold. The tap of the tawse between my shoulder blades. Her fingers, loosing the fabric of the blindfold, forgiving me. Her scent, salt and honey. The smile in her voice as she bade me do penance. Ah, Elua! The
love
in it. I’d done my penance with pleasure.

The taste of her.

Gods, it hurt.

“My lord?” A Cytheran voice speaking Hellene, the same soft accent that blended different cultures. It belonged to a young woman, one of Nuray’s servants. “There is a message for you.”

The sun sparkled on the sea. I straightened. “Yes?”

She bowed. “The Governor wishes you to dine with him this evening. He will see you at sunset.”

When it came time, I went.

I was apprehensive. I didn’t know what to expect. I rode the Bastard along the palisade, pacing him slowly. The sun was hovering low over the harbor, drenching everything in liquid gold. Somewhere, my mother was here. I wondered if I would see her tonight. The thought made my skin prickle.

The palace was a charming structure built for pleasure, not defensibility. Its high, arched doors and windows took advantage of the cool sea breezes. I was received courteously and escorted into a salon overlooking the harbor, the setting sun framed in its windows.

Ptolemy Solon was there.

Alone.

The Governor of Cythera was a small man with brown skin and a wizened face, coarse silver hair. One could see at once where the nickname had come from. His brown eyes were round and luminous, ringed by wrinkles. Wrinkles bracketed his wide mouth. Ugly, yes. Also very difficult to read. He regarded me without speaking.

I bowed to him. “Well met, my lord. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Cadmar of Landras,” Ptolemy Solon said mildly. “Do you know, that had me stumped for the better part of an hour.” He tapped his skull. “And I never forget anything. Landras. It’s where you grew up, yes?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well.” The round eyes blinked. “Well met, Prince Imriel de la Courcel.”

I fought the urge to glance around. “Thank you, my lord.”

“You may call me Solon.” He gave a quick smile. “She’s not here, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

I relaxed a little. “It is.”

“She’s
here,
of course. On Cythera.” Solon poured wine from a ewer into two cups. “But she maintains her own villa. I thought it best if we spoke first in private. You did say you’d come to petition me, and I’m quite interested in taking the measure of a young man callous enough to betray his mother unto her death, yet with the incredible temerity to beg her aid when his plans went awry.” He beckoned. “Come, sit and take a glass of wine with me.”

I accepted, taking a seat at the table beneath the window. He sat opposite me. “Are you aware of her crimes?”

“Oh, yes.” He took a sip of wine. “Still.”

I gazed out the window. Ships bobbed in the harbor, the sun-drenched water making it seem as though they floated on a lake of fire. “What would you have me say?” I asked. “Yes. I accepted a charge to bring my mother to justice. Thousands of people died because Melisande Shahrizai committed high treason. She was condemned to death before I was even born. I can’t go anywhere in the realm without someone calling me traitor-spawn, without someone telling me how a loved one died for my mother’s sins. I can’t wed the woman I love.” I looked back at Solon. “And yes, my plans went awry. And now, quite frankly, I’m desperate.”

He sipped his wine. “At least you’re honest.”

“Did you send Sunjata?” I asked.

“Not exactly.” The light of the setting sun glimmered in his round eyes. “He’s your mother’s doing.”

“Did you forge a silver needle and lave it in the sweat of a madman’s brow and the slime of a toad?” I asked wryly.

The sunlight in his eyes flared. “Did it work?”

I showed him the healed scars around my wrists. “I had to be tied to my bed.”

Solon examined the scars. “Interesting,” he mused. He patted my hand. “I’m sorry about that. It was the only way I could think of. And to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure it would work. The needle
or
the madness,” he added. “You’ll have to tell me what it was like.”

“Horrible,” I said briefly. “Will you aid me if I do?”

The sun’s bottom rim dipped below the horizon, its light shifting from gold to orange. “I haven’t decided,” Solon said in a candid tone. “It depends on you and what you offer. It depends on your mother and what she wishes. It depends on the axes of power and knowledge involved in the situation.”

“The Unseen Guild?” I asked.

He pursed his lips. “No, no, no. I’ve naught to do with
them
.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, I know all about it, of course. My kinsman Ptolemy Dikaios made me the offer long ago. I accepted the training, but I refused to swear allegiance when it was over. Much like yourself, yes?”

