Kushiel's Mercy (43 page)

Since there was no merit in worrying about it, I left off. At last, we were getting closer to attaining our goals. Mayhap it made him nervous. Me, it filled with hope.

I dispatched Kratos to Justina’s villa with the copy of Astegal’s ring. And then, alas, it was back to the agony of waiting. I didn’t know how long it would be before Astegal chose to call on her. Not long, I hoped. He was capable of patience, but he didn’t strike me as a man fond of waiting to take his pleasures in life.

Gods, I couldn’t think about that.

A day passed, then two. On the third, there was no word from Justina, but one of Sidonie’s attendants, a Carthaginian girl with a sullen face, brought an invitation to a game of chess. I accepted with alacrity.

We met in the study of the chambers she shared with Astegal. It made me uncomfortable to see evidence of his presence there—a half-written letter in Punic script, a map depicting the harbor of Amílcar. And a looming Amazigh guard, of course. That at least I’d expected.

And Sidonie. She was wearing a gown of deep burgundy red today. The color suited her better than I would have thought.

“Messire Maignard,” she said in a measured tone. “Thank you for coming on short notice.”

“Of course,” I said in surprise. “My lady, as your husband noted, I have no purpose here but to entertain. Truth be told, I’d rather serve at your whim than his.” I rubbed the back of my bandaged hand. “Chess is a bloodless sport.”

She winced. “Were you badly hurt?”

“No, no.” I glanced at the Amazigh on guard and smiled. He didn’t smile back, at least not that I could tell. “Shall we play?”

The board was set. As before, we sat opposite one another and began a game. For a time, we played in silence. Sidonie played badly from the beginning, and I could tell her thoughts were elsewhere. Ah, gods! I would have given anything for ten minutes alone with her. But no. Justina had the ring; she would have her liaison with Astegal sooner or later, and if she succeeded, the situation would be greatly changed. Now was
not
the time to take any unnecessary risks.

So instead I took them on the chess board, playing recklessly and foolishly. She was sufficiently distracted that she missed several opportunities I left her and presented me with unwontedly careless openings.

“Ah, Elua!” Sidonie said in disgust as I took advantage of one such, capturing her second rook. It was the first genuine display of emotion she’d shown that day; one of few since coming to New Carthage. “Why did I do that?”

I made as though to tip her king. “Shall I or will you?”

“Wait.” She studied the board a moment. “Oh, fine. Do it. But I want a rematch.”

“Will you actually
play
this time, my lady?” I inquired.

Sidonie made a face, wrinkling her nose at me. It made her look as young as she was, and it was so uncharacteristic that it made me laugh aloud in delight.

We played another game, this one more evenly matched. “I’m sorry about the guards turning you away the other night in the courtyard,” she said some way into it. “They didn’t understand.”

“That’s quite all right.” I advanced a pawn. “Did you have a pleasant vigil?”

“No,” she said frankly. “Did you?”

“I fell asleep,” I admitted.

She laughed and moved her knight. “You’re honest.”

“I’m trying,” I said.

Her quick gaze flicked up at me. There was a question written there. “Yes, well, I’m waiting,” she said lightly. “It’s your move, Messire Maignard.”

I nodded. “I know, my lady. I know.”

That was all we said of the matter. We both concentrated on our games. It took long enough that I saw the Amazigh’s veil sucked inward in a yawn. In the end, the game was a draw.

“Well.” Sidonie raised her brows. “That doesn’t happen often.”

“No,” I said. “No, it doesn’t.”

There was a sound in the outer chamber, Astegal returning from wherever he’d been. I heard him exchange a few words in Punic with one of the other Amazigh. Shortly afterward, he entered the study, looking sleek and very pleased with himself.

I rose and bowed. “Well met, my lord.”

“Ah, young Leander!” Astegal clapped a careless hand on my shoulder. “Fulfilling your duties at last, eh?” He moved past me, caressing Sidonie’s cheek. His ring glinted. “I trust he was the perfect courtier?”

“Of course.” She glanced up at him. “Always.”

Always and always.

Astegal gave a less-than-subtle glance at the Amazigh. The swathed face nodded imperceptibly. “Good man, good man!” Astegal smiled at me and made a shooing gesture. “Run along, then.”

Vowing silently to kill him myself, I returned his smile politely and withdrew.

When I returned to my own quarters, there was a message from Justina asking me to call on her. Sunjata was there, sorting through new acquisitions and scribbling out a manifest.

He glanced up as I read the message. “Good news?”

I frowned. “No news, just a summons. Did her messenger say anything?”

Sunjata shook his head. “No.”

Well, I thought, mayhap Justina was being discreet, which was wise. Still, I had a sinking feeling. I’d been with Sidonie all afternoon. If Justina had been with Astegal, if she’d succeeded in exchanging the rings, there should have been some change, some shift.

There’d been a small one, I supposed. Sidonie had bestirred herself after losing that first game. That lively spark of intelligence that had been burning dangerously low since Astegal had taken her arm on the docks of New Carthage and steered her away had reasserted itself.

Was it enough?

It didn’t feel like it.

So I summoned Kratos to escort me and made my way to Justina’s villa. She was there, awaiting me. As before, she had dismissed her servants. This time, there was no kiss of greeting. Justina was restless and pacing, seeming at odds with herself.

