Kushiel's Mercy

about my waist. The sword wasn’t the right sort— a slender gentleman’s blade, not the heavier weapons the Amazigh carried—but again, it would suffice to pass a cursory glance. Ghanim slapped my shoulder in approval and asked somewhat in a questioning tone.
    “Honestly?” I said. “I’ve no idea, my friend. Not yet. But it seems a useful item to have.”
    I accorded him a bow, pressing my palms together. “My thanks.”
    He bowed in return.
    Once Ghanim had left, I practiced wrapping the head-scarf a few dozen more times, until I felt I could do it in my sleep. And then I took off the robe and burnoose, did my best to scour the stiff, dried blood from the robe with water from the washstand, and buried both items deep within my trunks.
    In a single day, I’d acquired a ring and a disguise.
    Tools. Dangerous, but useful.
    I slept better that night and arose with a renewed sense of purpose. Truth be told, I could use the distraction of a hunting party as much as Sidonie. There was a certain measure of safety in Bodeshmun’s managed contact. In the company of others, I could count on them to shunt aside any dangerous turns of conversation, and merely play at being the amicable courtier. She knew it was less than the whole truth, of course, but she would have no grounds to question it this day, and I would spend a few precious hours not feeling as though I walked a knife’s edge of intrigue.
    And I would be in her company.
    The hunting party assembled outside the western gates of Carthage. Passing beneath the massive arch, I felt the same reluctant sense of awe I’d felt on first beholding the city.
    The walls were just so damned vast.
    South of Carthage, it was desert; but here near the coast, it was fertile territory, rife with citrus and olive groves. We would be coursing hares today, riding astride and hunting with a breed of dog particular to Carthage, lean and speedy.
    “Leander Maignard!” Gemelquart of Zinnrid hailed me, seated astride a dish-nosed grey mare. His wife, whom I had met at his dinner party, was on one side of him. Princess Sidonie was on the other. “I’m pleased you could join us.”
    I bowed to them. “I am honored.”
    “You will remember my lady Arishat, I trust.” Gemelquart chuckled. “And I am given to understand you have spent some hours entertaining her highness.”
    I gazed up at Sidonie’s face. “I have had that honor, yes.”
    “Huntsman!” Gemelquart shouted. “Fetch this man a mount and a bow!”
    There was a period of milling chaos while all was made ready. I was provided with a stalwart little chestnut mare and a short hunting bow. It seemed there was to be a picnic luncheon. A battalion of servants was dispatched to make ready for it. Along with Gemelquart and his lady wife, there were some half a dozen Carthaginian nobles taking part in the excursion. Most of them, I did not know. Bodeshmun was there, looking distinctly unlike himself in ornate hunting leathers, glowering into his beard.
    At last, the horns blew and we rode forth at a jog. The dogs strained at their leashes. I positioned myself beside Sidonie.
    “Messire Maignard,” she acknowledged me in greeting.
    I winced. “Have we returned to such formality, your highness?”
    Her brows rose. “Do you not think it wise?”
    I wasn’t sure how to answer. I made a show of testing the draw of my hunting bow. “I aspire to wisdom, my lady. I do not believe I possess it, not yet. But my lord Ptolemy Solon holds that happiness is the highest form of wisdom.” I made a broad gesture.
    “Today the sun is shining and we are engaged in a pleasant pursuit in the company of friends. If that is wisdom, let us be content.”
    “You are content with little.” Her tone was unreadable. She didn’t believe it. I knew; I could feel it on my skin. She doubted me. I had revealed too much when I’d stumbled over speaking D’Angeline the other night, when I’d glanced at the guard, when I’d warned her against questioning Bodeshmun.
    I bowed in the saddle. “Today, yes.”
    Sidonie studied me. “So be it.”
    So we hunted.
    We rode only a short distance from the vast walls of Carthage. The huntsmen sounded their horns and loosed the hounds. We rode after them, whooping in the chase. I felt invigorated. The hounds were graceful, lean-bellied creatures with plumed tails. In an olive grove, they flushed a brace of hare. I shot and missed as the hares dodged and doubled, the hounds yelping. One of the