Kushiel's Mercy (45 page)

The young Aragonian gasped. One gasp, no more. His hands rose frantically to scrabble at his throat. His face worked. Not a sound emerged from his mouth.

“Enough!” Roderico said sharply. “It shall be as you say. Spare the lad.”

Astegal folded his arms. “What is done cannot be undone. If you wish others to be spared this fate, remember this moment.”

It was an awful thing. The great hall was filled with onlookers. Astegal meant this event to be witnessed. And in front of all of us, the young Aragonian lord slowly choked to death for no apparent cause. His face turned dark and his eyes bulged. It was a mercy when he finally sank to the floor. Several members of Roderico’s entourage were weeping audibly, and silent tears ran down the former king’s creased face.

“Is it understood?” Astegal repeated.

“Yes, my lord.” Roderico’s voice cracked. “The truth is whatever you say it is.”

“Good.” Astegal nodded. “You may go.”

They went.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Kratos and I exchanged a glance. Well, that was one question asked and answered. Yes, Bodeshmun
was
that dangerous.

The memory of it made my skin crawl. There was no word from Sidonie, so Kratos and I proceeded to the bath-house. We engaged in a few training bouts, which left me bone-jarred and bruised. It didn’t erase the memory of the Aragonian’s strangled face, but it helped a bit. Afterward, I went to soak in the caldarium while Kratos accepted one of his friendly wagers.

There, I managed to spot Esme and catch her eye. She pointed to the table in her chamber. I nodded and emerged dripping from the bath. No one was around at the moment; the idle soldiers were cheering on their comrade in his bout against Kratos. I went to fetch the purse I’d hidden in my things.

Esme gave me a startled look when I handed it to her. It was heavier than she’d expected. I’d doubled the amount.

“You did well,” I said.

She tucked the purse away quickly. “Lay down. I’ll massage you.”

I shook my head. “Better if you’re not seen with me. Vanish well and be safe until this passes, Esme.”

“I pray it’s soon,” she whispered.

As matters transpired, it
was
soon, at least where Esme was concerned. By the time Kratos and I returned to the palace, there was a whole new uproar in progress. Astegal and his councilors were closeted away once more and the place was abuzz with gossip.

“What passes?” I asked one of the guards I knew by sight.

His face was grim. “We’ve had ships lying off the harbor at Amílcar. One of them intercepted an Aragonian ship bound for Terre d’Ange. Serafin’s pleading for aid from the D’Angeline fleet.” He lowered his voice. “Trying to trade on their old alliance.”

“I thought the D’Angeline fleet was incapacitated,” I said.

“Not the bulk of it,” he said glumly. “Looks as though we’ll be fighting a winter war after all.”

“Hard luck,” I said.

The guard shrugged. “It’s a soldier’s lot.”

Better than a bath-house attendant’s lot, I thought, but I kept my mouth shut. This particular guard seemed a decent enough fellow. Inwardly, I was pleased. If Astegal pulled his army out of New Carthage, the task of gaining access to Sidonie seemed marginally less insurmountable.

Things were finally beginning to move.

Fourty-Three

O
nce things began to move, they moved quickly indeed. By the time Sunjata returned from old Carthage, he was astonished at all that had transpired in his absence. Astegal might have enjoyed playing cock of the walk and being pampered, but when he moved, he moved swiftly and decisively.

Everywhere, plans were afoot. A small standing army would be left under Lord Gillimas’ command to guard New Carthage. Bodeshmun would be in charge of administering the city and the surrounding areas, and after his display in the great hall, I doubted there would be much in the way of an insurrection.

Most of the Carthaginian fleet would be moved to blockade the harbor of Amílcar, leaving a handful behind to secure the harbor here. After studying the city’s defenses, Astegal had determined that it would be best assailed by land. He himself would command the siege.

Well and good, I thought. Go. Go far, far away, Astegal.

Of all the events that had transpired, the one that astonished Sunjata the most was that Esme had succeeded in procuring Astegal’s ring.

“You’re sure?” he said. “Did it have an effect?”

I nodded. “Oh, yes.”

Sidonie had sent for me the day after Bodeshmun had killed the young Aragonian with a single breath, although of course the knowledge of that event had been kept from her. I’d found her pale and guarded. I’d brought the book of love letters with me and presented it to her as a gift. She’d gazed at it for a long time, her brows furrowed.