“Not exactly,” I said.

Solon shrugged. “Knowledge is power. And yet power corrupts. Not all who wield it, but most. Still, I had a hunger for knowledge. And so I decided long ago that I would seek it out. That I would gather and amass it, and assign myself the greatest challenge of all: to wield it seldom or never in the service of my own desires.”

I raised my brows. “That, my lord, is passing odd.”

“Do you think so?” He blinked. “And yet consider your mother.
She
amassed great knowledge. She used it as a tool to further her own goals. She plunged a nation into war. She tore her own family apart. In the end she lost everything.”

Those weren’t exactly the words of a man besotted. I frowned, unsure what to make of Ptolemy Solon. The sun sank lower beneath the horizon. A young woman in loose, flowing robes came with a taper to kindle the lamps.

“There is a fruit that grows south of Carthage,” Solon said when the girl had departed. “When it is green, it is poisonous. Only when it has fully ripened may it be safely eaten. I sampled it once in my younger days. There was a heady sense of danger in it. Once I’d eaten it, I craved more. Your mother is like that fruit.”

“I see,” I said.

“Not entirely.” He tilted his head. “I grow old. I thought myself beyond the point of succumbing to such temptations. The fruit, I withstood. My vow to myself, I have kept. But to my chagrin, I find I am unable to resist the delicious, sinful pleasure of groveling at your mother’s feet.” He laughed at my expression. “Ah, Imriel! The world is full of unexpected delights.”

“Elua knows that’s true,” I muttered.

The upper rim of the sun vanished beneath the sea, leaving a ruddy glow behind it. Servants came with covered dishes, lifting the domes to reveal grape leaves stuffed with rice and lamb, fillets of mullet in wine, crusty bread, and a creamy pink sauce made with fish roe. Solon sniffed appreciatively, his broad nostrils widening.

“Happiness,” he said.

I took a long drink of my wine. “Happiness, my lord?”

“It is the highest form of wisdom.” Solon tore off a piece of bread, dipping it in the roe sauce. He chewed slowly, savoring it. “That is the totality of what I have learned in my pursuit of knowledge, Imriel de la Courcel.”

I tried the roe sauce, emulating him. It was salty and delicious, velvet on the tongue. “Oh?”

Solon popped a grape leaf–wrapped delicacy into his mouth. “Oh, yes. I have applied this learning here in Cythera since I was given the governorship.” His jaw worked, and he swallowed with obvious pleasure. His brown eyes glowed. “I’ve sought to make my people
happy.
I’ve listened to the concerns of all and brokered peace among them. I’ve implemented just laws. Do you know, any man, woman, or child sold into slavery in Cythera must be paid a fair wage? Fair enough that they might buy their freedom in seven years’ time.”

“Sunjata,” I said.

He nodded with glee. “Even so!”

“Solon.” I pushed my plate away. “I am interested in your thoughts. Indeed, I spent some months in Tiberium studying philosophy with Master Piero di Bonci, and I would have gladly spent longer. Another time, I would like nothing better than to discuss the virtues of happiness with you. But my country has been torn apart by Carthage’s magics. Terre d’Ange hovers on the brink of instability. And Sidonie de la Courcel, whom I love beyond all reason, has been ensorceled into believing she is meant to wed an ambitious Carthaginian general—”

Solon speared a piece of poached mullet with his fork. “She did.”

My voice rose. “When?”

He chewed and swallowed. “Some two weeks ago. I imagine Carthage will have launched their invasion by now. We ought to get word any day.”

Sidonie had married Astegal.

I felt sick.

“Eat.” Solon pushed my plate back toward me. There was sympathy in his wise ape’s face. “I’ve a feeling you’re going to need your strength. Undoing Carthage’s spell won’t be an easy task.”

I stabbed at my fish. “Then you’ll help?”

“I might.” He braced his elbows on the table. “What are you offering?”

I forced a bite of mullet down my throat. “My mother’s sentence commuted to exile.”

“No pardon?” Solon asked.

“No,” I said shortly. I thought about riding into the City upon returning from my excursion to Vralia. The black armbands, the down-turned thumbs. The hard, anguished stares on the faces of the bereaved. “No pardon.”

