Kushiel's Mercy

sought to flatter Bodeshmun, but the truth was, he had wrought a spell sufficient to impress even Ptolemy Solon. It had ensorceled an entire city. I’d have been a victim had I been there.
    And Sidonie . . .
    Well, she wasn’t bound by the ghafrid-gebla . Not here. It was a simpler magic, awful and powerful in a different way. It was the very force of her love that had been turned against her. Two days ago, I’d doubted. I hadn’t been sure that love was genuine.
    Now . . .
    A girlish infatuation. Gods! No, no. If I’d ever met a woman who knew her own mind, it was Sidonie de la Courcel.
    Except for the parts she didn’t.
    It was in there, I thought. I could see it. That perplexity, a sense of something missing.
    Something withheld, something denied. Knowledge trapped within her. Like a butterfly battering its wings against a glass jar.
    I wanted to smash that glass.
    I wanted to free her. I wanted to kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. I wanted to taste her, to bury myself in her. I wanted, desperately, to find out what lay behind that quick, wicked smile.
    I wanted to kill Astegal.
    A rare man . . . gods! Oh, yes, it took a rare man indeed to set a country against itself, to abduct a young woman and turn her against her will with dark magics. All to further his own ambitions. Dreams of empire. And he’d been doing his best to get heirs on her. Soon he’d send for her again.
    I gritted my teeth at the thought.
    I was losing my damned mind.
    “Halt!” I called to my bearers. They lowered the palanquin, and I climbed out. Kratos regarded me skeptically.
    “Are you well, my lord?” he asked.
    “Well enough,” I said shortly. “I need to walk. I need to clear my thoughts.”
    He shrugged. “As you will.”
    I stalked alongside the empty palanquin, reliving the encounter in my mind. All right. I’d acted a perfect dolt. That was good and bad. Harmless, yes. The gods above knew I’d reinforced that belief. I’d amused and distracted her. Bodeshmun would be pleased. From what I’d seen, he had cause to worry. A butterfly’s wings, battering. A considerable and plaguing curiosity.
    She thought me a dolt.
    I hated that fact.
    But there had been that moment, that charged moment. When I’d crossed the line of propriety, called her by name as though we were intimate. Asked her a question I’d no right to ask. It had struck a chord within her. I’d seen it. And she’d never given an answer.
    I whispered her name. “Sidonie.”
    My heart leapt at the sound of it.
    I pressed my own fist against my chest, willing my pounding heart to subside. It felt strange and heavy to me. A stone lodged in my chest. It ached. It threatened to drag me down into deep waters. It threatened to burst and splinter. I breathed slowly and deeply, thinking on the lessons her ladyship Melisande had taught me.
    Bit by bit, the feeling eased.
    “Name of Elua!” I said aloud. “I’m not even sure I like her.”
    The following morning, I’d arranged to meet Sunjata at the baths. They were massive, laid out in the grand Tiberian style, although the architecture itself was Carthaginian. I found Sunjata in the palaestra, stretching his limbs. Ordinarily, I thought, it would likely be a crowded place, filled with young men wrestling and boxing with one another, practicing for foot-races, but it was quite empty today. I reckoned a good many of Carthage’s athletes were serving in Astegal’s army.
    “Run with me?” Sunjata asked in greeting, nodding at the footpath circling the exercise arena.
    “A lap or two,” I said. “You know I can’t keep up with you for long.”
    He merely shrugged. For as long as I’d known him, Sunjata had had a fondness for running. It gave him a sense of freedom; and too, eunuchs had a propensity to gain weight as they grew older, their figures growing more womanish. Sunjata would never let that happen. He wasn’t vain, but he was proud.
    After I’d limbered, we set out on the footpath together. Sunjata paced himself slowly so I could match him stride for stride.
    “So,” he said when we’d reached the far end. “How was your audience?”
    “Aside from the fact that I reeked of attar of roses?” I asked, and he laughed. “Gods, I don’t even know what to say. I found myself acting an idiot, and she spent most of the time laughing at me.”
    “Did you gain a second audience?” Sunjata asked.
    “I did that much,” I said glumly. “But I’ll have to summon considerable more charm if