“I know this correspondence,” she murmured at length. “Somehow. Thank you; it will be a pleasure to read the Aragonian translation.”

I bowed. “I hope it may provide solace in your husband’s absence.”

“My husband’s absence.” She raised her gaze to meet mine. The fear and uncertainty in her eyes had doubled. Underneath it was a terrified determination that nearly broke my heart. “Yes.”

We had played our usual game. At first, I’d thought that Sidonie was playing badly, walking into a rather obvious trap I’d set. Then I felt the pressure of her foot against mine beneath the table as she studied the board.

“I’m in a very precarious situation here, aren’t I, Messire Maignard?” she inquired.

I moved a piece, returning the unseen pressure. “Indeed, my lady.”

Her hand hovered over her queen. “I confess, I don’t fully understand what it is that you’ve done. Will you be gallant enough to advise me?”

I shook my head. “I cannot divulge my secrets.”

Sidonie’s head moved imperceptibly in the direction of the Amazigh guard. I gave the briefest possible nod. The guard stared past us, bored half out of his wits. I’d wager they drew straws to avoid this posting.

“Well,” she said lightly. “Mayhap I’ll find a way to make you talk.”

“Mayhap you will,” I said. “But not today.”

That was all, but it was enough. She knew. She knew something was very, very wrong. Bodeshmun’s spell had been weakened. And Sidonie de la Courcel, terrified and uncertain, was nonetheless playing a cautious and meticulous game of her own.

It was hard, so damnably
hard
, not to be able to tell her.

Elua, she had courage! I broke into a cold sweat conversing under the Amazigh’s bored gaze. How much worse must it be for Sidonie? She knew, but she didn’t
know
. Missing memories, false memories. At least I had the surety of my own wits and a loyal ally or two.

Sidonie was all alone.

I didn’t see her again until after the majority of the Carthaginian fleet had set sail and Astegal departed with the army.

The latter was an affair rife with pageantry. It was a vast army. Most of his troops were Carthaginian, but there was a sizable contingent of Nubian mercenaries with striking zebra-hide shields and long spears, and a mounted company of robed Amazigh. We assembled outside the gates of the city to see them off.

“Bastards,” Kratos muttered.

The ceremony began with the sacrifice of a white heifer, a singularly gory and unpleasant ritual. Once the poor beast’s struggles had ceased, the priests slit its belly and withdrew the steaming entrails for inspection. They pronounced the augurs to be good and invoked the blessings of Tanit and Ba’al Hammon on the venture.

Astegal gave a stirring speech full of lies about the glorious era of peace and prosperity that would follow on the heels of Carthage’s victory. His voice carried well, and the army cheered. Clad in gilded armor, he looked every inch the heroic general. Sidonie stood beside him, blank-faced as a doll. Astegal didn’t care. He swept her into his arms and kissed her farewell, proclaiming the hope that he would return victorious to news that she was providing him with an heir to the vast new empire of Carthage. There were more cheers and long blasts on the trumpets.

Then he turned her over to Bodeshmun, who made a speech declaring that the Princess Sidonie and New Carthage alike were under his protection. When it was finished, Astegal mounted his horse and drew his sword.

“Onward, Carthage!” he shouted. “Onward to victory!”

The army roared its approval, soldiers beating their shields and stamping their feet, trumpets blaring. Astegal nudged his mount, and they were off, rank upon rank of soldiers falling in behind him, supply wagons groaning. It was a long time before the last column passed us.

I sighed. “Good riddance.”

Without an entire occupying army, New Carthage seemed much emptier than before. We returned with the remnants of the procession that had accompanied Astegal to the gates. On every street, Aragonians stared at us with bitter hatred, but it was hatred tempered by fear. Not a one of them dared speak. Perversely, I found myself glad for the presence of Bodeshmun and the remaining forces. I didn’t doubt but that every man and woman we passed would gladly see all of us dead.

In that, I was more than right.

On the morrow, I received a message from Sidonie inviting me to accompany her on a stroll in the gardens. I met her at the appointed hour. It was an incongruous sight, the D’Angeline princess surrounded by four veiled Amazigh.

“You look well, your highness,” I greeted her. “Are you feeling better?”

