Kushiel's Mercy

“Is that possible?”
    “Yes,” he said. “I believe it is.”
    “There’s bound to be some point . . . the bath, mayhap . . .” I thought more about it.
    “Well, no. I suppose it could be managed if her attendants were careful and clever.
    Hairpins, earrings, nightgowns.”
    He nodded. “So you’d have to get her mother-naked to break the spell. Or at least that half of it.” Another crooked smile. “That’s a prospect you shouldn’t mind.”
    “Yes, well it would have been a great deal simpler to remove a single ring,” I said.
    “Oh, like Astegal’s will be?” Sunjata raised his brows at me.
    I shook my head. “That’s different. I don’t expect that to be easy. But if his token had been the House of Sarkal’s signet ring, I tell you, Sunjata, half the spell that binds her would already be broken.”
    “And you a happier man,” he said.
    “I can’t help how I feel.” I gazed at him. “I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you. Are you jealous?”
    “Jealous.” Sunjata folded his arms behind his head. “I’m not sure that’s the right word for it. We’ve been friends for a long time, you and I. Lovers when it suited us. I never expected anything more than that, and I daresay you didn’t, either. So, no. And yet . . .”
    He stared at the ceiling. “What you’re feeling, I’ve never felt. Let us say I’m envious.”
    “Don’t be,” I said. “Remember, if I do succeed in breaking the spell, the first thing she’ll remember is Prince Imriel.”
    “There is that.” He glanced at me. “Are you so certain she’s not capable of loving more than one man?”
    “I don’t know.” I sighed. “Believe me, I wonder about it every day.”
    “ I think you need to believe it, Leander.” Sunjata smiled with surprising gentleness. “Will it truly hurt all the more if you’re wrong?”
    “Yes,” I said. “It will.”
    The weather cleared at last on the day we sailed into the port of New Carthage. I nearly wished it hadn’t, since it felt almost as though the weather itself was in league with Astegal. Still, it meant we were able to be comfortable above the deck, gazing at the city that was our new temporary home.
    It wasn’t nearly as formidable as old Carthage, but it was imposing enough. The harbor was large, with heavy fortifications on either side, fortresses mounted with engines of war. Here and there, one could see foundered ships that had not yet been salvaged. But most of Carthage’s fleet had survived intact, and the waters were thick with war-ships.
    “What happened to the Aragonian fleet?” I asked Sunjata.
    “Destroyed,” he said soberly.
    “The whole thing?” I asked. He nodded.
    Like old Carthage, New Carthage was walled, although the walls were a fraction of the size. And too, the city was built on a hill, sloping down to the harbor. Unlike old Carthage, here the hill was topped with a sizable palace, dominating all it surveyed.
    That, I thought, would be where Astegal had ensconced himself.
    We were stopped and our papers examined. New papers, stamped with the seal of the House of Sarkal, courtesy of Sidonie’s steward. The captain who examined them shrugged quizzically, but he let us pass.
    There was a procession of mounted Carthaginian soldiers in full regalia making its way toward the quay to meet the flagship. As we waited our turn to dock, I studied the fellow at the head of the procession.
    “Astegal?” I asked Sunjata.
    “That’s him.”
    He was a tall man, but he sat lightly in the saddle. Black hair bound with a gold fillet.
    Strong features in the hawk-nosed Carthaginian mold. A narrow beard dyed a striking scarlet. Above it, he was smiling broadly, watching as the flagship was moored. His teeth were very white.
    I hated him already.
    Trumpets blared as Sidonie appeared at the top of the ramp, flanked by her Amazigh guards. Today it was warm enough that she needed no cloak. She was wearing the pale yellow gown. Sunlight gleamed on her hair, sparkled on the diamonds at her ears and throat.
    My heart ached more than I would have thought possible.
    Astegal’s smile widened as she descended. He made her a courtly bow, a cloak of Tyrian purple swirling around him. He didn’t need a cloak, either. It was just for show. The trumpets blared again. To the accompanying cheers of his soldiers, Astegal swept Sidonie into his arms and kissed her.
    “Easy, my lord,” Kratos said at my left shoulder.
    I hadn’t realized I was gripping the railing