Kushiel's Mercy

myself to look away, willing myself not to show the hatred and jealousy raging inside me. Some yards away, I saw Justina winding her way toward us, attended by a pair of Aragonian servants.
    She had been a pretty girl, and she’d grown into an attractive woman. Quick-witted and quick-tempered, I remembered. Dark hair and olive skin. Her mother had been a Hellene slave in the household of a Tiberian merchant, and she could pass for any one of a half dozen nationalities.
    To my surprise, Justina spat at my feet.
    “What brings a D’Angeline to New Carthage?” she demanded in flawless Aragonian. “Do you come to spy and mock for your traitorous Queen while Astegal sets her daughter over us?”
    A few Aragonians in earshot murmured with approval. Others sought to hush her, glancing anxiously in Astegal’s direction. I was so astonished, I could barely frame a reply. “No, my lady,” I stammered in Aragonian. “I am D’Angeline in heritage only. I come as a citizen of Cythera, an emissary of my lord Ptolemy Solon.”
    “Cythera!” Justina sneered. “What does Cythera want?”
    “Peace, generally.” I took a deep breath. “My lady, I am Leander Maignard, and I will be lodging at the palace. If you will grant me the courtesy of an audience, I will be pleased to discuss how Cythera might be of assistance to Aragonia in this difficult time.” I smiled ruefully. “I fear we are an island with considerable experience in the matter of being conquered and occupied.”
    “You’re blunt,” Justina said. “I’ll think on it.”
    She flounced away. Sunjata and I gazed after her. “Well,” he said presently. “Welcome to New Carthage and a whole new set of intrigues.”

Thirty-Eight

    Life in New Carthage was agonizing.
    Astegal was generous in his hospitality. Sunjata and I were given a suite of rooms to share, with a servant’s chamber for Kratos. Space was found in the barracks for a handful of Captain Deimos’ men to serve as guards for Sunjata as he went about the business of the House of Philosir, acquiring looted gems and jewelry at prices little short of robbery from unwitting soldiers. Astegal, it seemed, was eager to ensure that peers of old Carthage like Jabnit of Philosir thought themselves fatted on the spoils of war.
    While he ruled like a king.
    And that he did.
    Every night there was feasting and revels in the great hall of the palace. Wine flowed freely, and platter after laden platter emerged from the kitchens. There were dancers and musicians and comedians. Some were Carthaginian, imported along with his household.
    Most were Aragonian. Some performed with bitterness scarce concealed behind stoic expressions. Some with philosophical indifference.
    Astegal didn’t care either way.
    All of it entertained him—all of it.
    He laughed and clapped regardless, tossing coins for the performers to scramble after.
    And every night, every damnable night, Sidonie sat beside him. For the most part, she was quiet and withdrawn. She was struggling, I could tell. Sorting through her thoughts and fears and confusion, trying to put them in order. Sometimes she would glance my way, and I could see the quiet panic. At other times, Astegal spoke soothingly to her, stroking her face with his ringed hand, and I could see the fears abate.
    And every night, every night, she went willingly with him. His strong arm resting around her waist or draped over her shoulders. His hardened soldier’s hands. Touching her, possessing her. Guiding her to their bedchamber, over and over.
    I thought I would lose my mind.
    My only consolation was that Bodeshmun himself seemed disturbed at Astegal’s excesses. He attended the revels, grim and funereal in his black horologist’s robes. From time to time, I saw him murmur in Astegal’s ear. The Carthaginian general merely laughed, waving away his concerns. Well and good, I thought, you reap what you have sown, Bodeshmun.
    Still, it was cold comfort.
    I waited for Sidonie to send for me, waited and waited. But it was Justina who sent for me first, inviting me to dine privately with her. It seemed she had a villa of her own, not far from the palace.
    “Leander Maignard!” This time, in private, Justina greeted me with a kiss. “I’m sorry, I wanted to send for you or Sunjata sooner, but I had to be cautious. I’m treading a narrow path here. Tell me, do you have word from her ladyship? What game is afoot?”
    I glanced around, wary of her servants.
    “I’ve dismissed