He nodded. “I’ll think on it. Will you see her willingly?”

“Does she have the final say?” I asked grimly.

“No.” Solon blinked at me. “She has the first say, but the final say is mine. I freely confess myself a man besotted, but it has not bereaved me of my wits.” He gave a slow smile. “I believe I am the first man to say no to your mother from time to time. And oddly enough, I do believe she respects me for it.”

I took another bite of mullet. “I’ll see her.”

“Good.” He swabbed another piece of bread with roe sauce. “Because I would have surely refused my aid if you hadn’t. One of her people will come to fetch you in the morning. I hope that you will not be unkind. This will be a long and anxious night of waiting for her.”

I fought down a surge of impatience. “I will try, my lord. But I have passed a good many anxious nights myself of late.”

“Of course,” Solon said. “I understand.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t think you do. You’ve built a pleasant place here on Cythera. Imagine it altered overnight at a single stroke, plunged into uncertainty and confusion. Imagine my mother leaving you gladly for a man you despise. Imagine knowing that all her formidable will and intelligence have been violated and turned against her. Because if Carthage succeeds in Aragonia and Terre d’Ange, this will be only the beginning. Astegal dreams of empire. Cythera would be a pretty plum.”

Solon snorted. “Would Carthage be a worse master than Khebbel-im-Akkad? One overlord is much the same as another. You speak as a man whose country has never been a vassal nation.”

“True.” I set down my fork. “And I would like to remain thus. Do you wish me to beg, my lord? I will.” I got out of the chair and knelt at his feet. “You spoke of happiness. For the first time in my life, I had it. And it has been snatched away from me. I beg you, please, to tell me how to undo what was done. I will give you anything in my possession. I will do anything in my power that you wish.”

“Anything.” His round eyes glinted. “What if I told you I knew of a spell that could give one man the semblance of another? What if I asked for your beauty in exchange for my ugliness? Would you give it?”

“Yes,” I said promptly.

Solon’s brows rose. “Truly?”

I sat back on my heels and spread my arms. “Take it.”

“Hmm.” He regarded me a moment. “You’re fortunate that I have spent my life adhering to the wisdom of restraint. Or perhaps merely that your mother would take it amiss to find me wearing her son’s face.” He shook his head. “I don’t want your face, Imriel de la Courcel. What I want is to choose wisely in this. If I aid you, there are those who will recognize my handiwork. Undoing the spell will be difficult. If you fail, it is I—and Cythera—who will pay the price.”

“I won’t fail,” I said.

“Stubborn.” Solon smiled a little. “Much like your mother. And impulsive, much unlike her. Sleep, and go to see her. Whatever you think of her, Melisande is not made of stone. For ten years and more, she has grieved deeply, knowing what befell you when you were taken as a child, knowing what role her own actions played in it. I do believe it is the pain that finally taught her a measure of compassion.”

I got wearily to my feet. “I hope so.”

His eyes glinted again. “Given that she appears ready to forgive you for seeking her life, I do believe I am right.”

Nineteen

I
spent a fitful night, tossing restlessly in my bed at the widow Nuray’s lodging-house, going over my conversation with Solon in my mind. I didn’t think it had gone well. He was an odd and disconcerting man.

Small wonder my mother liked him.

At least it was better than dwelling on the sure knowledge that Sidonie had wed Astegal. I couldn’t think about
that
without a tide of black, murderous rage rising in my heart, and the feeling was uncomfortably close to my madness.

I rose early and broke my fast, then spent the better part of an hour practicing my Cassiline forms in Nuray’s garden, trying to quiet my mind. I forced myself to focus on the movements; telling the hours, they called it. Step after flowing step, tracing arcs with my blade. It worked well enough that I didn’t notice my mother’s messenger enter the garden.

“Interesting, that,” an insouciant voice said. “What do you call it?”

I halted and turned, then stared.

It was a young man around my age. He’d spoken in Hellene with a native accent, and he wore billowy trousers caught at the ankles and an embroidered Cytheran vest, but he was D’Angeline. His face was narrower than mine, and his eyes a lighter shade of blue, but the stamp of House Shahrizai was there in the angle of his cheekbones, the sensuous mouth.