“Here.” She thrust the suede pouch that contained the ring into my hand.

“Is it . . . ?” I hesitated.

“No.” Justina’s eyes were bright with tears and anger. “No. I’m
sorry
, Leander. I couldn’t do it.”

I closed my hand on the pouch, feeling the hard knot of gold within it bite into my palm. I forced my voice to gentleness. “Why?”

“Because I was scared!” She rubbed impatiently at her eyes. “Oh, gods! You don’t know; you have no idea. You’ve been . . . well, no. No, never mind. I have a life and a role here in Aragonia, and I’ve built it very carefully.”

“And you said you were poised to tip the balance,” I reminded her. Gently, gently. “What for, if not for this moment?”

“Not like this!” Her dark eyes blazed. “I’m not some marketplace trickster, skilled at sleight of hand. If you want me to send a covert message to Serafin, yes, I can do that. If you want me to engage Astegal in leading pillow-talk, yes, I can do that, too. There’s a lot I can do. But I tell you, it’s not as easy as you might think to tug a ring from the finger of a man bent on love-making without his noticing! I hoped he’d fall asleep, but he wouldn’t stay. He’s a glutton for pleasure, but I don’t think he’s lacking in satisfaction where his D’Angeline bride is concerned. And if I’d tried it and he did notice . . . gods, Leander, do you have any idea how many loyal Aragonians would suffer for it if Astegal suspected me?”

“No,” I murmured. “I’m sorry, Justina.”

She shuddered. “Don’t be. Just . . .” She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. “What if this is all for the best? Do you ever think on it?”

“Carthage ascendant?” I asked.

Justina nodded. “Does it really matter to
us
?”

There was so much in the question. We were both protégés of her ladyship, awed, admiring, and grateful. And yet we knew her one weakness. Her son, Imriel. I was here because Melisande Shahrizai loved her son. I was here because Ptolemy Solon loved her ladyship. I had assurances from the Council of Thirty that Solon’s goodwill was accepted. Two months ago, this question would have been easy to answer.

Not now.

I sat uninvited, bowing my head. “Yes. It does to me.”

She came to stand beside me, stroking my braids. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

I looked up at Justina. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” She swallowed. “I
am
sorry. I know . . .” Justina paused. “No, I don’t. Not really. But I can’t do this. Not for you, not even for her ladyship. Can you forgive me?”

I smiled bitterly. “I’ll try.”

On that note, I took my leave of Justina, the false copy of Astegal’s ring heavy in my pocket. Kratos walked beside me. They didn’t use palanquins in New Carthage, or not yet, at least. I was glad of it. I took a grim satisfaction in feeling the muscles of my calves laboring as we climbed the hill toward the palace.

“So.” Kratos pursed his lips. “There’s a ring, eh?”

I shot a sidelong glance at him. “I don’t know what you overheard, but the less you know, the better for you, my friend.”

He snorted. “Friend, is it? Well, if you care to trust me, I’ve an idea.”

Overhead, the full moon was waning. I stopped and regarded Kratos. He returned my gaze evenly, his homely features silvered in the moonlight.

“Tell me,” I said.

Kratos did.

Fourty-One

A
ll the way back to the palace, I mulled over Kratos’ idea. We didn’t speak of it again until we were safely behind closed doors in my quarters.

“It’s a huge risk,” I said to him. “What if she betrays us?”

Kratos shrugged. “If I understand rightly, it’s no bigger a risk than you asked the lady Justina to take.”

“I’d need your help. I’d need you to stand guard.”

He nodded. “I know.”

Sunjata blinked at us. “What in the world are you talking about?”

I told him about Justina’s refusal, which didn’t surprise him. And then I told him about the idea Kratos had proposed. Sunjata’s dark skin turned ashen.

“You’d risk everything to seek the aid of a
bath-house attendant
?” he asked, aghast.

“Do you have a better plan?” I asked.

“No.” Sunjata glanced at Kratos, swallowing hard. “You’re . . . you’re that sure of the girl?”

“Astegal’s favorite?” Kratos shrugged. “I’m sure he always chooses the same one. And I’m sure she’d gladly see him and every other Carthaginian on the face of the earth dead. His men are getting bored. And they’re not gentle. They take more than massages.”

I hadn’t been back to the palaestra since Astegal had wrestled Kratos, but Kratos himself had continued to take exercise there. I’d given him license, since we were all suffering from inaction and there was always the hope he’d pick up some useful piece of gossip. I’d known Astegal had been going more regularly and training with his men. I hadn’t known he had a favorite attendant.

I hadn’t known his soldiers were abusing the attendants, either. Not a surprise, I supposed. Still, it made me angry.

“Does she hate him enough to take such a risk?” Sunjata was asking.

“Have you ever been forced to play the whore for a large group of increasingly bored soldiers?” Kratos asked laconically. “Risk, risk, risk. That’s all I ever hear any of you talk about. Mayhap it’s time to quit talking and take one.”

I made my decision. “He’s right.”

Sunjata looked at me, then looked away. “Leander . . . don’t take this amiss. I disagree with this choice. And I don’t think we should both risk being exposed. With your permission, I’d like to borrow Captain Deimos and your ship to run a load of cargo to Carthage.” He cleared his throat. “I was thinking of asking anyway.”

“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.