Kushiel's Mercy

his seal on her. The thought filled me with fury and disgust, so much so I lowered my face to hide it, not trusting myself. “I heard he might be sending for you soon,” I murmured. “To winter in New Carthage.”
    “Yes, mayhap within the next fortnight.” She slid the ring back on her finger. “Name of Elua, I hope so.”
    “You miss him.” I said it without looking at her.
    “Very much so.” Her voice softened briefly, then resumed its light tone. “And I’m perishing of tedium. I’m grateful to you for alleviating it.”
    I did look at her then, looked her hard in the eyes. For the first time, it was the princess who flushed slightly. “I’ve a fancy to see New Carthage.” I forced my tone to match her lightness. “Perhaps you’ll invite me as your faithful courtier.”
    She looked away. “Why don’t we venture out, Messire Maignard? As you note, ’tis early yet. I feel I’ve scarce had a chance to see old Carthage before trading it for the new.”
    I offered a seated bow. “Your wish is my command.”
    Within a short time, we were seated in her ornate double palanquin, venturing into the streets of Carthage on the shoulders of her bearers. It was the closest I’d been to her.
    There was a gap of a mere six inches between us, and I could swear it felt charged with heat.
    “What do you wish to see?” I asked her.
    “Mayhap we could make an offering at the Temple of Tanit,” she said. “It’s always wise to honor the gods of a place, don’t you think?”
    “To be sure,” I agreed.
    Her bearers were smooth and swift, far more skilled than my lads. The four Amazigh guards flanked the palanquin, silent and menacing in their dark robes and veils. Folk on the street called out good wishes for the princess’ health and bowed toward the palanquin, but no one dared approach. Sidonie de la Courcel acknowledged them with the gracious politeness of someone who’d spent a lifetime receiving similar tribute.
    The goddess Tanit was akin to Asherat-of-the-Sea, an ancient goddess who had taken many forms and many names. Her ladyship had spent many, many years claiming sanctuary in the Temple of Asherat in La Serenissima. I thought about that when we arrived at our destination, awed once more by her capacity for patience.
    The priests scurried and bowed, eyeing the Amazigh warily, offering the princess solicitous advice. One priest was sent running, his sandals slapping against the marble floor. He returned carrying a white rooster by its legs. It was alive, its wings flapping awkwardly. I saw the princess’ mask of politeness slip as she recoiled.
    “Name of Elua, man!” I said to the priest. “They don’t offer blood sacrifice in Terre d’Ange.” I fished in my purse for a gold coin. “Surely the goddess finds the scent of incense pleasing?”
    He bowed. “Yes, yes, of course.”
    “Thank you, Leander.” The princess was slightly pale. “I’d forgotten they made live offerings in Carthage. That was careless of me.”
    “I doubt that happens often,” I said. “You hardly seem the careless type.”
    “No.” My words seemed to strike some chord within her, her puzzled look returning.
    “Not often.”
    We made our offerings of incense, gazing at the face of the massive effigy. The goddess Tanit’s features were calm and unreadable, her eyes fixed on the unknowable distance.
    She didn’t look like a goddess who craved blood and suffering. Divine Tanit, I prayed silently, if you have compassion and mercy in you, do not suffer your children to do ill in your name. Help me to undo what has been done.
    What prayer the princess offered, I couldn’t say. I only knew her face looked very solemn.
    And she had called me by name.
    I longed to hear her say it again.
    Afterward, she seemed oddly melancholy. I directed the bearers to take us to the flower market, where I purchased another absurdly large bunch of roses and laid them at her feet on the floor of the palanquin.
    It made her laugh. “Now you’re just being foolish.”
    I bowed elaborately. “If you will not accept it as a tribute to your beauty, accept it as a tribute to your victory today.”
    “You’re magnanimous in defeat. Nonetheless, I cannot accept this gift.” Princess Sidonie picked up one of the roses. There were children loitering at a distance, wide-eyed and curious. She tossed the rose to a pretty little girl who caught it with a shriek of delight.
    The others began to beg. Smiling, the princess tossed the rest