“A bit.” It was true: she didn’t look quite as pale. “I thought the fresh air might help clear my thoughts.”

The gardens surrounding the palace were actually quite lovely and extensive. We strolled through them, passing lemon and orange groves, eucalyptus trees, and others I couldn’t name. Here and there, we passed Aragonian gardeners at work, pruning the trees and culling weeds. Like the bath-house attendants, I thought, they must have taken pride in their work once. Now they merely looked sullen.

“Everything is so green,” Sidonie observed. “It’s hard to believe it’s winter.”

“Southern climes,” I said. “On Cythera, the first orchids will be blooming soon.”

We continued for some time in this vein, exchanging meaningless pleasantries. Bit by bit, Sidonie’s pace increased, until we were walking quite briskly. I realized she was trying to put some distance between us and her guards.

It didn’t work. The Amazigh quickened their own pace, trailing behind us like so many indigo spectres. Sidonie gave an imperceptible shrug and slowed.

“Mayhap we might sit for a moment,” I suggested, nodding at a marble bench beside a fountain in the shape of a fish spewing water. I was hoping that the sound of splashing water might provide some cover.

It wasn’t enough to drown out our conversation. Gods, this was ridiculously frustrating! After a few more moments of inane talk, Sidonie sighed. “Thank you, Leander, you’ve been very patient. Mayhap I should return.”

I rose and bowed. “Of course, my lady. You shouldn’t tire yourself.”

We returned the way we’d come. And what happened next, I couldn’t have said for the life of me how I knew. A lifetime of training to be observant, I suppose. It was the second gardener we encountered, one we’d passed before. This time it was different. Somewhat about him, the way he peered furtively at us as we approached. The way his hands slid and twisted on the pruning shears he held. The way he collected himself and set his shoulders. It wasn’t until we’d actually passed him that it all came together in my mind. I glanced over my shoulder.

Between two of the Amazigh, there was the gardener behind us. He held the blades of his pruning shears by the tip, poised for the throw. His arm shot forward. Metal flashed.

“Elua, no!”

I flung myself on Sidonie without thinking, my weight bringing both of us crashing to the earth. Somewhat sharp stung my scalp as we fell. I landed hard atop her, driving the breath from her lungs. Her startled eyes stared into mine. Wet warmth trickled though my hair. Behind us, there were shouts of alarm and fury.

Oh, gods.

The feeling of her body beneath mine.

Neither of us moved.

And then strong hands yanked me off her, pulled me upright. The Amazigh surrounded us, asking questions in a garbled panic. Behind them, the gardener’s body was slumped on the ground. His head was a few feet away.

“I’m fine.” Sidonie’s voice shook. “That man—
why
?”

They exchanged glances.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. My heart was racing, and I couldn’t tell if it was fear or the sudden shock of desire. “You’re safe, love. That’s all that matters.”

She searched my face. “You’re hurt.”

I touched the back of my head. My fingers came away bloody, but not terribly so. “It’s just a nick. Scalp wounds bleed a lot.”

“He tried . . .” Sidonie swallowed. “Oh, gods.”

“I know.” I rounded on the Amazigh. “Name of Elua! Why did you kill him? You should have taken him alive to be questioned!”

One of them shrugged. “Desert justice.”

“Desert idiocy, more like!” I wrestled my temper under control. “No mind. Let’s just get the princess safely back to the palace.
Now
.”

The Amazigh formed a tight square around us. Sidonie clung to my arm, holding it pressed hard against her. I could feel her trembling. This time, I didn’t think it was feigned, not in the least. Oh, gods, that had been a near thing! Fury and terror and tenderness broke over me in waves.

I loved her.

I loved her so much.

And I’d nearly lost her.

Pandemonium broke loose the minute we entered the palace. One of the guards was dispatched at a run to fetch Bodeshmun, who came with alacrity, his black robes swirling around him.

“Are you harmed, your highness?” he asked Sidonie grimly.

“No.” Her nails bit into my forearm. “Leander saved me. He’s hurt.”

“Escort her highness to her quarters,” Bodeshmun said to the Amazigh. “Send for the physician. After he’s examined her, have him report to me.” To me, he said, “Come.”

I accompanied him to his quarters. There, Bodeshmun bade me sit and tell him all that had transpired. He listened intently, nodding into his black beard.