Kushiel's Mercy

took me to see the Cruarch’s entourage pass once when I was a boy. They’re not as dark as you, but believe me, there wasn’t a fair-haired head among the Cruithne.”
    “Perhaps there’s been a cuckoo in the Queen’s nest,” he said.
    “Perhaps,” I agreed.
    At that moment, the palanquin paused to allow the princess to acknowledge the cheers.
    She turned her head, smiling graciously at her admirers.
    “Or perhaps not,” Sunjata commented.
    Her eyes were black. For no earthly reason I could conceive, that fact hit me like a punch to the gut. Her gaze shifted, meeting mine as though I’d called her name. Her smile turned puzzled. If I’d felt before as though I walked atop a high ledge, now it seemed to me that the drop below had suddenly become infinitely deeper.
    I stepped forward and bowed, then reached into the basket and grasped a handful of rose petals, tossing them high into the air. Petals rained down between us. We gazed at one another through the shower.
    “Ho!” One of the Amazigh came over and grabbed my basket. He rummaged briefly in it, searching for a hidden dagger or somewhat. I stood stock-still, staring at the princess. She returned my gaze, frowning with bemusement. And then the Amazigh thrust the basket back at me and gave an order, and the palanquin moved on.
    I stared after it, long after the other seeming admirers had drifted away.
    “Well.” Sunjata’s light voice interrupted my reverie. “If you sought to give the impression of a man besotted at first sight, I’d say you did a fair job of it.”
    I shook myself. “Do you think so?”
    “I do.” There was an inexplicable edge of sorrow to his tone. “And I’ll venture to say her young highness took notice of it.”
    “So it seemed.” I cleared my throat. “Well. We’ll see what this brings. Will you come back to the villa with me?”
    Sunjata shook his head. “I think not. I’m meeting early on the morrow with Hannon, my purported master in the Guild.” He smiled crookedly. “I’m to report on you , as a matter of fact. The pompous dolt thinks I’ve been very clever to get myself into a position to spy on you.”
    “Oh, excellent,” I said absently. “I revealed myself as a Guildsman to Gemelquart of Zinnrid the other night. He thinks I’m here to assure the Council that Ptolemy Solon merely wishes to be left in peace with her ladyship and will happily cooperate with Carthage to that end.”
    “Good.” Sunjata nodded. “I’ll confirm it. The gods know, it’s a good deal more believable than the truth.”
    “True.” I felt strange and thoughtful, unaccountably stirred by my first sight of the woman I meant to seduce. Excitement and anticipation, I reckoned; but there was an odd tinge of melancholy, too. Like as not, I was overtired from all my intrigues. “Could you have ever imagined the old ape would take such a risk for love?”
    “You wouldn’t?” Sunjata asked.
    I shuddered. “Gods, no!”
    He reached out and touched my cheek. “Don’t be so sure,” Sunjata murmured. “I suspect we’re all capable of things we couldn’t have imagined.”
    I caught his hand and kissed his fingers, ignoring a sidelong glance from a passing palanquin. After our first tryst, it had occurred to me that there was a considerable benefit in having Carthage—or at least Bodeshmun—believe I was enamoured of Jabnit the gem-merchant’s assistant. Harmless. I’d worry later about convincing the princess otherwise.
    “Tell me what you learn,” I whispered.
    “Don’t I always?” Sunjata asked.
    “Always,” I echoed. The word seemed lodged in my chest, heavy as a stone. “Always and always. Actually, no. You don’t.”
    “Ah.” His fingers slid from mine. “Well, we all have our secrets.”
    With that, Sunjata took his leave of me. It was growing late, twilight falling. In another half an hour, one would need a torch to navigate the city. I stood outside the gates of Astegal’s villa, watching Sunjata walk away from me. My bearers waited patiently beside my palanquin.
    “Home,” I said to them, seating myself.
    They bent their backs to the poles and lifted, hoisting me. Clever Kratos with his squashed nose, offering no comment. The Carthaginian brothers, growing stronger by the day. Ghanim. I’d have to ask him about the Amazigh who guarded the princess.
    Sidonie.
    I said her name aloud, tasting it. “Sidonie.”
    It felt good on my tongue.
    I said it again. “Sidonie.”
    My bearers trotted.